Continuing Phil and Jan's experiences in India ....
It was four-fifteen in the morning. Delhi was dark and foggy -and
so was I. We've had a few very early starts whilst in India, but this time
it was to fulfill something that Jan wanted to do - to visit the Taj Mahal.
Many are under the impression that the Taj is just a short distance away -
it is actually quite a long journey; four hours by road (if you leave early
to avoid the Delhi traffic), eight hours by Bullock Cart, or just two
and a half if you catch the Shatabadi Express at 6am.
Ajay, my cousin Lyn's driver, picked us up from our hotel, and in no time we
arrived at New Delhi Station. Considering it was 5.30am, the place was heaving
with people, pigs dogs, a chicken or two, and cows. Some of each species were
rushing, many were static on two legs or prone on the floor, and just a few
just roused themselves after a most uncomfortable sojourn on the dusty hard
floor, oblivious to those throughout the night who had trodden over them to
reach exotic destinations by quixotic transport.
Our names were posted (along with our ages) on the outside of the carriage
that awaited us. Our spacious, air-conditioned carriage had a quality about
it of faded utilitarian luxury, but as the enormously-long train departed from
the enormously-long Platform One, men sprang into action with complimentary
bottles of Mineral water, followed by complimentary copies of the Hindustan
Times, followed by complimentary "chai" (very sweet tea, all mixed together
with boiled milk, sugar and cinnamon). Finally, vegetarian or non-vegetarian
breakfast - all part of the cost of the ticket (about six pounds fifty).
We arrived at Agra (the Taj town) at 8.30am, to be met by a Nepalese driver
with a superb and air-conditioned minibus, which was ours for the day. Very
kindly Lyn and Kerry had organized this for us - we were accompanied by Kerry's
sister Paula and her husband Colin, who proved to be great company for the
day.
White skin seems to be a magnet. As we made our way to the minibus, from nowhere
appeared a posse of the halt, the maimed and the blind, as "Beggars-R-Us"
spread its familiar wares before our averting eyes. It is so difficult to discern
real need from sham when presented by this charade wherever you go in tourist
areas. It amazes me as to how hardened I had become, not to human need, of
which there is so much throughout India, but to the charade which parades itself
in front of the guilty gullibility of Westerners.
On this tour I have stopped apologizing for being White and Western, and have
resolved instead to do whatever I can to make a difference here.. but that
does not include supporting the circus acts which perform for tourists!
In order that we might be made to "run the gauntlet" through hawkers, we had
to get off our minibus, and travel in a special and uncomfortable bus provided
by the Government of India's Archaeological Survey. They soon stopped bothering
me, as I have found the very best approach is to say nothing and look straight
ahead. Jan adopted the same stance, although she broke her silence with one
particularly-persistent salesman, to whom she said in her best Schoolma'am
voice "I SAID NO!" - she was never bothered again for the rest of the day!
Although it was my second visit to the Taj Mahal, the view of it again was
overwhelmingly beautiful. Glistening white marble formed into a building of
beautiful symmetry and immense proportion against the backdrop of brilliantly
sunshined azure-blue sky makes viewing through eyes of tear-filled wonderment
the expected response.
Hawkers and the Beggarly Circus were ignored because the beauty of what is
before one transcends even the greatest nuisance. Even mosquitoes pale into
insignificance on entry to the place. Once the first flush of awe is
over, then one begins to notice the nuisance of "Guides" who know the best
place for you to take photos, the nicest place to find a reflection, or who
offer to take your photograph for you, fleecing the unsuspecting of unwarranted
rupees.
For the last fortnight I have developed a condition which requires immediate
attention when comes the prompting. Fortunately the Taj Mahal has a Public
Convenience; unfortunately it was very Indian in style. Sadly also, we were
not allowed to carry much into the Taj, so my usual supply of toilet paper
was in the Minibus some 2 kilometers away. I now have something else to add
to my list of "what to do with a ten-rupee note", which made the exercise
more expensive than usual. Further details will be sent to the less-squeamish
on request (please enclose a brown envelope).
After a full and interesting day, we were to return to New Delhi on the
"Taj Express" leaving Agra station at 6.35pm. Whenever we mentioned to people
we were returning by this train, at best they smiled, or in more extreme cases
they fell about laughing. The "Express" arrived on time, and to our surprise
our accommodation was more comfortable than the Shatabadi. The train sat in
Agra station. Announcements were made by an excitable lady in Hindi, in which
could be discerned a few English words like "late",
"waiting at the platform", and "overtaken by Shatabadi". We moved
off half an hour later at a snail's pace (and Indian snails are far-more laid
back than those from Europe), stopping just five minutes later at the next
station. The train leapt into action for ten minutes, then stopped at a further
station. This was going to be a slower express than we had envisaged.
Although our cheaper return ticket didn't include complimentary thises and
thats, we were delighted by the Cabaret! A young man came through
- "Mazines!" - and pressed a copy of Cosmopolitan under my gaze, uncomprehending
as to why I should not want to buy it. "Codrinx,MinralWatter!"
was the next mantra to be prayed up and down the line, followed by "Chai"
and something else in a small box whose contents remain a mystery still. My
request for Coffee and Immodium was equally a mystery to him.
Having become acquainted with Indian-style conveniences, I ventured into the
carriage toilet, and was delighted to discover that I had left my mark on a
part of India that will remain forever England. An elderly gentleman in our
carriage, whom we nicknamed "Flash", started his slow journey towards the same
convenience. We hoped that he had more control over his movements than was
my fortune in the matter. He returned some fifteen minutes later, mercifully
clean and decent.
Some three and a half hours later, the Taj "Express" emptied its contents
into Nizamuddin Station, a lively North Delhi halt, where once again Ajay was
there to meet us, and guide us through people, pigs, dogs, a chicken or two,
and cows. We arrived back in our room exhilarated, exhausted, and so glad that
we had been.
