The Taj Mahal

We woke up today at 5am to grab a cab to the train station to Agra and the Taj Mahal.

Katie and I boarded the train in car D7 with seats next to one another. There are benches three seats wide technically, although the locals pack 'em in as much as possible. The windows slide closed with a metal grate or vent and for the life of me, I couldn't help but feel some sense of doom.

We weren't shoved in like cattle, but the train has a well worn in feeling. Used. Not like a good shoe, but stiff, uncomfortable, outdated. Nothing fancy at all.  I haven't noticed much graffiti in India.  Not on the trains, or the platforms, not on the building as we rode today.  I guess spray paint is a luxury.

And the smells headed south along the track. Rank stench. Not immediately upon entering the car, but as we traveled south of Delhi and passed through slum after slum, I had to cover my nose and mouth with my scarf. I began to understand what others had warned me about. We have been sheltered, Katie and I, so far. Quite sheltered and comfortable.

Trash is piled everywhere, not bags of trash like on the sidewalks of New York, or like you chuck into your garbage can at the curb. But mounds of it. All arrays of colors, picked over countless times. And piled next to people's one room dwellings, three-walled shanties with a blue tarp ceiling if lucky. Cows pick through the garbage. Goats. Humans. Children.

Men defecate in the grass 20 yards from the train tracks as the trains pass, in full view of passengers, standing up and dressing when finished.  Sanitation is lacking at best.  And rain water washes waste into pools in gullies, glowing green at times, radioactive swirls among a murky, dark gray, flies aswarm.

The family of three across from us ate breakfast on the train, tossing each piece of trash out the window as its contents were consumed. A juice box, aluminum foil, a chips bag, and so on.

The only one with any qualms about doing it was the son. It's old hat for his parents. I imagine their rationalization, "We don't live among the rubbish, so what's the big deal?" It makes me wonder what Indian prisons are like. Do they have the overcrowding that we do? And how come certain crimes don't receive trash pick-up as punishment? Then again, I'm not sure that all the criminals in the world on trash duty could remedy India's problem.

A boy who looks like he's five, but is probably a malnourished eight, just passed through the aisle. He has a coal mustache drawn on his lip, what looks like charcoal for eyeliner, and cheeks painted red. His partner in the show follows him beating a drum. The first boy is wearing a beanie with a string attached with a lead sinker at the end. He claps his hands, swings the beanie putting the weight into orbit about his head, and strikes a pose. For his next trick, he climbs into a ten inch metal ring and wriggles his entire body through it, then raising above his head. He's so thin, it's not as impressive a trick as it is sad. After the show, he walks around with a pan for donations. Next come the ladyboys. Dressed in saris, one leans onto the men across the aisle from us, teasing and joking with them. I'm not sure whether services are being offered and denied or appointments are being finalized. Three pass through the car. Their ruse: give me money or I'll show you something you really don't want to see. They exited the train at the next stop, and I watched as the last of the three "women" handed some portion of her earnings to every beggar she passed. Robyn Hood. Peppered into the aisle's mix are also an endless procession of chaiwallas, a monk-type selling useless noise-makers, coffee hawkers, and purveyors of all sorts of snacks. It's quite an affair. Everyone undertaking his daily business on the train for his daily naan.

When we were boarding the train in Delhi, a Chinese dude walked up to us to confirm that this was in fact the train for Agra.  And then once in Agra, he and his friend found us again and asked if we wanted to share an auto-rickshaw to the Taj. Why, yes. He and his buddy Andres discussed a few things (in SPANISH!) and off we went. Talk about psyched!

Now we could discuss things, what to pay, general feelings about India, what to tip, all of that escondido (read, hidden). So many people speak English here and stare at you such that you can only assume they're eavesdropping. Meanwhile, they can turn to each other and talk about you in Hindi, so it was relieving to be able to chat with no one else listening or understanding. Not that I have anything to hide. It's just comforting to be able to have a private conversation among the throngs of people.

The Taj Mahal is huge.  Gleaming white with pools

and gardens surrounding it, it is imposing and yet somehow subtle.  Flanked by buildings of red sandstone, the Taj hovers, even glows on the horizon. A hallucination.  The sky today was hazy.  We had a brief shower but clouds remained and the Taj seemed to float among them.

Katie brought her polaroid camera and took each of our photos.  As we walked toward it, we watched as the Taj emerged in front of our eyes, and then watched it come to life again in each of the polaroids. Built out of love, the Taj Mahal appears and presents itself in the same way, with a grace and subtlety all its own.  

While we weren't able to catch it at dawn or dusk as most recommend, I am thrilled to have witnessed another wonder of the world.

The remainder of our day was spent touring Agra.  Our driver gave the four of us, Katie, Yang, Andres and me a personal tour of their fort in town, and then pushed local artisanry on us. We visited a marble shop, a hand-sewn clothing and sari shop, and a silver shop.  We finished with lunch and some brews.

Our train back was delayed, as is apparently often the case in India.

So we opted to hop on Yang's and Andres' train. And then their train was delayed as well. "Dang, Yang!" was pretty much our tag line for the day.  So the four of us hung out and chatted while waiting.  We added a German girl into the mix as well, Suka from Hamburg.  Birds of a feather... Two hours later, all five of us boarded Yang's train, despite the fact that each of us ladies had a ticket for another train and train company.  When the conductor came to gather tickets, thankfully Andres flashed his, which proved enough evidence for the rest of us. Phew!

The poverty and the struggle one born with nothing has to overcome in India seems almost insurmountable. I cannot imagine a life of begging.

While waiting on the platform for the train, one girl, maybe seven, spotted the five of us and approached hand out, sad-faced. When her little sister (I assumed) came over to us as well, the older sister beat her away, pushing her to the ground. Half playful, half rebellious, the little one continued to approach us, suffering greater wrath from her sister. The last time the little one approached us, the elder chased her off for good, and returned to us hand extended. I looked at her square in the face and said, "If that's how you treat those you do know, how can you expect any kindness from strangers?"