Part 11 – the Taj Mahal

Date: 4/11/2017   Sunny, 70F/99F

The early rooftop breakfast put on for us by the Delhi Shanti Home staff at 6:15 a.m. was very enjoyable — they had their full breakfast staff on hand for us alone, and took this early hour completely in stride as if it happened every day.

Our car arrived right on time at 7 a.m. and we were on our way to New Delhi’s Nizamuddin Railway Station to catch the Gatimaan Express to Agra.  The Gatimaan Express is India’s only bullet train and has been in service only since April of 2016. Our main objective: to visit one of the great world icons of architectural beauty: the Taj Mahal.

But a cloud soon developed. It turned out that our start was in fact too late to allow sufficient time to get to the train station. Our young driver seemed aware that we were short of time and was particularly aggressive in traffic, cutting in and out, dashing through small openings, squeezing through spaces in traffic that were sure to bring the sound of grinding metal (but didn’t) … all to get us there as soon as possible.

Photo 0630, in New Delhi traffic — if there’s not enough room, move to the oncoming lane!

Photo 0657, all manner of conveyances in traffic, e.g. a hand cart

And when we got to the train station, there was jammed-up traffic, horrible parking conditions, and a mass of people going every which way, none of which helped alleviate our state of anxiety about making it to our train.

Then at the train station, amazingly, we learned that the driver did not have our train tickets. He made a few phone calls but this did not clarify where our train tickets were, or how we were to find our train in this large chaotic station. The fact that he spoke practically no English did not help. As we only had about 10 minutes to find our train and get checked aboard, it was starting to look like we were we were in danger of missing its departure, which would ruin our day … indeed it would ruin our whole India plan, as seeing the Taj Mahal was our only reason for coming to India.

As sometimes happens when there is a crisis in an undeveloped country, a group of curious people crowded in around us to “help” us, to spectate and offer advice. I found the train ticket number on my phone in an e-mail that the tour company contact had sent us, but that e-mail mysteriously vanished not to be found anywhere! The situation was looking desperate.

Another fellow appeared saying that he knew the way and please follow him. Bear in mind that this train station has few or no signs in English, there is a maze of confusing ramps, stairs and a multitude of platforms spread across the landscape … it is hard to have any idea where to go! This guy seemed to know what he was doing and at this point we had nothing to lose. We were starting to feel panicky by now, so when he beckoned us to follow him, we followed. He led us through a maze of platforms, stairs and overpasses over tracks and trains and found our train. There was a roster of passengers taped to each car but neither he nor we could find our names.

Photo 3391, our “facilitator” in red talks to conductor, tries to find our place on the train

The fellow told us to get on the train while he talked to the conductors to try to find our names on a list. (Get on the train without a ticket??) Finally (will wonders never cease?) he found a conductor with a list that had our names on it with 3 minutes before the train pulled out of the station. The conductor checked off our names, and our “helper” demanded a payment of 1500 rupees (~$25), which I was not about to argue about at that point … after all, he had saved our day! Whoa!! That was WAY too close!

Once the train was underway, it was fascinating to see the state of things in the villages and agricultural areas we passed through.

Photo 3400, a village along the rail line to Agra

Photo 3546, makeshift housing along the rail line

Between towns, there were highways with all types of conveyances — trucks, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, tractors, horse-drawn wagons, etc.

Photo 3475, all kinds of vehicles on the parallel highway

In the fields there appeared to be harvest activity – it looked like grain had been gathered into “stooks” of wheat (hand-gathered bundles) as my Dad described harvesting wheat in his youth in Manitoba in the early 1900s. Occasionally, you would see smallish round huts in some fields whose purpose I was curious about, wondering if they were for storing grain, or some kind of shelter for people. Most of the agricultural fields appeared fertile and well-cared for.

Photo 3503, good-looking farmland along the way

Most villages were very run-down and looked a lot like the poorer areas of New Delhi, including piles of trash anyplace there was an unattended area.

Photo 3568, trash heap by the railway.JPG

Our train zipped along at around 100 mph, and it took a little under two hours to get from New Delhi to Agra — as opposed to the typical four-hour trip by taxi. When we arrived at the railway station and got off the train, we searched up and down the platform for our guide, but once again could find no one there to meet us. We waited some more … the crowd thinned out as others found their guides and we were left with some beggars, mostly little kids, and other hangers-on. And again, as at Nizamuddin Station in New Delhi, we were feeling abandoned and were not quite sure what we were going to do about it.

Finally we concluded that whoever we were looking for was not there, so we decided to go and look outside the station. And sure enough, standing opposite the station exit was a fellow in a black shirt with a hand-written sign that said “Dean Scott” in his hand … our guide, and it looked like our plan to see the Taj might come off after all.

Our guide (Asif was his name) was a young, tall, good-looking, refined fellow as it turned out. And from the first minute, he started in on the history of the Indian moguls and Shaw Jahan, the builder of the Taj Mahal. Asif spoke very fast and with a pretty thick accent, so I was only able to understand about half of what he was saying. If there was some point that sounded interesting or important, I would have him repeat it to make sure I got it. He also had a mannerism of smiling a huge beaming smile after making a point that didn’t necessarily involve any humor.

Off we went in a taxi across town, and soon came to a large congested parking area. A program has been set in place to ban any gas-powered vehicles within 1 km of the Taj Mahal to protect its white marble finish from pollution (I’m not sure 1 km is enough!), so we got out of the taxi and caught an electric cart-type taxi (100 rupees, please), and headed to the admission area for the Taj Mahal.

Photo 3600, the electric taxi at the Taj Mahal

Next: 1000 rupees please for admission … Asif took our money to the admission window and got our tickets. Then we went through a security check by Army personnel, just like an airport security check – with separate security for the ladies behind a curtain. And on to through the West Gate where the Mogul would enter the site back when the Taj was under construction (1632-1653) and also after it was completed. Workers entered through the South Gate and common people through the East Gate.

After walking some distance along a broad walkway, we came to an arch that looked like it had been designed for a dramatic entrance, and here we got our first real look at the Taj Mahal perfectly framed through the arch. Asif stopped us here to get photos at this strategic spot.

Photo 3638, passing through the Great Gate to the Taj Mahal

Photo 3641, the Taj before us at last

And this continued throughout the tour: Asif would stop and show us exactly where to take a photo for a key angle. It was pretty formulaic: we could see other guides taking their groups to exactly the same places for exactly the same angle of photos. Not that I minded … although part of the enjoyment of photography is figuring the composition and lighting, it was definitely much more efficient use of our time to have the guide show us the ideal places, and even to take photos with both if us in them. As we walked along we would come to other spots and he would have us strike this pose or that, or sit on a certain bench, and stand with our hands this way or that, like the trick photo where you hold your fingertips together pointed downward as if you are holding the Taj suspended by its top.

Photo 3649, Cheryl & Scott at the Taj

We walked around the left side of the garden through the shade of some trees, all the time Asif explaining the history of India, the rule of the moguls down to loss of independence to the British. Shah Jahan was the 5th mogul, and the Taj Mahal is a mausoleum for his 2nd and favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal. It is a love story for the ages. Of his 5 wives, only the marriage to Mumtaz was a love marriage … love at first sight it was said … and the others were political. Mumtaz died giving birth to their 14th child at age 39, only 6 of whom survived. The Shaw planned to build a black tomb for himself across the river … he picked out the site and a foundation was started but it was never built. Later in his life, one of his sons seized power, killed his brothers and imprisoned Shah Jahan for the last 20 years of his life, and he died at age 74. He was imprisoned at the Agra Fort, which we also visited, in an apartment where he could see the Taj Mahal, and where he was allowed to go to mosque once a week.

Before you go up the stairs to the upper “plaza” level to enter the Taj, they give you booties to cover your shoes to protect the white marble. The white marble has yellowed with age and pollution, and the areas that have been cleaned are a much brighter white. We climbed a narrow set of stairs to get to the upper level where the main entrance to the mausoleum is located and got lots of photos before going in, as no photography was allowed inside. Inside there are two replica tombs on the main floor that people file past to see – a large one for Shah Jahan and the smaller one for Mumtaz. The real tombs are below on a lower level. The Islamic calligraphy and geometric designs were made with precious and semi-precious stones from regions scattered far and wide, inlaid into the white marble. This all makes the Taj a thing of beauty from any distance and at any scale.

Photo 3703, Islamic calligraphy and designs inlaid in the marble

After we went through the main Taj building, Asif left us alone for an hour of free time, which honestly was a relief, as he had been bombarding us non-stop with history and facts for a couple of hours, and we were suffering from a case of information-overload. It was pleasant to walk around the upper plaza area with the views out to the gardens and to the Yamuna River on the north side.

There was something odd about this part of the visit: several people, apparently Indians, total strangers, came up to us and asked to have their photos taken with us. This probably happened 10 times while we were touring the Taj. I’m not sure why that was … whether folks here don’t see many Westerners or what, but it happened repeatedly. The funny thing about this is that we saw more Westerners at the Taj than we saw anyplace else in India. In any case, we had a very tranquil hour to ourselves, which may have been the most pleasant part, slowly walking through the garden, going to “Diana’s bench”, where I got a photo of Cheryl on the same bench where the famous photo was taken of Princess Diana was sitting alone without Charles.

Photo 3726, some strangers who wanted our photo taken with them

We continued back to the red sandstone colonnade and spent the better part of our quiet hour sitting in the shade of the colonnade just soaking in the scene of the Taj Mahal and all the people until Asif returned. The was probably the most pleasant hour we had during our whole time to India.

Later in the day, Asif took us to see one other main attraction in Agra: the Red Fort.  This was where the Shah Jahan was imprisoned for the last 20 years of his life — at least he had a good view of the Taj Mahal from his apartment.  He was allowed to visit the Taj once a week for prayers.

Photo 3760, Shah Jahan’s prison view of the Taj Mahal from the Agra Red Fort

With all that and a couple of other sights around town done, Asif delivered us back to the Agra train station for the return trip to New Delhi. But our adventures were not over! When we arrived at the Agra train station, we were presented with an unexpected bill for over 5,000 rupees for use of the car. This was very aggravating – if you hire a tour with a car and guide, isn’t the car included with the tour? And this would nearly deplete my supply of rupees for covering things remaining tips along the way. We did end up coughing up the car money, but I insisted on getting a receipt so we could track how much we paid, to whom, and for what. (It later turned out that this was simply our balance due for the tour, which I had forgotten about, but the car man didn’t know enough English to explain this to us.)

The trip back to New Delhi was around sunset. You could see people were working in the fields right until dusk as the train flew at high speed through the night. The rails were not as smooth as the bullet trains in Japan and China, and it was not hard to imagine some stray animal making its way onto the tracks causing a high-speed derailment! (Scott, you’ve got to suppress those thoughts!) The sun was a big red ball in the heavy haze and pollution as it got low in the western sky. When it got dark, it seemed like there were very few lights on in homes and buildings in the villages along the way … but by the time we got to New Delhi, there were more lights around … more money or more readily available power perhaps.

Upon our return to Nizamuddin Station in New Delhi: more confusion. Again, there was no one there to meet us at the train … we walked up and down the platform looking for our driver from this morning, but he was nowhere to be found. And after 10 or 15 minutes, the same fellow that helped us this morning found us, and not even being sure how to get out of the station we went with him hoping to find our driver. He led us outside the station with other taxi drivers accosting us along the way to take THEIR taxi as we walked along the overpasses and walkways, headed for the exit.

When we got outside the station where all the taxis were lined up, our driver from this morning was still nowhere to be found. Hence a crunch of taxi drivers that descended on us trying to get us to go with them. Our driver from this morning never did show up so now we needed to find another way back to the hotel. The guy we left the station with led us to a driver he knew, who I asked how much it would cost to get to Shanti Home. We were out of rupees, this driver said he would take dollars, and said we could pay what we wanted (oh boy, watch out for that one!), so I decided to go with him. At this point we were feeling a bit desperate to get out of there and back to our hotel.

The trouble then was that none of these people knew where the Shanti Home was! So before we even left the station there was a period of 20-minutes or so standing on the jammed sidewalk among the swarming crowds in the midst of this pack of taxi drivers (and probably general curious onlookers too) trying to figure out exactly where Shanti Home was. I had had the address sent to us earlier in an e-mail by the tour company fellow, but it disappeared from my phone this morning, and I couldn’t find it anywhere. And to make things worse, my phone was running out of battery! Finally … I found the Shanti Home address in our other phone. (It was in the “Trash”, naturally.)

The taxi we took was not in the greatest operating condition – it was continually on the verge of dying due to a slow idle and our driver was constantly having to take a foot off the brake to goose the gas pedal to keep it from dying. (Having to take his foot off the brake to keep the car from dying did not seem to be a completely safe thing to do in this traffic!) And the Delhi traffic was its usual incredibly impossible condition with cars, and buses, and motorcycles continually racing past each other, cutting impossibly close and jamming into spaces where there was obviously going to be a collision with cars coming in front and the sides, continuous close calls with every other vehicle pulling in front of us and pedestrians stepping out in front of us.

And on top of that our driver didn’t know the way, and apparently was a lone operator without an office to call to get directions. Meanwhile I was working away madly in the back seat trying to find a Google map that would show where the hotel was. Finally, I did find a Google map of the area, but it came up with no street names or details of landmarks at all! I could not believe that there would be a Google product so useless! The taxi driver stopped several times to get directions from locals, but still we seemed unable to nail down the location. Finally I found the phone number of the hotel, and the driver called the hotel, and got better directions.

By the time we got to the hotel, the taxi trip had taken an hour and a half! I had decided due to the time and trouble of getting there I would raise my payment from a $20 U.S. to $30. When I handed the driver, it was not “pay what you want” any more … he fanned out the money I had given him in his hands, and shook his head and gave me a look I’ll never forget that said, “after all I have done for you this is all I get?” I was just glad to see the Shanti Home again … I had been wondering if we would EVER see it again!

I realize reading back through this that it paints a rather dire picture of India. I should hasten to add that the all the members of the staff at our hotel were uniformly kind and gracious to us, and completely helpful in every way during our stay. In fact, if we had done all of our booking through the hotel, there is no doubt in my mind that things would have gone much more smoothly.

So our visit to India was at an end. The next morning we returned to the airport traveling through the same chaotic traffic, and same Indian scenes we had seen for the past couple of days, but when we arrived at the airport it was like we passed through some sort of time warp machine taking us to another planet, and suddenly we were back in the calm, serene, ordered world of the West again, and it was like: did all that really happen?