The authorities have wisely banned motor vehicle [...]]]> After a nap, a great hot shower, fresh clothes and an excellent sandwich in the garden of the amzingly cheap and cheerfully green garden of the Guest House, I climbed into the back of a three-wheeler and roared off to see the Taj Mahal before it closed at 6pm.  

The authorities have wisely banned motor vehicle traffic at a point some 200 or so yards short of the western gate to the grounds. This not only cuts down on the air pollution and motor noise, but it requires that tourists walk the narrow street lined with souvenier shops and food stands, and even a few guest houses whose rooftop patios promise special views above the wall.

Here’s what that approach looks like until you reach the entrance gate where you are confronted with a line that seems to extend as far to the west as Mumbai. The time is around 4:30pm. The light from the left is just starting to redden.  The temperature is easily above 95f and the humidity makes every breath palpably wet.  I’m glad I’m wearing loose fitting,  pure cotton clothes. 

The line moves slowly as each person is given an inspection that is the equal in detail of any airport boarding gate, men in one line, women in another that passes through a tented area.  But first, there is a separate line where non-Indian visitors pay an entrance fee that is a multiple of the resident rate.

Westerners in obvious distress at the one-hour wait in line will be approached by a platoon of eager guides. The bartering for my business was brisk and vocal.  The offering price dropped from $20 to $10, at which point I selected Raj, a crisply dressed man who seemed to be in his late 30s or early 40′s. Aside from his price being competitive, he promised to get me inside “within fewer than 3 minutes.” I liked not only the specificity of his time-promise, but his use of language that demonstrated he knew the grammatical difference between “fewer” and “less,” a quality rare even in my own country.  He also said, “Pay me at the end so you will be satisfied.”

I gave him the cash for my entrance fee and he walked to a side door, a few feet away from the normal ticket-buying line and returned within 60 seconds with my ticket and the complimentary liter of ice cold water that all ticket buyers are offered free of extra charge. Then, instead of waiting in the long entrance line, he lead me to the very front of the line and we were waived through by the officer in charge of the inspections. I checked my watch. Only two and one-half minutes had passed.

This incident confirmed to me my affection for third-world bureaucrats. They are always corruptible and for such a small price.

5:50am- waiting for the Taj Mahal to open

Birds in the trees that [...]]]> I was the first person at the ticket window when it opened at 6am. Once inside the gate I lingered briefly along the pathway to the portal that frames the Taj Mahal itself. I wanted a little more light before I encountered the view.

5:50am- waiting for the Taj Mahal to open

Birds in the trees that lined the tiled path were warbling musically to each other. The air was calm. The heat of the day had not yet intruded. A fountain splashed water on the flowers at its base.

As I passed through the portal, I saw a couple who had preceded me by a few minutes. They were on the raised marble platform that is halfway between the portal and the still higher platform of the Taj itself.

There was not one person between them and the monument.

For that moment, and forever thereafter too, they owned the Taj Mahal. Click on the photo below to see what I saw.

The Embrace

The sun was still ten minutes below the horizon of trees to the right. But there was enough light to capture the scene. Click on it to see the full-sized view from which it is cropped.

After the crowds behind us had pressed forward to the monument, after the intimacy of the moment was gone, I spoke with them. They are from Chicago’s North Shore. They were celebrating a wedding anniversary that I might have been marking with someone had things gone differently.

Yes, I envied them. They have seen a Taj Mahal I will never see.

Now the shaded areas outside the perimeter of the plaza are attracting photographers seeking the right angle to capture the color.

Examine the two [...]]]>

Shoes must be removed before going up the narrow marble stairs to the plaza and into the dome. The quiet intimacy of the past half-hour is rapidly dissipating as more and more people arrive.

Now the shaded areas outside the perimeter of the plaza are attracting photographers seeking the right angle to capture the color.

Examine the two last photos above. They are closeups from one of the larger pix further above. The spots of color are polished jewels set into the marble shell. In the low rays of the early morning sun, when you are in the same visual plane as those rays, they sparkle, reflecting light back to you.

The white spots in the closest shot are sparkles thrown back at the lens. To the human eye, they shimmer as you move through each reflected beam. Curved surfaces present themselves differently to the moving angle of the rising sun with the result that different parts of the building, depending on where you are standing at any moment, pick up the sparkle.

Inside the dome, especially in the height of the day, when the sun is high above the shell, they transmit their colors across the opposite surfaces like a ballroom mirror-globe. But, because photos inside the tomb are not permitted, you’ll have to go there and see that for yourself someday.

I noticed that without a single posted sign or admonishment by staff – for there appears to be none but gardeners and tourist guides – most conversations were held in a subdued, respectful voice. Alone, or as couples, or in small groups, people sat quietly absorbed in the experience.

No one dropped a single piece of litter. Consider the significance of that.

Here, in the heart of a continent covered with cow dung and garbage and junk and refuse and rubble and shacks that tremble in the lightest breeze and open sewers and the public disgrace of entire families living totally exposed to the elements on orban traffic islands, in sum what must be the world’s most pervasively polluted and outrageous insult to the environment, there is not a candy wrapper or cigarette butt.

Nor, on reflection and after expanding and studying the incidental details in the hundreds of photos taken over the course of two days within the walls of the monument, can I recall seeing a single waste bin.

That may be the most amazing thing of all about the Taj Mahal!