Shout Out #20
Trip Start
Jun 05, 2006
1
23
41
Trip End
Ongoing
Agra,
India
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
It had been a brief, rough ride and an unfavorable 7 AM departure. The seats were facing sets of wooden benches, 3 people fit snugly on each bench. My seat was on the aisle. The ride wouldn't have been trying had there not been such an excessive number of chai venders
01
. With even intervals a chai vender would pass by about every minute. Because seats are a luxury on Indian trains, every chai vender had to shove his way through the mass of passengers standing in the aisle. Every vender meant another groin or ass smeared against my shoulder and ear. When the intervals were off, several chai wallahs walked by in a line, all shouting (in case someone missed the last round) various phrases involving chai, "Chai-------! ------chai------! ----------chai!" I started to wonder whether they shouted because everybody in the aisle had at least one ear plugged by other people's groins and asses. The taxi and rickshaw drivers outside the train station quickly reminded me that the Taj Mahal is the premier sight in India. My business meant more than a simple ride into town. It was an opportunity to snatch hotel commissions and sell day tours. The drivers are the first contact in the city and the fare into town was more of a consolation prize. The closer I got to the Taj Mahal, the more intense the sales became. On the Taj adjacent streets, shopowners, restauranteurs, gem dealers, tour guides, streetside barbers, chai wallahs, plastic Taj paraphernalia hawkers, samosa venders, shoe shiners, and ear cleaners all made their presence known. Kids just asked for money or chocolate, not needing either.
Agra isn't a beautiful city. Until pollution started to damage its icon, the city was largely industrial
02
. Strict measures imposed on over 300 industries were designed to protect the historical structures. Along with the factories, the new and shiny rickshaws also operate on natural gas. All nearby transport has to remain 500 meters away from the Taj. I spent much of that afternoon roaming the streets. I watched the tall, camel-pulled carts full of Indian tourists going to and from the bus parking lot and the entry gates. Smaller horse-drawn carts also ferried people around the 500 meter zone. Indian tourists aren't much different from American tourists at Mount Rushmore or Disneyland, in dimensions and behaviors both. Food stands were busy and a lot of shiny plastic trinkets were sold by the entry.
Shortly before sunset I paid the hefty entry fee, checked my bag in, and walked through security. The gates enter onto an outer courtyard with water runnels adjacent to the broad paths. A kid finished peeing into the runnel as I walked by. A large north/south facing archway leads to the symmetrical gardens, pools, and the grand view of the 17th century mausoleum. Elevated on a marble base, the Taj Mahal sits only against the sky. The arch was like a portal into a world of sky. Although the pools were empty (no reflection of the sky) the effect was still powerful. The white marble dome captures the mood of each day- it actually paints it across the curves- pulling the sky further into the terrace. The fabric of existence is portrayed in the balance of the elements....air on stone and water in the fire of the climate.
Built by one of the premier Mughal rulers as a mausoleum for his favorite wife, it's an incredible architectural example of Mughal power. After a century of British control leading to independence and partition, most of the Mughal temples, palaces, and forts have been either destroyed or left to decay
03
. Old and New Delhi were both built by people who no longer live in the city. Old Delhi, now in extreme decay, is the creation of Mughal rulers (who probably destroyed the prior settlements) and New Delhi is a monument to British imperial ideals. When India took its independence, the British left. When Pakistan was created, the wealthier Muslim population left. Partition could have been one of the largest migrations in history. The vacancies in Delhi were filled by Sikhs from Punjab; now the wealthiest population in the city. The crumbling Mughal history is written in derelict havelis and temples. In Agra, the Taj Mahal is the supreme icon of the era. It has survived over 350 years of shaky power struggles, and even as a home for group tours, it still manages to express the greatness of human potential. That's if it can survive acid rain and human shortsightedness. Once I'd crossed into the garden terrace, the photography dance began. Certain focal points call to all carrying cameras. Getting that perfectly aligned shot takes quickness and timing. Once I'd worked my way close to the mausoleum, my mind was fully in photography mode. On the marble terrace next to the famous onion dome I saw a middle-aged hippie-ish couple sitting on a stepped ledge. They lounged together without saying a word, just taking everything in. It snapped me out of my scrambling thoughts. I sat nearby and watched the light on the dome change as the sun moved lower in the sky; the hot day was cooling into evening
04
. I had finally arrived. Before it grew too dark, I went in the mausoleum. The light smell of sweaty bodies made me smile. A single lamp hung over the casket in the center of the domed room. At that time of day the light was too dim to discern any faces beyond an arm's reach. The shuffling feet and echoed whispers bounced around the marble dome, blending into a steady whirring sound- almost like a slow, full exhale with lips ready to whistle though just a touch too loosely to fully break loose. It gave an eerie feeling in the half-light, like the spirit of the favored queen flowed within the reverberations. I loved it.
Agra has a few other sights although most tourists choose to move on. I stayed a couple more days only because an explosion of thoughts came to me. I had to write them all down, Shout Out #16 was beginning to come to me. Touts and rickshaw-wallahs waited before giving the sales pitch (a miracle in itself) while I knelt on the side of the street scribbling notes in my journal. A few weeks after being in Delhi I was starting to understand what happened- I could then write about it. Trying to ink-out the nature of all the experiences this past year has brought an additional layer of understanding to everything. I like sharing my words but the Shout Outs are for my own exploration. Taking the time to let my thoughts come out is as important as moving on to the next city or country
05
. Oftentimes the days with little or no agenda are the most revealing anyhow. The Taj entry fee quickly depleted my rupee supply. India has a way of throwing in some masala to the most basic errands. There's one ATM within three kilometers of the most expensive tourist destination in the country. It was out of 500 rupee notes, giving only limited transactions with its abundance of 100's. (At this point, $1 was worth approximately 45 rupees. The rupee continues to strengthen and is now going for about 40 per $1) The ATM guard pointed me across town for the next closest machine. A policeman and a rickshaw wallah both had me staked out upon departing the booth. I hired the rickshaw, so did the cop. As we pedaled away, the policeman called to the driver and rattled off something involving the number 5. (It's common to hear English words or phrases tossed in on a conversation). Without being prompted, the driver did me the courtesy of translating the remainder of the discussion for me. The cop wanted 5 of the posh 20 rupee fare I was paying. I made him an agreement. I'd pay another 10 (the going commission rate for getting me inside a store) if he took me straight to the ATM, no shopping.
Being a poor man, my 20 year-old driver was having trouble finding a wife. His spirit was high, his hopes were low. On that day fortune was on my side. After a ride across town and a visit to 5 of the 6 consecutive ATMs, I hit the jackpot
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. I now had enough money to collect a reasonable dowry for my esteemed hand in marriage (if I could somehow convince a future mother-in-law I was of sound ethics).The pre-summer, sub-scorching temperatures in the near-desert climate motivated a search for a good swimming pool. Like the banks and ATMs, the upscale hotels with pools are all on one street. By some freak incident of rational thought, the two streets are near one another. None of the pools was conducive to swimming laps though. The best option had a group of about 15 young Indian men playing as only Indians play. They all had spandex suits- pulled up to the belly-button, barely covering their butt-cheeks- and they jumped, splashed, and laughed like it was simultaneously the first and last pool they'd see. I can't picture a similar sight in any other country.
Later in the afternoon, the playing switched to a swimming lesson/competition. A man I assumed to be a casual lifeguard made basic gestures on how to move the arms in the crawl stroke. Generally speaking, Indians don't know how to swim. Drowning is common on pilgrimages to the sacred waters of the Ganges. One-by-one they dove, flopped, plopped, or skipped into the pool and scrambled to reach the opposite end...not that far away. A few actually made it across. The guy with the best stroke always got out and swaggered to the diving side of the pool. I thought of the times in life when I've had the swagger. Accomplishment can so easily be inflated if some part of the ego thrives on inflation. It's like a mental Reagan administration- without prior inflations, it probably wouldn't exist. In a way life is about telling all the mental politicians to keep cool- they want to talk about Star Wars and I want to sit in silence.
A rickshaw was waiting for me outside the hotel
07
. He saw me being dropped off and waited all afternoon for a 20 rupee fare. I made him the same deal, 30 and no shopping. If you don't mind paying more than the ride is worth, these arrangements go very far. His rickshaw (a.k.a. Indian helicopter) was different than any I'd seen. It sat lower to the ground, the seat was more comfortable, and the ride was half as jostling; almost as if it were actually designed to carry people. He appreciated my appreciation and proudly said it was one of the ten like it in Agra. He pulled to the side of the road and excitedly showed me how 'tired fat people' can back into the seat and plop down with little effort. I was traveling in luxury.I'd had a seat to myself for much of the ride to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan. When the guy sat next to me, he did a quick little prayer as the bus pulled back onto the road. Nearing the city, it was now full- many hopes and prayers going to the desert. We stopped in the outskirts of town and a group of auto-rickshaw wallahs tried to lure me off the bus. It's often difficult discerning which stops the buses or trains are at, fortunately I'd been warned. The drivers can score big commissions taking tourists several kilometers to town, dropping them off near the station the bus is already headed for. I made it safely to the center of the Pink City without incident.
At the correct stop I waded through the group of Independents and found the pre-paid stand
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. My driver had a companion riding up front with him. It's not an uncommon arrangement. Shortly into the ride the questioning began: Where are you from? (Are you wealthy?) How long have you been in India? (Are you a sucker?). "Guatemala. (Por su puesto.) One month." (Trusty Guatemala...it always cuts to the chase with people obviously in pursuit) The companion tried to hand me a piece of paper. Guides make deals with rickshaws to make first contact with foreigners. I refused to take the sheet with his tour rates."Why won't you look?"
"I don't care what it says."
"But this is my job."
"It doesn't work for me."
"Do you read English?"
"Yes." (I can also read between the lines)
"Are you here for business?"
"No."
"Don't you want to see things?"
"Yeah, I just don't know when."
"It's only 300 rupees."
"I like to walk anyhow."
"It's too far to walk."
"I don't care
09
. It doesn't work for me to make plans with you for tomorrow.""It's only 300 rupees."
"I don't care. It doesn't work for me."
They both stopped talking to me the remainder of the way. (Possibly thinking Guatemalans are bigger assholes than the Americans who at least look at the sheet)
My plan was a brief stay in Jaipur then I'd move on to some of the other cities in Rajasthan. With much of the Thar Desert in its boundaries, Rajasthan has some of the best natural sights and some of the best cultural highlights in India...camels, gypsies, snake-charmers, vibrant clothes, desert forts, and deep folk art and music traditions. That was my intention anyhow. Events led to events and the stories I was planning to write took a much different shape and form.
