[JPM Travel Journals]
INDIA and NEPAL 01
Intro to India
Holi Holy Vrindaban
The Sadhu in Taj's Shadow
Pushkar's Respite
A Sitar & a Vespa in Udaipur
The Clean-Bombing of Mumbai
Goa Beach Hippie Sighting Tours
Unequal Vision in Benares
Everest, Out the Window
Into Their Thin Air
Anna Purr Now
Within You Without You
Rishikesh Part 2
Amritsar: Bold, Gold
His Holiness of Dangerous Liasons
Delhi Visit #5
New Delhi Turns to New York
[ PHOTO ARCHIVE ]
13 March 01
Agra, India.
Saw the Taj Mahal at sunrise this morning, paid the outrageous $20 entry fee, but I saw it. Empty at sunrise; crowded with the conventional crowd of crop-the-top photographers and package tourists, Indian Tourists, by about 9 am. Took my photos in the obligatory places, and chatted with various other travelers that I had seen around in this small town. Was impressed by enormous beehives in the ceilings of the flanking Mosque-edifaces.
The Taj Mahal - A monument to departed love.
My room's in immediate Tajgranj neighborhood, at Hotel Siddhartha, with a rooftop restaurant (read: table and chairs) with a view of the Taj, three blocks away. (The only thing almost as tall is a large red tower painted with the Coca-Cola logo, apparently as enigmatic to India as the Taj.) The room is simple but nice, $2, but the one main drawback that a nearby mosque calls to prayer on the loudspeakers at about 5.30 am. There are worse ways to be awoken-- like by the stench and noise of garbage trucks in Philadelphia or Boston Chinatown. I promise.
Perhaps more interesting than the Taj itself, while walking the back perimeter and gardens I happened upon a small Shiva temple and an eccentric (rhetorical statement, I know) Sadhu, who was quick to show me to the deities and even invite me to sit down for some Masala Chai. Yes Please! It was sublime. He showed me the 900 year old well and the little rooms tucked into this hidden tiny ashram. Made a little prayer, rang a little bell, and he commented on my haircut (the aforementioned auspicious Vrindaban road-side stall head shave in time for Caitanya Gauraparnim festival on the full moon.)
Getting to Agra from Mathura, and before that, from Vrindaban, was a fiasco. I'm still pretty new to this Indian train thing, it being more severe than any other country I've taken a train in. I bought a 3rd class unreserved general fare for the one hour trip; costing a ghastly 75 cents. Well the only car that I could even get in to (physically fit) was already packed with people and we were all hanging out the windows and the sides, propped up like a tokyo subway rushhour, for the hour's ride with one stop. Nice and, uhm, smelly.
Every bicycle rickshaw-wallah in this town rides up to you or flags you down as you walk, asking you where you want to go. (But usually first, 'Sir, What Country?') My personal favorite continues to be 'How are you from?'
Despite, or perhaps because of, it being a touristy (eg. the wheeled-luggage hawaii-shirt troops) town, the food here's been great, and i even got a little courageous last night and had an exotic ice cream-- shaved ice (from a block) syrups, frozen cream, some spices, and some noodles (!) Fantastic. We shouldn't talk about the mental state I was in that facilitated this courage. Suffice to say that the Sadhu's like to share more than just their hot milk tea.
Tomorrow a.m. early off to train station to catch a small bus to Jaipur, five hours, heading into Rajasthan, where I'll move about every day or other on my way towards Jaisalmer in the deserts far west and then heading southward (as long as the heat doesn't drive me mad.)
India is a constant safari. Crazy. Before managing an escape from Vrindaban 'Holi prison' I'd noticed how many (funny) monkeys there were, beautiful parrots in the trees, giant peacocks. And yeah, the cows walking down the street. Snake Charmers, too. Nevermind the filthy dogs.
The shops are closing up, the dogs are starting to fuss and bark, the horn-honking is subsiding a little bit. All this a notion to head back up the steps to my little room, take a cold water bucket shower, brush the teeth, and recline on the firm thin mattress.
On the way home, yesteday, I passed a dead dog in the curve of the street, recently struck in the dark blind curve, and a canine hovering over the blood; whimpering, growling. I bow my head and wonder to myself if it would considered a blessing to die there in Vrindaban, or if this was a punishment. Maybe in his last life he was a rickshaw driver who ran over a few stray dogs.
Pushkar's Respite >>
©2001 JPM. All photography and writing copyrighted.