Back to India

On our way back to the hotel that evening, we spotted a magnificent golden statue. We discovered it had some special significance - bearing in mind that we were there just before "The Festival of Lights", so it may have had something to do with that. The pic below is of the traffic on the way to the statue. We had a thin little dusty skirting along which to walk - with all the craziness of the Delhi (well India) traffic.

The walk was definitely worth it. The pic below does not do the statue justice.

The statue was probably about three or so stories high, golden in colour and iridescence and beautifully under lit. I think it was Ivanka and Deidre who managed to convince a couple of security people to allow us to go into the park - which was meant to be closed. We were under strict orders that we were only allowed 10 minutes in there. I had obviously not clicked in terms of this arrangement, and so was busy trying to take it all in, when the whistle started. In India the way in which people are controlled is via the whistle. So I am afraid that this pic does not do it justice - but you get a sense of it.



I have to say that even with us walking down to the statue in the evening as three women - two or three of us with cameras and all with cells, I never felt at all in danger (unless one counts the traffic!). It was an incredible feeling as much of my time in India during the Pre-Conference tour I wandered around with my camera and cell around my neck, and barring one occasion when I had an inkling that it was time to go back to "more familiar territory" in Agra, I never felt at all ill at ease. And this was despite all the poverty and begging that took place almost continually.

That evening Christine spent the night trying to get some sort of response with regards her cell - she gets it synced for sms only when we travel, and it had not connected. The result of which was that after the changing of rooms and trying to sort this out, we ended up in bed quite late that evening (even if one did not take into account any time differences). I thought I was ever so clever keeping my cell on SA time (I am useless with time differences) and my watch on India time. I decided to set my alarm on my cell for the following morning - not remembering this little factor, and so, the following morning we were awakened rather suddenly and gathered our scattered wits about us as we were late and holding the entire tour party up! Needless to say the cell was then fixed on India time after that! :-)

The following morning we then left New Delhi in order to head off to Agra. Now, what I discovered is that there is New Delhi and the original Delhi. New Delhi is filled with the newer aspects of life – including the representatives of government. It apparently has a number of people who were in government still living in the accommodation that was provided when they came into their position. Then, somewhere along the line they were relieved of their positions – and now India sits with the problem that these officials have refused to move from the accommodation that was provided. What the new officials are doing for accommodation, heaven alone knows – but there we now have a myriad of rather plush and well-kept homes that belong, I would imagine to the “people of India” forming the residences of people who are no longer in power. I tell you one thing, India taught me that SA is amateurish in comparison to India when it comes to these rather dubious practices!

The heat and humidity in India was really quite something. I do not think that the rains that we experienced in the first day or so that we were there helped matters, as they did push up the humidity levels. So, the buses that were air-conditioned offered an enormous relief to that! It was possibly one of the gripes about the trip – the amount of time that was spent travelling in buses to go from one place to another. It offered us some sense of “relaxation” in terms of trying to catch up with sleep to assist the fairly minimal jet-lag, but the other side of the coin was the fact that the seats were not built for sleeping, and then if one sat somewhere near the front, there was a choice of looking at the driving-habits of the bus driver and other people on the roads or trying to sleep rather uncomfortably. I joined Deidre in the front seat of the bus on one occasion, and that was hair-raising to say the least. The amount of dubious driving practice that was followed, not only gave me a tension headache, but also caused me to feel more than slightly nauseous!

I was fascinated by the animals that simply wondered about the country – in cities, villages or along main or other roads. Some areas we encountered cows, others water buffalo and then of course the perpetual sight of dogs.

The water buffalo fascinated me – they have the most incredible hides – they almost look as though they had been polished each morning – all shiny and almost smooth. Quite interesting. And, they wondered wherever and however they pleased. The could be seen foraging for food in and around the road sides, wandering along the roads and in the roads, or wallowing in water-holes of various types. All rather interesting – but I digress.

We stopped en route at what appeared to be an eatery that was fairly remote, and yet when we arrived, we were expected and there was a buffet meal waiting us. In addition there was a pretty well-stocked shop that was attached to the restaurant. Some people bought odd things there, but in the main, I had a sense that the place was over-priced and that there was really nothing that I felt was really worth-while or that I thought people back home would appreciate. In fact, I was a huge disappointment to people in that I just did not find things that I wanted to spend money on. Either things were (in my book) expensive, and often badly produced, or they were simply kitsch.

Our suspicions were confirmed at this restaurant/shop in terms of kick-backs. Christine bought something and then saw one of the tour guides pop back and receive cash. When she challenged him and suggested that this was a crooked deal – there was huge protestation and a great deal of “looking hurt” about the fact that we would actually suggest such a thing. Needless to say, the man did not travel with us on the bus for the rest of the trip to Agra – choosing instead to travel on one of the other buses.

When we arrived in Agra, we checked into the hotel (again a rather dubious sleeping arrangement, but at least this time we had twin beds as opposed to the double). It was then off to the Taj Mahal. I think that for me, I had expected a more spiritual feeling during my visit in India. Sadly, this was something that I did find missing. I found that there were just so many people at so many of the places that we visited, it was rather overwhelming. Even at the Taj, as I have described to a number of people, I felt as though I was shopping at Sandton City on Christmas Eve – such were the crowds of people. I am not too sure why, but for some reason I expected the experience to be a lot different – but then when one is visiting places that have value for so many different reasons, I guess that was a rather naive expectation.



The Taj was, funnily enough, the one place where I did ensure that there was a moment when I took the time to ensure that I was able to fully experience where I was. For those of you who have not been there, I will try to capture some of what the experience was. We travelled from the hotel to a parking lot, and the place where one purchases the tickets to go for the Taj experience. Included in this ticket-price was a set of those slip-on foot/shoe covers that one sees doctors wearing, as you are expected to remove your shoes when going into the mausoleum of the Taj. Once our tour guide had the tickets, it was then time to get onto a variety of smaller transport vehicles (I think many of them electrically motorised, but I stand to correction) and then we were taken the rest of the way towards the Taj’s enclosure. We were dropped off at a particular point, and from there, the rest of the trip was on foot. We then had the “fun and games” of battling our way through the traders – many of them young children, who were tasked to try and get us to come into their small stalls (similar in size to those at the flea market at Brightwater Commons) in order to purchase their wares. Again, as I have said, I found nothing that really "shouted out" to me that I needed to purchase it – and in any event, as I mentioned to a number of people, if Mum wants me to stop spending, all she needs to do is immerse me in that bartering/trading situation, because as soon as I was being accosted by people to come and buy their wares “at a special price, special for you”, it turned me totally cold in terms of the experience.

Once we had negotiated our way along this road (probably about 100m or so), we then entered enormous wooden “gates” that had become pretty common-place in terms of the entrances to may of the monuments. They were huge, sturdy and relatively ornately covered with metal work and panels. Through these, we then had to go through the “security”, which consisted of two queues, one for men and one for women, as they do a quick pat down body search and get one to walk through an electronic detector. They are also pretty strict about the camera equipment that one is allowed in any of these places – still cameras are fine, but as soon as one wishes to take in a video camera, there is a charge.

Once we had all passed through this security point, we then walked about another 100m between buildings on either side (and obviously an ex-military building (but possibly still one?) and between the buildings and the central walkway, the most beautifully manicured lawns that were blocked from human traffic via chain and metal pole protection barriers. Following this, I was then faced with a beautiful red stoned building to my right – which I foolishly took to be the Taj and was a little disappointed as I had certainly expected more. It was one of those things where I had heard that the Taj changed colour with the time of day and the weather, so not knowing what I was supposed to be expecting, ad being so used to being bombarded with “so much” that was my reaction.

Well the group turned right and walked towards the archways of this red building. Someone mentioned to me that if I wanted to, I could get a good camera shot if I looked through the archway. I followed the crowd up the stairs and into the red fort-like building, and there it was – the beautiful white marbled Taj ahead of me.


Between me (and the red building) and the Taj, there was a dual pathway. In the centre of this were a number of water features and on the outsides of the pathways more manicured (and protected) grassed areas. An indication of both the poor drainage of the area and the amount of rain that had fallen was evident in one of the lawn areas that was covered by quite a lot of water – probably about 10 to 15cm of water.

We walked along the pathway, and before being “permitted” to disperse our various ways the tour guide arranged for all the tour party to cluster in a group a fair distance from the Taj and then took a photo (which he subsequently had enlarged and printed – and then sold back to all who wanted a copy for 150 rupees each!). Then he told us that we had time to spend there and were all to meet on the outer side of the red building entrance at whatever time. We had arrived just before dusk, and so after a “photo opportunity” of the Saints group, we all made our way towards the Taj. There I passed people posing for the “famous” shot of catching the hand effectively grasping the top of the Taj – all part of the optical illusion that one can create with a photo; and then people posing for various photos of “the moment”.


As I moved towards the Taj itself, I was buffeted by the enormous throngs of people all heading towards or travelling back from the Taj. We got to the base of the building and had to turn either right or left up a set of stairs and then onto the outer-perimeter-raised-veranda (as it were). Shoes had either to be handed in at the base of the stairs, or simply covered with the porous covers that we had been issued with. Sillily, I decided to remove my shoes, leave them at the base of the Taj at a kind of shoe collection zone and simply cover my feet with the slip over covers. I say sillily, because the ground was absolutely wet, and so within a short space of time, apart from being protected from some of the dirt and whatever previous people had walked through the same area, I was left with wet feet!

None the less, I followed the phalanx of people up the first set of stairs and then to the “Entrance” steep stairs to the outer perimeter of the Taj Mahal. From this steep stair case the entire area was marble – whitish-grey marble – and in these weather conditions treacherously slippery. Apart from the babble of voices of the hordes making the same journey, there was shrill whistling from the officials trying to marshal people through the mausoleum. The Taj Mahal is “open” from sunrise to sunset – the sun was fast setting and the people were thronging in to absorb this monument to love.

We moved through and went into the inner chamber of the mausoleum. One needed to have your wits about you, as the entrances of the doorways often either had a lip or a small stair that had to be negotiated. It was dark, but for the dull light at the centre of the mausoleum where the Shah Jahan and his wife, Arjumand Banu Begum are both interred in their own sarcophagi on pedestals about waist-height. No photography is permitted inside the mausoleum, and darkness was all over due to the time we reached the Taj. In the centre where the Shah and his wife are interred, the public basically travels around the perimeter of the central island. The outskirts of this central island has what seem to be four rounded latticed walls, which prevent anyone from being able to get in – and where there are gaps in these walls, chains have been fitted.

Having been surrounded by people, people and more people, as well as feeling that I had not been able to capture the “essence” of India thus far on this trip, I consciously took a moment in the semi-darkness of this central room; withdrew myself from the thronging crowd and closed my eyes, shutting out the people, the whistles the officials trying to hurry us all through and as much of the external busy-ness with which I was surrounded, and then calmed my mind and focused on where I was.

Suddenly it all came flooding towards me. I was in a room in which a Shah who had had such love for his wife that he had had built this incredible, world-renowned monument on her death, as a tribute to their love. Suddenly I was filled with the power of their love, and the power of Mum and Dad’s. Suddenly, and almost probably for the only time on the whole trip, emotion filled me and I was drawn to think of the special love that my mother and father had shared and I was overcome by the emotion of the experience and simply burst into tears. They were tears of loss that Mum must and does feel for and of Dad; tears that Dad would never be able to share such an experience with me; and tears because I knew that Mum would appreciate being there – but I know that she will never travel there for a myriad of reasons.

For the first time, I became conscious that it was dark, and that the darkness afforded me a little privacy at this intensely personal moment that I was experiencing – and for that I was grateful. I joined the hordes, this time grateful of their buzzing noise as a mask for the tears and sobs that I was experiencing. Eventually we snaked our way to the outside, and this time we were on the other side of the Taj.

From here we could see the river that flowed at the base of the property and in the distance could see the Red Fort (that we were to visit the following day). Deidre, Ivanka and I caught up with each other out here, and took some time taking in this magnificent structure and the splendour of it at this lovely time of the night as the bats darted through the air. In time, we walked casually towards the base of the actual mausoleum and joined Christine and the other members of our tour party as we made our way back to the “meeting point” on the other side of the red building that served as an entrance-way to the magnificent Taj Mahal.

Christine, Deidre, Ivanka and I waited, seated on the raised wall structure that held the soil of a tree that was planted in the pathway, oblivious to the fact that the poor tour co-ordinator was trying to work out what had happened to four members of his tour party. It was only when the Danish head of one of the schools who was also on the trip with us came over and asked whether we had been counted that we realised that we had been holding the entire group up. Slightly sheepishly, we scurried over and reported that we were there safe and sound. We then began our journey back to the buses – through the myriad of people trying to sell their goods. While waiting for the transport to arrive, I was caught up with a number of the girls from the Girls’ College.

The one is Greek and I caught her speaking Greek to the poor befuddled hawkers. On enquiry, she informed me that she was doing it because that then prevented the hawkers from trying to get her to buy their wares. Before long one of the others was speaking Zulu, another Afrikaans, and soon we had the poor hawkers so confused that they eventually gave up – and in India, that is quite an accomplishment! I will never forget the look on the faced of the one little chappie who must have been about 10 years old. He approached one of the girls and started speaking to her trying to convince her to buy his wares, or at least just go and have a look at his stall. She returned his plea with a string of Zulu. That stopped him short in his tracks, and he looked at her rather quizzically before repeating his request. She continued to speak to him in Zulu and he finally looked at her with a somewhat quizzical last look, before bursting into laughter and walking off. I think he realised he had met his match – and it was a stronger match than him. I must say he took it all in good spirit.

While in Agra, we seemed to have been caught up somewhere or another, as we did not have a chance to visit the “Red Fort” on the day that we were supposed to, and so travelled there the morning after the Taj experience. Before getting to that I need to mention one of the interesting (but also a “backhander thing”, I am sure! On the night, as we returned from the Taj, we had a chance to go into a marble work and sale place. Here they hand-craft a variety of marble items in the most ornate way possible. The items on sale varied from large table tops, to cheese boards, to small trinket boxes and various ornaments. As I ought to have expected, but did not really, some of the hand work is done by young boys – and they sit on the floor with a fairly basic, yet in a rather bizarre contrast, sophisticated way in which the marble shards are ground so that they are then able to fit into the ornate products.





Then it was up the next morning and off to the Red Fort. This was built by the Shah Jahan’s son in order to imprison his father so that he could establish his power. There was a cruelty and yet at the same time, I would imagine some solace for the Shah, as he was able to observe the Taj Mahal where his wife was interred from the Fort. There are all sorts of stories that abound in terms of both the Taj and the Fort, but I think that many of them, depend on who you are talking to and where in terms of whether they are perceived as being true or not. I don’t know. I have attached a pic that is a little unclear in terms of being able to see the Taj from the Red Fort – but you can get an idea of it – we were there are a rather overcast day, and so this affected things. I do have another pic, but then you miss the “view” from the “window” as it were.