Scroll down; I really did include photos if you'd rather skip the writing part.
God only knows what day it is HERE, but I seem to think it’s
May 20, could be the 21st…. I
am in Agra, having made it through the worst nightmare of a seven hour bus ride
where I was tossed up into the air so many times when the rickety bus went over
the smallest AND biggest bumps. I love
Agra, the pace, the taste, the smell, the piggies and monkeys and cows in the
streets, the women floating around, the men in somber chat in their white robes
and earnest demeanor, even the tuk-tuk drivers pleading for me to take a ride,
“just a little ride around the town,” which is when they take you far away and
charge oodles.
When I got off the bus at the Agra Fort, I said no thanks to
another fort, particularly at 1:30 in the afternoon where the heat positively
pulsed up from the cement and off the clay walls of the fort, all on top of the
sun beating down on my head. A big
smiley man asked if I needed “auto” and he “offered” to take me to my hotel for
150 rupees, which I checked around and got down to 100, probably should have
been 50… His name is Salim, and I ended
up paying him WAY too much to take me around in the afternoon to the Baby Taj
and then to the Meehtab Bagh from which we could see the Taj Mahal at
sunset. I took loads of photos and saw
two Japanese girls I had seen earlier;
we agreed to meet at 5:15 in the morning to go the Taj for sunrise.
The traffic was wicked, and Salim told me he hated his job;
I could see why. The traffic was a
nightmare, but it made me laugh: bicycles, motorcycles, rickshaws (bike and
hand held), trucks, busses, cars and people all walking on a road that was SO jammed
we moved maybe one foot every 10 minutes.
One guy with a small truck decided that this was the time to wash his
truck and was out there with rag and water, giving it the once over. One truck was so packed with little children
whose eyes I caught, and we smiled and laughed and pointed at each other to
pass the time. Some motorcycles cut into
the opposite traffic and tried to go against the traffic. It was mayhem, but only in the nicest way, as
Dame Edna would say.
After Salim got us back in one piece, I said, “Okay, beer is
on me,” and we went to a place that had
beer – gigantic Kingfishers that we belted back as he ate some “hand chips”
which are French fries. He told me
something about his upbringing. His
parents died when his 21 year old brother was two, and Salim was his sole
caretaker. He always worked and had been
a tool and die maker (whatever that is), but when I asked him if he had an
email address, he admitted that he was illiterate and could not read or
write. He is Muslim but had NO PROBLEM
swilling that Kingfisher!
I arose at 5:00 to meet the Japanese girls to go to the
opening of the Taj at 5:30, but I never found them so trudged off alone, but
not before stopping along the side of the road to sit on a bench with an old
geezer in a little dhoti (I think that’s the short pants-skirt-diaper special
they wear), no shirt, one beaded necklace and a heavily lined face. I wanted to take his photo but wanted more to
just sit and drink cha with him, and so I did.
We sat on a bench and loudly and pensively sipped our cha. It was fine.
Off I went and the park around the Taj was FILLED with
groups of running men, singing women, walking families; it was wonderful. I entered in the West Gate and almost lost my
heart and soul when I walked through the gate and saw the Taj Mahal. I began walking tentatively up to it when a
little guy came up to me and told me where to take fabulous pictures, then, he
grabbed my camera, and he began to take photos himself, some of the best
photographs you can imagine; he even had me posing as though I were a movie
star. He was good. Really good – and fast and such a gleam and
twinkle in his eye. He was slithering
under benches, squatting over pools, and positioning himself to take the most
enchanting and well-balanced pictures of the Taj AND of me. NOBODY ever takes photos of me when I travel,
and now I have a slew of them, thanks to Raj, my little friend who swears he
goes to school, but God only knows. He
made a pretty good penny from me, I can assure you, but then, I was a sucker
with Salim also because it seems that these guys work hard, and there is no
point in denying them some decent recompense for their kindness and their good
service.
Today Salim will take me to the bus station where I shall
catch a bus (one every 30 minutes) to Fatehpur Sikri, the Mughal capital
between 1571 to 1585 under Emperor Akbar, where he built three palaces for his
three wives, one Hindu, one Christian and one Muslim. I will get back in time to take the 8:30
train back to Delhi, assuming my ticket purchase wasn’t also a scam. I will wait and see.
Oh, and the best lassi here?
Definitely the Taj Café where I slugged back two in one sitting
yesterday afternoon; its’ thirsty in these parts!
This is where the bus to Agra stopped for "breakfast," and it was such a hullabaloo that I raced to the counter where all the "men" congregated for food while the women sat and waited for their men to bring it to their tables. I found a nice young man, ordered a dhosa and coffee; when he brought it to me, he took me into a room, turned on the ac, got a container of napkins and loaded my plate with two forks, a knife and a spoon. I am sure he couldn't figure out HOW anyone would bother using utensils, but he was accomodating at best.
Piggies snorffling around in garbage
Camel who had big teeth and chewed the way our mother told us NOT TO.
A sunset Taj Mahal
The Taj Majal before 6:00 a.m.
Door to another door - with bicycle?
Here is the little fellow who took the photos, slithering under benches, scrunching behind bushes and lining up steps to take artistic, sensitive photos - and I am even in some of them - a rare event when you travel along. Wouldn't you be taken in by this little smile? He was so cunning and bequiling that I was ready to stay in India for him!!!
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