Category Archives: India

Agra, Part II: The Taj, and a Word About Public Toilets in India

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DSC_1928Fog greeted us this Taj day, so a sunrise visit was not to be. Clouds parted only briefly, the day giving a less than stellar royal show. Even with the fog and gray skies the monument is wondrous, though truth be told not my favourite site in India.

DSC_1969-1In the days of the Mughals, the way to show your devotion was to build an edifice to your beloved. It is said that Mumtaz’s last wish was that Shah Jahan make something to honour her time on this earth for all eternity. Hindu poet Tagore called the Taj Mahal a “teardrop on the cheek of time.” It took 22 years to complete. So money meets romance in this fairy story of true love. I wonder if Bill would build a monument of this stature to his beloved Melinda?

The mastery of these kinds of artisans is lost today in our immediate gratification and disposable thing-filled world. And maybe as a cry for help we see the once-pristine Taj Mahal graying these days. Ironically, electric vehicles and horse-drawn carriages vie side-by-side to provide tourist transport. And new mandates aim to curb coal fires and other carbon emissions within 10km of this precious landmark. The question that comes to mind, of course, is whether there’s time (or true willingness) to save it.

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I leave the Taj Mahal feeling something like longing for the romance and gallantry surrounding the forts and palaces of Rajasthan, though I would not have missed seeing this Wonder for anything. Its smooth precision and imposing grace make you forget that you are in a mausoleum and not a palace. One might envision a concert with pitch-perfect acoustics in the main chamber or perhaps a grand ball, though Maharanis did not dance with men other than their husbands, and jewel-bedecked grand saris aside, this might have been a rather dull affair. Mughal or Rajput, these dynasties were steeped in princely tradition and familial honour. And as visions of these luxurious lifestyles dance in my head, I follow the teeming crowds to the exit and on to the next destination.

An aside: This is as good a place as any to add my thoughts on being a Westerner and using public toilets in India. As expected, these come in a wide range of, erm, conditions. I give the pay toilets at Agra Fort 5 stars for being cleaner than most. For a mere 10 rupees, a woman shows you to the stall, demonstrates how to use the high/low flush buttons and (once business is finished) turns on the sink. In contrast, though not the worst I encountered, the Taj loo gets maybe 1-1/2 stars. Under the best of circumstances, queues in India are a joke, and he (she) who pushes hardest (or perhaps speaks the best Hindi), usually gets to the head of the line before foreigners. This is where the orderliness of the western world does not work in our favour. Relegated to the queue for “first available Western toilet” was not how I had hoped to spend my last hour at the Taj Mahal. Suffice to say, I see the value in both Indian squat toilets and the accompanying squirt nozzles, though I have yet to figure out proper operation of the latter. The trainer in me thinks there should be a discreet how-to video at immigration.

Agra, Part 1: Where Mughal Emperors Reign(ed)

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Having recently finished The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie, which takes place in and around the city that is Fatehpur Sikri, I have newfound appreciation for the great sandstone marvel that is this place. (I highly recommend that you read it if you have a chance…it does an incredible job of bringing alive the history of this World Heritage Site)

I share some history I learned while in India in this blog post, as we in the West (at least in the suburban NY high school I attended) do not necessarily learn these Eastern historical tidbits in school – we need to seek and ask questions and walk among the ancient structures that survive. The magic of the stories has been carved deep into and woven among the sandstone bricks that have been preserved all these centuries. And as I wander amongst the terracotta and marble structures, I am continually in awe of the handiwork, the craftsmanship and the grand vision it took to erect these palaces, fortresses and walled cities. Will they say this about our McMansions and strip malls 1000 years hence?

Depending, of course, who you ask, it is said that one of the finest Indian emperors was Akbar the Great. This was a Mughal ruler who had a vision for the future and devised – I’m sure much to the dismay of those around him – his own brand of religion, combining core principles from Islam and Hinduism. To show his broader faith, he took Muslim, Christian and Hindu wives. The Hindu wife*, a Rajput princess, was his favorite. *Rushdie introduces an alternate yet fantastic tale about her existence, which is simultaneously believable and enchanting. But I digress…

Akbar was a visionary for his time and an advocate for women, strongly discouraging the common rituals of the day of child marriage and the practise of sati – widows’ throwing themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres. This was revolutionary for the time – it wasn’t until Gandhi that the concept of women’s rights began to gain a modicum of traction in India.

Fatehpur Sikri, this palace complex and microcosm built by Akbar, contained a city within a city (markets, lakes, parks, recreation) and residences for himself and each of his three wives. These were built in the Mughal style with accents from each wife’s tradition. The Christian wife’s palace seems to have a mix of styles, and the Muslim wife had the most intricately-carved and most lushly-decorated residence (jewels, gold inlay, fine painting). But his Hindu princess received a literal palace within Sikri. As she came from Rajput royalty, she was entitled to a residence befitting a queen with a royal pedigree. While less ornately-furnished, this palace is immense and combines the Persian domed ceilings with intricately-carved columns and Hindu architecture, an immense courtyard and the layout I had seen in the other Rajput palaces. It is gorgeous.

As you wander the courtyards and the complex’s structures, you find an astrologer’s room, a “treasury” room with its hidden wall wells in which Akbar stored jewels and treasures (we are still in the age of battling kingdoms here), and Akbar’s sleeping quarters, with a 10-foot high 15’x15′ sleeping platform that allowed cooling water to pool on the floor in the summertime and fires to be placed below the platform in winter. So as not to let anyone forget that Akbar was indeed a Great, in the main courtyard his men constructed a human parcheesi board… his concubines would act the part of playing pieces and he’d order them to their respective places. Great fun for one with that level of power over human lives.

There is also a mosque dedicated to his favorite elephant, Hiran (Hiran Minar; said to have been studded with elephant tusks). This elephant was responsible for the execution of bad guys… (Tarantino might have been impressed: this task was accomplished by Hiran squashing their heads like watermelons!) A hook still can be seen in Sikri’s public courtyard, where Hiran was tied as he did his duty. Rushdie’s words come back to me in vivid sandstone colour as he writes of the raging elephant in its old age… These rulers lived in a manner and with societal rules I can’t even process.

As if Fatehpur Sikri was not enough grandiosity for the day, the next stop was Red Fort in Agra (also called Agra Fort). Truth be told, I was a little “forted-out” by this juncture and was prepared to be unimpressed. But as we arrived at this landmark, I was once again wowed by its largess. While most of this building is still currently used as a military fort (i.e., used by the Indian Army), the public side does not fail to impress…

So the history lesson continues in Agra proper. Akbar began the construction of Agra Fort in sandstone (it is reminiscent of Fatehpur Sikri, though much more fort-ified in many ways), then Shah Jahan (Akbar’s grandson, and the emperor who commissioned the Taj Mahal) finished it with touches of the white marble he loved. Agra Fort became Shah Jahan’s prison for the final years of his life as his power-hungry son, to ensure that the throne was his, killed his brothers and imprisoned his father. Bittersweetly, Shah Jahan’s quarters held a spectacular view of the Taj Mahal. The inlay work in the marble alone should be a Wonder…not to mention the lattice work (carved in marble) and the attention to the views from every angle of this part of the fort.

View of Taj Mahal from Red Fort

And so it was here that I received my first glimpse of the Taj Mahal in the foggy foggy distance and was surprised at the awe (and wonder) that this Wonder of the World elicited in me. We have all seen pictures of this iconic structure, but they don’t do it justice. It all seems surreal. As soon as I left, it was as if it was all a big fairytale. And maybe it is…

Outskirts of Agra: More Time Travel and Amber That Shines Like Gold

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There were two stops this day. The first was somewhere between Jaipur and Agra. Abhaneri was a 30-minute pit stop that time travelled our little tour bus back 1000 years. The village itself looked like a step back to medieval times if not earlier. There are no paved roads in these villages, and the dust that settles everywhere creates an ancient aura to this seemingly cow dung-caked town.

The Chand Baori (step well) is a carved marvel, flanked by squawking parakeets and the occasional monkey. Even 2 weeks into my trip to India, it still astounds me that even common utilities like this well were so intricately-carved, with decoration and images of every Hindu deity imaginable; prayers going out for health, wealth, water and prosperity. This is a farming community after all; the deities still revered even though Muslim factions decimated the temple and the images of the gods here centuries ago.

Onwards, towards Agra, to the city of Amber (Amer).

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I’m learning as I visit the palaces and fortresses throughout Rajasthan, the Rajput royal families lived in quite grand fashion. So the Amber Fort did not disappoint. Smaller than Kumbhalgarh, yet larger than the Red Fort that was on the itinerary for Agra, this castle-cum-palace-cum-fortress boasted double moats (for crocodiles, then hungry tigers, should an intruder get through…) Amer Fort, as it is called, has 4 courtyards…each slightly higher into the clouds, and from each a view of the pink city below. More terra cotta than pink, the view is a step back in time almost 1000 years. Semi-ruins sit beside newer mud and clay and more cow dung structures, and life is carried out as if it were still 1433. Here, I really do think the pictures do the site justice.

New Year’s in Jaipur: Now is What Matters

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Jaipur, in the waning light of 2014. Jaipur is an old walled-in city within a new, bustling metropolis. The charm and the chaos of the ancient Old City market, with its touts and hawkers and fabric/bangle/pocketbook/toy/knick-knack/clothing/shoe/tea/spice/pan stalls is an assault to the senses. You can smell the old city’s streets, hear the horns and bells and calls of the sellers….”meeess, meeess…buy theeess…” You can almost taste the roadside snacks and the grit of the commotion. The colors are explosive, almost fireworks and magic against the dark streets and gray skies. You can feel the frenetic energy vibrating throughout your body. Our contingent of international travellers haggles furiously and we’re pleased with the deals we’ve struck. Kurtis for the night’s festivities. Bags of presents for friends and family back home. We have learned to say no to the hawkers and dismiss the beggars without feeling the shame or heartbreak for not helping those in need.

Reminders of the days of purdah are in every city. The Great Façade that is Jaipur’s Hawa Mahal is essentially a tall viewing stand for the women of the city so they could watch festivals and goings-on in the street without being seen. Stories high, this structure looks like a dainty sandstone fortress rising from the chock-a-block street below. As with many of these centuries-old buildings here, it doesn’t even look real.

The new year’s festivities begin at a local family’s home, where the woman of the house gives cooking demonstrations and serves a magnificent feast for the travel-weary troops. From this and watching the chai wallahs, I’ve learned how to make authentic chai…the real masala tea that contains hand-mashed ginger and cardamom, boiled milk and spices and tea powder and sugar. Pure Indian love poured from a steaming pot. This is one certainty: I will miss this when I return to my western reality. Chai and hand-rolled chapatis, garlicky naan and homemade paneer… I know I’ve passed the Indian spice test when I embrace the mouth-tingling feeling the hand-crushed red chilis add to a masala curry.

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A Bollywood-ish New Year’s Eve party. We wore bindis and kurtas and Rajasthan-made shoes. We danced to Bollywood hits, drank local beer and laughed. One of my most carefree and light new year’s eves in ages, with balloons and party horns and those clicker things…. the music was loud and it somehow overpowered the horns and tuk tuks and general Jaipur din emanating from the street below. We were a kingfisher-infused motley crew, representing most of the 7 continents. New Year’s has no ethnicity.

Indian men hold hands here. It is for camaraderie and connection and maybe just that nice feeling of holding hands, as there are few women around and also this is a conservative part of the country where public displays of affection are still frowned upon. They also, unlike the States, dance together (Bollywood style)… they all know the moves and if they don’t, well, they make them up. It makes for a wildly entertaining spectacle. Women (en masse) are invited up to dance with the men – much like a summer camp social – and guarded by their male friends, cousins, brothers and (in our case) tour guides. This a horny and male-dominated culture, with Kama Sutra roots. Combine that with a conservative state of mind and there is bound to be trouble. Rapes, violence against women…the dark side of this always-smiling, dancing and singing mass of bodies.

India is loud and in your face. So maybe an even more unique experience than Times Square was this semi-Bollywood celebration of New Year’s Eve. This is India. So just before, or maybe a minute after midnight, as we westerners were checking our phones for the precisely correct time to start the countdown to midnight(ish), the lights and sound went out. The din evaporated. And in that 2 or 4 or 42 seconds that the lights and music were dark, with the smell of bonfires in the air, I realised that instead of counting down a year that was, or to a year that was to be, that a big reset button was pressed.

The night continued on, but it felt like we were in that limbo time between the realities of yesterday and the possibilities of tomorrow. There was no talk of resolutions or unachievable expectations for envisioned tomorrows…there was just that feeling in the air of weightless possibility and a celebration of that which is now… This is India. Regardless of the noise and the chaos and the cows and dogs and monkeys and tuk tuks and trash and bumpy roads and funny little Indian men singing Justin Bieber songs at midnight, there is now and there is light. And as ridiculous and absurd and amazing as this place is, there is this pervasive feeling that Now is what matters.

Pushkar: Holy City By The Lake

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Pushkar is this quirky little city, and it is revered as one of the most sacred pilgrimage sites in India. Pushkar Lake is said to have formed from a lotus flower dropped by Lord Brahma. He built temples to his two wives, Savitri and Gayitri, in Pushkar. Savitri temple is the highest because she is his ‘true’ wife, and should be worshiped first and foremost over Gayitri. Read a snapshot of the story here. Pilgrims flock to the lake to bathe in its holy waters, to be blessed by Brahmin priests, to picnic on the ghat steps and renew.

2014-12-28 16.33.28It seems an oddly contradictory city, which sweetly grows on you the more time you spend here. There are fake sadhus and gurus who will take your money. These pseudo-holy men wait by the lake or in the throngs at the market and befriend, then extort, an innocent would-be pilgrim who is just there to find peace. Yet there are pilgrim’s (read: tourist’s) rules to abide when just walking in the streets. No public displays of affection. Women must be covered. No shoes within 30 feet of Pushkar Lake. No drinking. No drugs. All veg, all the time.

The market streets of Pushkar are like a flea market on a Sunday afternoon. With cows. And camels. And dogs. And chai wallahs. And monkeys. There are hawkers of every color in the rainbow, selling every possible trinket imaginable: Rajasthani swords and puppets. Bangles and tinkling anklets. Holy texts and scarves and spices and camel jewelry (and people jewelry) and prayer beads. There are tourists and pilgrims and wandering cows by the dozen in this sacred city. Women in the market sell bunches of grass to feed the cows as a karmic offering. One wonders whether the offering becomes less sacred when it’s a commodity.

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The chanting in the background prevails at all hours of the day and thus provides an ancillary soundtrack to this city. There is the buzzing frenzy of the market, yet by the lake it is a veritable oasis within a city altogether. The buzz fades and the vibrations of myriad oms resonate deeply. It is mesmerizing, enchanting. The monkeys are as reverent as the pilgrims, making their offerings to their deities (or perhaps reaping the pilgrims’ spoils) and bathing in the lake’s holy waters alongside the pilgrims. Marble tiles lead to the terraced landings of each of the 52 ghats (the marble steps that lead down to Pushkar Lake), each ghat carrying its own spiritual significance, character and style. I was transfixed by the light at different times of day as it hit the lake. Here, lake-watching beats people-watching, as observing the comings and goings of devotees is a soothing meditation in itself. I partake in a morning blessing ritual by the lake, honouring ancestors and willing wishes to come true. Orange good luck threads tied to my wrist serve as fraying soft cotton reminders of the light on the lake and the Sanskrit blessings bestowed by the Brahmin priest.

The climb to the top of the Savitri temple revealed a meh-worthy sunrise through the hazy morning sky, though the chai served by the temple attendant at the top was worth the early wake-up call. Monkeys posed for photos in the breaking morning light. It was lovely.

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A trip to the desert is not complete without the ultimate tourist act: a camel ride. So into the desert we ride, culminating with dinner, gypsy dancing and a magic show in an open corral in the middle of the desert. Dressed in gypsy clothes, we ate and laughed and danced into the cool desert night.