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Delhi 09.25.10

This afternoon, Ali, Oliver, and I traveled via the Metro and auto-rickshaw to the Lotus Temple—a place of worship for followers of the Bahá'í Faith. It was a beautiful building with a very open interior. I don’t know why I didn’t take any photos of the interior—maybe I was just enjoying the tranquility of the space. The marble felt refreshingly cool on my feet (we were required to remove our shoes before entering), adding to the soothing ambience.

It was interesting to read some of the tenets of the faith, especially that of equality of women and men, a message common with other faiths (though not always practiced). Why this is such a radical concept to some religions this day in age continues to baffle and frustrate me. But I was very glad to see it embraced here.

Why the messengers of “God’s Word” themselves are worshipped in various religions is intriguing to me. Rather than simply embracing the message and trying to live by it, people seem to need to either worship the messenger or kill the messenger—or both.

We followed this up by a visit to the Delhi Hut Bazaar for some relaxed dinner and shopping—complete with feral dogs.

Fatehpur Sikri 09.22.10

After a late breakfast, we met the driver we hired for the drive to Fatehpur Sikri. It was the longest 2 hours of my life! I’ve never felt so afraid as a passenger – it was like “playing chicken” on the open highway! Seriously, “passing” in India is not like it is here, not remotely, unless you count the fact that one car proceeds to move around and ahead of another. Therein the comparison ends. It was not unusual to have a bus or truck come around from behind a car and pass it, just as we hit the shoulder to avoid a collision. If we were lucky, we did not have to simultaneously swerve to avoid hitting a cow on said shoulder.

I doubt that I will ever understand how we didn’t witness more accidents in India. Horns are used so routinely that a constant din exists throughout the day. A honk on the horn is the signal to the driver(s) in front of you to get the hell out of your way, because you are coming through! Similarly, flashing your bright lights at oncoming cars indicates that you are also coming through, and they should be prepared to hit the shoulder if necessary.

Factor in that the concept of lanes, for the most part, is a foreign concept – literally. According to a recent survey, most drivers there have no idea what the painted lines are for – they are simply something that the British left behind.

Oh – and let’s not forget – there are no seatbelts. With as many people as there are in India, the maximum capacity of the vehicle is nearly always used, so only the driver has a seatbelt. Fitting 10 people in a car wasn’t at all that unusual.

So there we are – playing “chicken”, using horns to “pass”, rarely using turn signals, having no seatbelts – scared senseless. I think it took a while for both Ali and I to find our voices amid the fear to finally say, “Slow down! No hurry! Baby in car!”  I don’t think he understood English very well - that, or he found my string of expletives amusing. I did not. 

By the time we reached Fatehpur Sikri, its fate with us was pretty much sealed. We were so frazzled by the drive that we hired a “guide”, jumped on a bus, and rode the mile or so to the fortified city. While its architecture was impressive, we were not in the mood for what lay waiting for us.  After hearing the repetition of several “key points” in our tour, I think it’s pretty safe to say that those facts were being pulled out of somewhere other than Wikipedia.

Nonetheless, the carving and architectural details were amazing. So was the fact that we hadn’t sent the “guide” and his “son” packing. They are lucky we were exhausted and in relatively good behavior as we were preparing to enter the enclosed Sufi temple. I nearly lost my 5-star tourist status as we were required to make a minimum 500 rupees donation just to get in – not just to get in, but to “purchase” 3 wishes to be granted. No guarantee with that? Well now, doesn’t that just chap your…I mean really, how stupid do they think we are to believe that the stiff, piece of crap fabric I just bought really was going to be made into a baby’s garment? Right. I’ve never paid any other god for 3 wishes – which translated into 3 red strings that we then tied to the screen. Where is this money really going? Oh, but wait, we did also receive a handful of marigold petals to place on the altar, too, which resembled a canopied bed. (I would gladly have given far more than 500 rupees had it been genuinely going to help poor nearby children). Ali had been telling me to calm down, that the money would go for a good cause, but by this point, her convictions were being rapidly eroded, too. We were looking at “the good cause” – two young men posing as holy men. The fact that I was being ripped-off in a temple really steamed me, a fact I relayed to them in terms I do not recall. Colorful, creative terms, I’m sure of that.

To top it off, we were led to some vendors on the way out. Vendors of carved marble items. Beautiful carved elephants, etc. Carved by his students. Carved by his grandfather. Grandfather, my ass. Beware the bargaining done by two women in a foul mood. We left with some elephants - but not without making up for the scammed 500 rupees.

I would not go back to this place, nor would I recommend it to my friends – only to those who enjoy being scammed. Even though National Geographic has it on one of its expedition itineraries, I will not be swayed. It was a rip-off.

The drive back to Agra was much more to our liking – we were not about to put up with any “chicken” driving.

While waiting for our return train, we met a group of young missionaries who were playing cards. Ali joined in while I located our president's book on display...

Taj Mahal 09.22.10

I’ll admit it – I wasn’t overly anxious to wake up early enough to walk to the Taj Mahal by sunrise. I am so glad that Ali dragged me there to witness one of the Seven Wonders during a magical time of day! The fact that I was able to share these moments (and all the moments on our journey) with Ali and Oliver is what is truly priceless to me. 

A short walk from our hotel, we raced the sunrise on our way to the Taj. Monkeys greeted us as we entered the grounds, as well as the first of many hawkers. The view was majestic to say the least. Ali and I took turns performing our best jumps for joy. Oliver was either unimpressed or still sleepy and tolerated us as only a 7-month old can.

Veni vidi vici...I came, I saw, I conquered.

Geometry, beautiful tesla-like geometric patterns, surrounded us on all sides, combined with interwining florals and elegant Arabic calligraphy. Faceted domes, 6-sided stars, inlaid marblework, graceful arches – all crafted without CAD, laser, but with sophisticated knowledge and master artisans. (Unfortunately, they were removed of their hands by the illustrious Mumtaz after the monument’s completion – not exactly what I would call a bonus from a benevolent boss).

So much beauty, but after learning about the fate of the master architect and artisans, the tale of the incredible love that led Mumtaz to have this built to memorialize his beloved wife lost its luster for me. Instead it made me wonder what the heck that woman had to put up with during her life. Tale aside, I still was mesmerized by the perfection of the geometry…

We met people from Korea, Seattle, and Spain – all wanting to take our photos. Of course, I know that was all Oliver’s doing. It’s rough being adorably cute.

I did shoot a few photos from within the Taj – you aren’t supposed to, but that only made it more tempting. But really, I came all this way, and you’re not going to let me take photos? Right. How about no flash? No answer. I’ll take that as a “yes”.

Inside the Taj...

Along one side of the Taj hung a rope ladder, which I called the “Stairway to Heaven”. I like that shot. Not sure I would climb up it, but it probably is safe - like traffic in India is safe…

Stairway to Heaven...

On our way out, we stopped and watched men working up on scaffolding within the gateway building. No boards to stand on, just the poles – they were like monkeys working up there.

Gymnastics anyone?...

More Mughal helmet shapes...

When we returned to our hotel, we enjoyed breakfast with Oliver performing his new trick: baby Tarzan noises while I tapped his lips. He was hilarious! We’re also easily entertained, which is a delightful combination…

Bawawa...abbaubu...

Old men the same the world over...

Agra 09.21.10

After a relatively short train ride, we arrived to a swarm of rickshaw drivers just outside the train station. As luck would have it, we were approached by the son of a very good driver, KK, aka Kiki.

I had my first experience standing in line (or should I say ATTEMPTING to stand in line) for tickets while Ali, Oliver, and KK waited. People there don’t stand in line; it’s rather like the traffic situation (I honestly can’t call it a system – that would be over-rating it). People just squeeze in wherever there is a little room, even if someone else has been courteously waiting. You guessed it: a young man budged ahead of me, and I responded with appropriate eloquence, “Hey! Que up!” He did back up and get behind me with a look of mild shock on his face. (Que – a lovely word left behind by the British).

So onto Agra with KK and the auto-rickshaw. It was great having KK as a driver; he took us to places that we, as ordinary tourists, would not have gone. We drove through old Agra, weaving through narrow streets and alleys, past ornate old buildings and very dirty houses, around cows and monkeys, to the back side of the Agra Fort for some great photo ops. (Note the wild dogs – they are everywhere, but I never saw them aggressive towards people, only each other). Then we squeezed across the bridge to the river bank opposite the Taj Mahal for another interesting and unusual view of the monument amid barbed wire fences, laundry, dire poverty, but beautiful, friendly people.

We were treated to Baby Taj, the tomb of the grandfather of Mumtaz, the ruler who had the Taj Mahal created. The ornated inlaid marblework blew me away – I still am in awe when I look at the photos of all the patterns present on the wall, floors, screens (carved from a solid piece of marble WITHOUT laser), domes, faceted ceilings, arches…everywhere. I couldn’t imagine how the Taj could possibly be any more grand than this!

After Baby Taj, we wound our way through Agra to Indiana, an out of the way fantastic restaurant with delectable Kadhai Paneer and lassi. The waiter, Johnny, walked Oliver around while Ali and I enjoyed our meal.

To end the day, we toured the Agra Fort. KK had warned us not to pay anyone to “guide” us. The carvings of the columns and room interiors of the fort were stunning, too. At one point, the skies opened up and rain poured – a great time to make some rubbings of the columns. Oliver attracts people wherever we go – tourists and locals want their photos taken with him. He’s such a rockstar – move over, Bono!

The white marble portion of the fort is where Mumtaz was imprisoned by his son, who wanted to be ruler. The son’s wife took pity on Mumtaz and had the white marble section built to soften his imprisonment. This incredible artisanship was a foretaste of what was to come at the Taj Mahal.