We awoke to meet our driver, a man who spoke absolutely no English and had the cold demeanor of an army general, and left towards Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Along the way, we stopped sporadically to photograph a few things, including a lavishly tattooed camel, a trick monkey dyed red, and badly translated road signs. We had to fend off beggars and hagglers every time we tried to get back into the car, who would block our doors and surround us, pawing us like desperate kittens, but turning fierce when their financial appetites were not satisfied. There was one man, having to walk on his hands for lack of legs, who literally chased after us begging for money. It was a bit unsettling seeing a man sprinting after you on his hands, disappearing briefly as we got into the car, then hearing the thump of his body as he lunged and pulled himself up by the open window, showing his gnarled teeth and hissing “money…money…” Our driver dispatched the para-palegic intruder, and we made our escape towards the legendary monument, leaving our opportunistic roadside foes alone to perfect their plot against tourists and unsuspecting motorists.
Lavishly Tattooed Camel
Marooned Trick Monkey
A little further down the unevenly paved highway, we passed a seething mass of brightly colored Hindu women funneling into what looked like a roadside circus tent. The Taj Mahal being a stationary monument, we agreed that it would still be there after we investigated. We turned around and pulled over, jumping out of the car with cameras at the ready like a platoon of photo snipers. Not 10 steps from the car, a man motioned to us and came over smiling. He introduced himself, clasped his hands in front of his chest and bowed in the endearing Indian way, and told us to follow him. As we walked around the side of the giant tent, music and voices echoing through the tented walls, my journalistic experience triggered a realization; he was taking us through the back door towards the front of the stage.
Roadside Attraction
As we approached the back door, which was being guarded by heavily armed but friendly sentries dressed in pink, the look on Brady and Chad’s faces told me that they were just having the realization that I already had; that when we walked through that door we would be in front of nearly 6,000 Hindu men and women, to stage left of the leader of the ceremony. Immediately to our left was the house band, playing instrumentation for the service, and in front of us, a crowd divided in half by netting and gender, clapping, singing, and looking directly at us. Taking our shoes off, we were led to a white sheet laden section on the ground for special guests and the holiest of Hindu Men. We were definitely the only non-Indians there, and were treated as guests of honor, and given the best seats in the house. The faithful smiled and bowed as we looked around and photographed, under the semi-correct assumption that we were journalists of some kind. The singing and clapping was jubilant and rhythmic, and created a powerful energy.
Sentries in Pink
A Crowd Divided
Holy Men
On the stage before all of us was who the congregation believed to be a living god, in the flesh, dressed to the 9’s in creamy colored stylish suit. He sat with his eyes half closed, left hand clasped in the way of the lotus, and languidly swayed as the crowd sang his praises. Looking more like a sharp dressed businessman than a living god, he even had a business card with his email and cell phone on it. Can you imagine? “Hello, is God there?” All of us wondered what kind of a guy he was, and what it would be like to have a beer (or tea) with him. Was it exhausting being worshipped in this way? Was it a full time job that he relished, wishing that he had more paid vacation? We were led one by one to the base of his altar to photograph him, and as we sat back down, the faithful behind us would crane their necks through the volleyball net to look at the LCD, bowing and touching their foreheads to the ground after a glimpse, and thanking us profusely. They would point to the camera screen, then to the stage and say, “God!” I could hardly believe it, as I had never seen anything like it before.
Sharp Dressed Man/God
Volleyball Netted Crowd Control
We paid our respects to “God,” and slowly worked our way back to the car, delayed by the hundreds of people that wanted to shake our hands, hug us, and have their pictures taken with us. If only we were as famous and accomplished of journalists as they perceived us to be…Either way, we were honored to play the part.
Female Faithful
Late Comers Left Out
Bearer of Holy Water
Putting the reaming kilometers behind us, we finally arrived at the Taj Mahal. Cars can only go to a certain point, so we got out and boarded rickshaws for the remaining distance. A throng of children followed us trying to sell us books and postcards, latching onto the rickshaws and hitching rides in persistent hope of selling their goods. One little kid named Lucky even had a business card; selling Taj Mahal books is a full time, internationally demanding job. We bought our tickets and took the ride, along with the other 4,000 people there. Being that crowded made it difficult to photograph, and there were queues in some places for the best angles. But the crowded conditions did not detract from the beauty and grandeur of the monument. Carved almost entirely from white marble, and intricately inlaid with hundreds of thousands of tiny precious stones, it was the most beautiful structure that I have ever seen. The beauty being in the details, our guide gave us a wealth of information on the process and the history of this testament of everlasting love, and that made it all the more impressive.
Love’s Greatest Monument
Wandering around the grounds, I managed to get a few interesting shots, but mostly just contemplated the amazing structure. Shah Jehan was a hopeless romantic after my own heart, and made quite possibly one of the most resounding marks in history for the love of a woman. They still lie there together, buried beneath the central chamber, together for eternity. Were I a lavishly wealthy conqueror, and had a soulful companion in a woman, I would probably do something similar. But I have neither, so when I do find her I will just have to stick with symbolic grandeur. But in the end, true love really is timeless, outlasting our mortality in reminders like this one.
Marbled Majesty
Returning to our rickshaws, we were chased by the same souvenir pushing youths, so clingy and desperate that they ran alongside us the whole way back to the car saying, “good price” and “you buy.” Having some time to shoot some more, we had our now sometimes smiling driver take us to a nearby rural village that he knew of, to see if we could make some new friends and photographs. This is precisely what happened as soon as we got there, the kids gathering around us and giggling at their portraits. We were soon being led around by the hand in different directions to the homes of some of these children. Much like it was in Pakistan, it quickly became a game for the children, almost a photo scavenger hunt of sorts. We were taken behind closed doors, down alleyways, behind barns, and into homes. Many of the families were cooking, having tea, and just conversing, so the atmosphere was very genuine and intimate. The result were some really great portraits of some very generous people, and an exclusive tour that we would have never seen driving down the road. I much prefer the rural villages to cities, as the people are usually more genuine and hospitable. They are also much more traditional and simple of mind and life, and I find those to be more interesting photographs. After nearly two hours, the sun began to set, and so we parted ways with another beloved little village, and went back to our hotel.
Bathing Village Boy
Mother in Red
Papa
What Lies Behind Closed Doors
Surveying the amenities of our surprisingly classy hotel, we learned that there was a Mughal restaurant inside that served the Frontier Province food that we grew to love so much in Pakistan. Brady having developed an insatiable addiction to Mutton Karahi, this was the first on the list of activities. There was also a really nice spa and sauna, and after a tour we decided that it was worth the price of admission. After a few brutally hot sauna sessions, and a skin pruning soak in the jacuzzi, we decided to read our eyelids for the rest of the evening. In the morning we were driving back to Delhi to catch an overnight train towards Dharamsala, the mountain refuge of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, where we were going to try and quiet our minds for a few days.
