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We drove to the Taj Mahal (pronounced Tahhj Meyal), yesterday. It is roughly 200km, 4 hours drive from Delhi on a highway. Just like in the states, small towns have built up around the main road. In India, this is dangerous as it means that a constant stream of people, horse carts, jalopies powered by home-made engines from generators and scrap metal, monkeys, cows, sheep, etc. are jumping out of nowhere. Ken mused that they drive by echo-location, here, which is not far from the truth. During the day, it is customary to use your horn to signal that you are coming through, passing, turning. To pedestrian traffic, it usually means, “I’m not slowing down.” Wouldn’t you know it, 3 hours into the drive, with all the possibilities, we hit a deer. The first and last deer I’ve seen on the road. We weren’t traveling too fast – roughly 25 mph – so I have a mild headache as a result, but the thing is dead. Villagers were chasing it across the street, and from my vantage, it looked like it just jumped out of nowhere. Because the intentions of villagers can never be well known, we didn’t stop right there in town to analyze the impact, but stopped a km down the road. The car lost a bumper cover, but was otherwise fine. Thank heavens. After the stress of 3 hours of Indian traffic, I didn’t want to learn about tow trucks, repair shops and transportation. At least not without seeing the Taj Mahal, first.

Rural India surrounding Delhi is a mix of factories (large American sized), farms, and ranches. We also passed one of the largest refineries in the state of Uttar Pradesh, but our only evidence was the constant flair and a few tanker trucks. The people are more colorful. Women dress in kurtas and saris – more often kurtas – but unlike in Delhi, there are blues, saffron, plum… Most of the shops and homes in the countryside look as though their windows and doors are symbolic, as they don’t appear to be paned in glass or hinged to close. Unlike the slums in the city, those in the countryside are not closed tents, but simply rooftops. The poverty is incredible, but somehow not as jarring. I’ve been trying to figure out why these country slums aren’t as offensive to me. I think it is mainly that I knew Bangalore is competing with first world cities, as is Delhi, and that the people I interact with, daily, in business are professional, living what I expected to be at least comparable lives to mine. To see that it was not so, and their daily struggle to meet their own basic needs is so unfathomably challenging, that abject poverty they have to fight through on a daily basis was just that much more offensive. Anyway, back to the drive…

A scaffolding supply company in Noida, outside Delhi.

Roadside bar, which does not actually serve wine.

Common transportation in the small cities is very different from in the city. Tiny autorickshaws are analogous to buses. It was quite common to see 14 people shoved in every possible space of the tiny autorickshaw – kids folded in laps, strangers cuddled close together. Big trucks were replaced with horse drawn carts or bicycles, both overloaded with gravity defying quantities of stuff. Though, as this is a major thoroughfare, there were proper truckstops, too. Basically just a pile of trucks stopped at a cafe or repair tent. Approaching Agra, camel drawn vehicles became more prevalent. According to our guides, the camels migrated from Rajasthan, a more desert climate. In Noida, just outside Delhi, shops were more construction focused. There was the dirt shop which was no more than a small parcel of land covered in piles of different colored and textured dirt. The marble shop – still not as prevalent as in Bangalore, making up perhaps 1% of the shops, here, vs 50% of those in Banagalore – was a pile of marble slabs. As we headed further away from Delhi, the roadside shops were “convenience stores” and restaurants. Just as in the states, you could find tiny little structures filled with bottles of soda and water, packaged chips and junk food. The restaurants were small, exposed kitchens with patio seating strung in christmas lights. Tourism was definitely a basic part of the ecosystem, but the primary funding for these towns came from the well-established factory or farms. Although as I described the living structures seemed to have symbolic windows and doors, the actual architecture differed dramatically through each town. The farming towns had less established dwellings. The factory towns had some apartment structures that looked as though they’d been bombed and never rebuilt. That “bombed and never rebuilt” state of care is quite common across Bangalore and what I’ve seen of the state of UP, but less so in Delhi where people take pride in their appearance of affluence. (but, mind you, affluence in a purely Indian way.) In keeping with the lack of colors in women’s clothing, the buildings across UP are less colorful than in Bangalore, where it was quite common to see pink or smurf blue apartments. Dotting the landscape were random temples of all shapes and sizes. Some towns had giant marble temples – half the size of the Taj Mahal, others had small shrines down back alleys. Whatever the size of the temple, all of them contribute some amount support to the economic ecosystem as for every shrine, there must be at least one shop selling offerings of flower necklaces or rice… In Delhi, there are enforced laws zoning where you can place deities. In the smaller towns, once placed, they can’t be moved.
A big roadside temple:

Vendors selling offerings:

What is so special about the Taj Mahal? It is said to be one of the finest examples of Mughal architecture in the world. Designed as the mausoleum of Shah Jahan’s favorite wife, Mumtax Mahal, the Taj Mahal is made up of a gated grounds, several symmetrical red stone structures and the famous white mausoleum. All of this set against the Yamuna river. Incredible it is. Over the years, the government has noticed the white marble yellowing with pollution, and as a result, motorized vehicles are banned within a 1km radius. The approach is heavily guarded by horse cart, camel cart, and autorickshaw drivers all fighting for your business. Enterprising young kids identify the suckers and introduce themselves with confident handshake saying, “Remember me on your way out. I’m [insert name here].” I was targeted by young Rajan. Probably 7 years old. As soon as I started heading back to the car, the kid accosted me and with innocent eyes exclaimed sweetly, “You said… on your way out…” then smiling optimistically, “300 for these really nice postcards.” They were really nice postcards, but not worth more than 10 rupees. I countered 50, and he walked along offering lower and lower numbers, finally at the 1km gate saying, “Here. Just take them.” I tossed him a 50 and filed this away in my memories. Oh, Rajan, I wish I could take you home with me.

Common Taj transportation:

Once at the gate, the queuing began. Our guides asked what I thought of this, and quite honestly, it felt like I’ve imagined traveling with Jesus was like – a parade of thousands of people walking to one destination, being badgered by the locals. Natives get cheap, generic arcade tickets; foreigners are required to purchase arcade tickets and then pay a passage tax which is actually a commemorative ticket. Women are forced into one line and men into another, and we all must proceed through security. I must not have looked suspicious as I was basically waved by, while the natives in front of me were patted down and rifled through.

As luck would have it, by the time I reached the Taj Mahal, my camera was out of batteries, so I’ve included a few shots of the outside of the gates.

The queues.

The aggressive shop keepers.

I’m certain I did not enjoy the experience as much as I should have. It was an incredible building. Breathtaking. Absolutely incredible. And covered in literally MILLIONS of people – just beyond words! But, the 5 days and 4 hours of India around me seemed to warrant more of my amazement. I’m learning there is a finite amount of amazement. I just hadn’t used so much before in my life.
(The first picture is of my commemorative tax receipt and Rajan’s postcard book.)