I woke up at 5:30 am to the sound of the metal roof of my room being peeled by the wind. It was a dust storm. By the time I got up and showered it had calmed down but the storm had left a thick layer of dust suspended in the air, it looked yellow outside with the clouds overcast. I had planned to see the Taj first thing in the morning before I take an 11:30 bus to Jaipur. Despite the fact that my hotel was next to the Taj, I had to walk a kilometer away from the building down the road to purchase my exuberant ticket. It makes sense to make a ticket window for a monument a kilometer away from the actual monument doesn’t it? I can already see that many others were up at such an early hour to see the building. I was a bit unmoved by the whole thing, I felt like a robot just performing a task: you are in India and you will walk this kilometer back and forth to get your ticket and see the Taj. Despite “looking” Indian, which has spared me some attention, I still get hassled so consistently walking back to the building with my ticket in hand. I started to get rude. Instead of thank you, no, no, which didn’t seem to work, it was so nice, too gentle for these people to understand “NO I don’t want to come to your shitty shop.” so I began to act in a way that they seemed to understand much better, wave coldly with my hand and make sounds like pssssshh! They seemed to understand with such cruel gestures that I was not interested. Why don’t these guys just have some dignity and understand from respectable no? at first I felt guilty for being rude then I realized it is the only way for someone like me to walk down the street here. It was condescending way of refusing what they had to offer but it was the only way they understood. Even at the Taj I was hassled by 4 guys telling me that they are guides, experts and that I need them to see the beauty of the Taj and its symmetry. “oh for God’s sake NO! I have eyes, thank you.” by the time I was inside the complex I was irritated and full of venom. This was perhaps India’s most exploited site. I understand that tourism always exploits sites but what you see here was excessive. It reminded me of how exploited Alhambra in Spain is. Both in Andalucia and in India, these buildings essentially make the state, financially, culturally, and in everyway. The buildings are stripped of their Islamic heritage and reduced to beautiful buildings, architectural achievments. Millions of tourists and pushed down a conveyer line to take a picture from the same spot that everyone else takes a picture from. Gullible tourists are happy to be part of this show. Everyone takes their turn to take the same picture that was probably taken by tens of thousands that day alone. Millions of the same photograph are probably floating out there in the universe but everyone has to take their own.
The Taj really is a beautiful building but it is also boring. Something about its absolute symmetry and all whiteness is underwhelming to the eye. I was much more interested in the little mosque to the left with its red stone and intricate arches. I found it difficult to take pictures of the Taj Mahal up close, there was really nothing to photograph. It is such an object building set on a platform and the only way to photograph it is from that same spot everyone else is lined up for. You know the picture with the Taj in the distance and the reflecting pool in front of it. That is it. Done.
I enjoyed being there for the people watching, since that seems to be India’s endless show for visitors, people. To walk on the main platform one has to take their shoes off. But that doesn’t stop rural Indians who only paid 20 rupees versus the 750 rupees visitors pay, that doesn’t stop them from going on with habits such as spitting and snotting on the ground. The fact that everyone is barefoot never seemed to ring a bell in their heads that oh maybe I shouldn’t lean forward and hold one nostril with a finger while I juice out a huge dangling blob of snot out the other. I am happy that everyone has equal access to the monument but do they even understand what it is? Some of the Hindus actually thought it was a Hindu temple, it was shocking to see people so gullible. They haven’t seen such monumental architecture since most of northern India Hindu temples are not remarkable and not grand in scale but how can people not really know what they are visiting?
Inside the central chamber people would scream like children to hear their echo back. A fat American woman dressed the role (little kaki shorts and a tank top) was leaning over the barrier around the two tombs inside. People shuffling their feet as they go around and make their way back out.
I got my bag and on to the bus stand. As I waited for my departure I remembered “George is dead.” I had finished rereading Christopher Esherwood’s A Single Man a few days before and George died of a sudden heart attack. Luckily I had another book to keep me company but I realized that too will be over too soon, I should have brought more books instead of that dreadful Bepto Bismol bottle. I started reading my new book and was in a good mood. When I got on the bus I looked out the window at the guy selling water and candy next to the bus. He was a nice looking bearded guy in his 20s. We looked at each other and exchanged a smile and I realized how refreshing it is to be smiled at by a stranger who doesn’t want anything from you, not to sell you anything, not to take from you anything, but only to give you a smile. Agra had visibly more Muslims than I have seen in other places, you can even hear the call to prayer in some parts. Culturally I can notice a difference. It is true that in India sometimes you can’t tell what a person is if they are Hindu or Muslim but most of the time you can. Lets just say they seem to have better costumer service. More smiling and less begging to buy their overpriced junk.
The bus to Jaipur was pleasant. I had two seats to myself and was reading, then listening to music and looking out the window. The landscape significantly changed as we entered Rajasthan. It was remarkably flat and arid for some time. It was yellow with a sprinkle of trees. Almost looked north African to me, like Egypt or Morocco. Hmm, actually no probably more like Egypt, it is too flat at this point to resemble Morocco. Being in India has made me so nostalgic for Morocco. Sure we got a little hassle once or twice but that was the exception not the rule. Blinded by the sunlight while on the bus I had a recollection of my last night in Marrakesh with Seth. We were in a beautiful old Moroccan house. The room was all white with a concrete platform with a mattress on top. There was a large black and white photograph, can’t remember what it was, maybe a desert scene or a medina scene. We were in bed in all white sheets and I was looking so close at his face that all I can see around is the white of the walls and the sheets. Almost like we were on a cloud. I took a picture of his face sleeping.
I remember waking up at 4:30 in the morning before dawn to take him to the airport. I had been so used to his company for three weeks that I couldn’t comprehend how I was to spend two weeks alone after that before I would return home. They were three very sweet weeks. He went into the gate and I waited outside the terminal for the first bus back to town. As I sat on a bench and as the first light began I saw for the first time the snowy peaks of the Atlas mountains. They were closer than I thought. We hadn’t seen them when we were in Marrakesh the entire time because it would be too hazy in the middle of the day to see the mountains. Seth was already gone but It was a nice moment to see the mountains so clearly and the dawn of a new day.
But I wasn’t in Morocco, I was still on the bus going through another dreary roadside settlement with piles of trash and pigs rolling in open sewer on my way to Jaipur.
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