Sebastian's Travels in India

Back to the Blog

2006-10-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

Well, I know I've been quite delinquent with my blog and that I'll probably have to email everyone to let them know that I've started to post again. That being said, there are two things I should let everyone know about before I continue:

First, my stanford email is going to go defunct soon, so please reach me at skaplansears@gmail.com from now on.

Second, I got a Flickr account for all my photos (it works a lot better than Blogspot). So if you would like to see, visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/skaplansears

For the moment, I'm in Kent and promising to write more, especially about my last couple days in India.

All my love,
Sebastian

Heading Home...

2006-09-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

Well, the adventure has come to a close. I'm boarding my flight at 1am tonight and will land in Atlanta around 2:00pm on Sunday.

But not to fear! The blog will not die tonight. I fully plan to add a few postscript posts when I get home and I promise a lot more photos.

Love,
Sebastian

Back to Bom!

2006-09-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

Well I made it back to Bombay. The train ride passed enjoyably, staring out the slightly-tinted window (I decided to splurge for an AC car), finishing two books, and getting some adequate sleep. Somehow I had convinced myself that 18 hours meant I would depart at 12:00pm yesterday and arrive sometime in the late afternoon today - but since time works on a normal schedule here, although the trains are usually late, I arrived in Bombay at about 9:30am.

Since then I've gotten a hotel and been trying to assess what my plan should be for the next two days before I hop on a plane and get back to the States. I must say, as enjoyable and inspiring as this trip has been, I'm ready to come home.

Love,
Sebastian

The Problem with Faux Amis

2006-09-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

Quick note on a humorous exchange with the French --

Two days ago, I was hanging out with Marc et al. and made the mistake of saying "merci beau-cue" instead of "merci beaucoup." Of course, while the latter means "thank you very much," the former means "thanks... beautiful ass." So Marc was temporarily befuddled, and perhaps a little threatened, until he realized my pronounciation is just abysmal.

But I was redeemed yesterday when we were playing cards -
interlude: mostly we play Belote, a game popular in parts of france with a rather complex scoring system, but I've also taught them Casino, which they seem to enjoy.
-- and after trumping Laurent's ace during one trick of Belote, Marc said, grandly, "I'll take your ass!" Of course, the French word for "ace" is pronounced "ass," but I liked the parallel confusion.

Okay, okay, it's a bit juvenile, but I thought it was really funny at the time

Love,
Sebastian

Pushkar Lake

2006-09-18T18:40:00.000-07:00

The lake in Pushkar is beautiful - surrounded by hundreds of small temples and further out by isolated hills.

One of the more surprising parts of the Puja ceremony was discovering that (a) there are huge catfish in Puskhar lake and (b) they like eating the flowers that people throw in as part of the ceremony.

Photoblogging Pushkar: Rooftops

2006-09-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

Photoblogging Pushkar: Street Scenes

2006-09-18T18:25:00.000-07:00

More Street Scenes

2006-09-18T18:24:00.000-07:00

The Brahma Temple

2006-09-18T18:20:00.000-07:00

Pushkar has the only Brahma Temples in the world, making it a very holy pilgrimage site for Hindus, especially Brahmans. Apparently, Brahma spontaneously married someone while bathing in Pushkar lake and his first wife was so furious she cursed Brahma to only be worshipped in Pushkar. Later, she relented somewhat, but I think only marginally.

Anyway, I guess I was expecting something unique, but Hindu temples don't seem to go in for that sort of thing - architectual signifiers that something is unique or special. Perhaps Hinduism is simply too practical, in the sense that what makes the Brahma temple unique is that people go there to pray to Brahma.

And if you had any doubts why I'm staying here...

2006-09-18T05:39:00.000-07:00

Pastis and Pate in Pushkar

2006-09-15T10:38:00.000-07:00

The last few days have involved an odd succession of introductions and conversations with fellow travelers. On the train from Delhi to Jaipur, I shared a compartment with Marc, Laurent, and Damien - three Frenchmen who were partially here on business. Laurent and Damien barely speak any English and I've found that my French has deteriorated since traveling through Tunisia, but Marc is relatively fluent in English and was rather effective at managing to translate efficiently enough to keep a conversation going through most of the train ride.

We talked mostly about their business - bed covers and semi-precious stones - in Jaipur and a small French village between Paris and Nance. Apparently, their markup on things bought in India ranges from 16-20 times cost, or as Marc put it, "the benefits are very good."

The trio was heading straight from Delhi to Pushkar, a small relaxing village in the middle of Rajasthan - and the location of one of the few Brahma temples in the world - I got off earlier in Jaipur to see the sights. The problem was that I had been completely unable to sleep on the train to Jaipur and so when I arrived at my hotel at the crack of dawn, I pretty immediately fell asleep and didn't wake up until it was nearly the afternoon. I spent the day wandering the old city in Jaipur, which the maharaja had painted pink, the color of hospitality, in welcome of visiting British Royalty (Jaipur was part of an independent Maharajah state during the colonial period).

Aside from wandering through the streets and window shopping at the myriad stores lining the teeming bazaars, I had an amusing conversation with Manoj (a different Manoj than I met in Delhi) who started his conversation off by asking if he would be beaten for being dark-skinned if he traveled to America. He didn't really seem to be selling anything, so we enjoyed a cup of chai together before I headed off.

At the hotel, I was chatting with Danielle on Skype (everyone should get a Skype account immediately) about some of the cases she was working on, and after we finished talking, the guy at the next computer turned toward me and said: "Well, I guess it was inevitable than I meet someone else on a bar trip..." So I met Jason, who just finished at NYU in May and has been doing the overland journey across China through Tibet and Nepal. We strolled down to the Pahar Ganj area of Jaipur which is the main stone cutting and polishing center of India, but since the area is also Muslim and it happened to be a Friday (I stopped keeping track of the days awhile ago), most of the workstations were closed down and so there was only a few places to see. Still, it was a fascinating crafts area, with a strong sense of community that seems rooted in having ten guys spending eight hours a day crowded arounda work bench polishing stones.

On a snap decision I decided to accompany Jason on his afternoon bus to Pushkar. We arrived around 3:30pm, and after checking in and grabbing a late repast, we headed out to the Pushkar lake, where several "priests" encouraged us to do Puja, which mostly involved throwing a plate of flowers, colored powder, and rice into the lake and repeating after the "priest" a few mantras. What it didn't involve, at least for me, was shelling out the hundreds of rupees in "charity requests." I was prepared to be seriously hassled about not paying up, but the let me go with only moderate resistance (perhaps a benefit of being my size). I'm planning on going to the Brahma temple today, where there are actual priests doing actual Puja, and not "tourist puja," so at least I can see the real thing in action.

I've been thinking a lot about Hinduism and come to the conclusion that I don't understand it at all, but that it is a pervasive and all-encompassing part of most people's lives here.

Walking the streets after visiting the lake, Jason and I ran into March and Laurent, who invited us back to their hotel for dinner. Thus began one of the most mal-juxtaposed moments of my trip. Pushkar is a Brahmin town and the edicts of Brahminism are pretty strictly enforced, hence there is no alchohol, meat, or public displays of affection allowed within the city limits. So when we met Marc et al at their hotel and they secretively motioned for us to shut the door, I figured they were going to produce a joint or some other narcotic - instead, Marc pulled out three jars of chicken and duck pate and a bottle of Pastis. So Jason and I spent our first night in Pushkar eating Pate on toasted brown bread and drinking Pastis with a little bit of water and I must say, it was delightful.

Marc has invited us to join him today to see the stone trade from a wholesale perspective, after which we'll probably visit the Brahma temple and take in the rest of the sites here, although I think the main tourist attraction is the absence of cars and the relaxed atmosphere. Jason is taking off for Jaiselmer tonight, but I've decided to abandon my whirlwind tour of Rajasthan and take it easy in Pushkar for the next few days before heading down to catch my flight of Bombay.

Love,
Sebastian

Boby's Wife and Rickshaw Beer

2006-09-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, two totally different topics, neither of which I can give adequate treatment. But to make an attempt: I've been hanging out with Manush (or probably Manuj, but my pronounciation is bad enough that the poor transliteration is irrelevant) and his friend Raj. Boby, Manush's uncle, Raj's brother, and the guy who showed me around last time I was in Delhi, is spending his days at the hospital with his wife. Since today was my last day here, I got them some gifts (some new shoes for Manush and Raj and a pair of jeans for Boby). When we dropped off the jeans for Boby, he invited me inside the hospital to see his wife. The hospital was pretty intense; they seem to do the best they can to meet sanitary standards, but it doesn't look particularly feasible. Regardless, I met Boby's wife, and his sister who were both in the ortho ward. After a brief chat, I took some photos of all of us:

[From left to right, Boby, his wife, and Manush]

[Outside the ward, I took more shots. This one is of Boby and Manush]

[Finally, Manush and me]

After the hospital, Manush, Raj, and I went to the liquor store to pick up beer and drank them in the backseat of Raj's rickshaw while eating Chicken kebabs. According to my thermometer it reached 97.6 degrees, which, when combined with the alcohol, has pretty much put me out.

So I'll try to write more in depth later, but now I just want to sit in front of a fan and relax

Love,
Sebastian

Hair

2006-09-13T15:56:00.000-07:00

So the major physical change I've experienced while traveling is the prodigious growth of my own hair. I stopped shaving about a month ago and I've got a solid foundation for a beard I intend to lose immediately upon returning to the States:

I also haven't cut my hair in at least 6 months, so sometimes I look like this:

Chaos at the Chandi Chowk

2006-09-13T15:36:00.000-07:00

The main drag in Old Delhi is a street called Chandi Chowk. It is a madhouse:

More Random Thoughts

2006-09-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

Interacting with Manush and Boby has been interesting. Unlike Agra, rickshaw-wallahs either aren't,or won't admit to being, on a commission system. Instead, they get souveniers from the various tourist shops they take foreigners to. I'm ambivalently skeptical about that because it is hard for me to imagine that there is such a high incentive for the rickshaw-wallahs to take their time going to various shops for the sole purpose of getting a t-shirt. Then again, I've only hung out with Manush for a total of five days (three when first in Delhi and the last couple days) and I've already seen him rewear shirts (and I think he only has one pair of pants). So maybe the lure of a t-shirt is a significant attraction.

And I've satisfactorily resolved one mystery that has been floating in the back of my mind: the question of whether or not people hear understand the meaning of lewd slogans printed on their t-shirts. Yesterday, Raj (Manush's friend) was wearing a t-shirt that read: "My girlfriend told me to be more affectionate, so now I have two girlfriends!" That adds to the large collection of explicit shirts I've seen, like "free hot dog [downward pointing arrow], bring your own buns." Comparing how crude these shirts are to Danielle's expressed preference for some shirts with Hindi writing on them, I thought maybe the people here just don't bother learning what the shirts say... But Raj has singlehandedly convinced me that they know exactly what the shirts say, because when i asked Raj if he knew what his shirt said, he told me the meaning with a surprising degree of pride and humor.

I don't know what I'm going to do today... I have to check out of my hotel and noon, and then maybe I'll read a book for most of the day - an activity that has been strangely absent from my intinerary so far - and do some more walking around, although it's getting hotter each day I'm here (97 was the highest I noticed yesterday). Still, for those who know my usual intolerance for heat, you'll be surprised to learn that I've been undaunted and have spent most days walking around even during the hottest hours.

Some Thoughts on Indian “Culture”

2006-09-13T00:30:00.000-07:00

Or more accurately: Some “Thoughts” on Indian Culture
Or even more accurately: Some Thoughts on Foreign Perceptions of Indian Culture

So I’ve spoken with three Americans, three Germans, and one Belgian since leaving Kathmandu almost two weeks ago. At some point in all these conversations, the topic of traveling in India has transformed into the topic of culture in India. Without fail, other tourists I’ve talked to had mostly negative things to say about their experience with Indian people: “It’s like they screw you over because they want to win, and they do it to each other too, “ or “The economic system here is not good, and it’s their fault too,” or “I don’t mean to sound racist, but I really don’t like Indian people.” And it was in contrast to otherwise liberal perspectives on other topics, like the war in Iraq, or social welfare.

Let me disclaim before I continue my commentary: All generalizations are inaccurate, and it is possible that I’ve managed to only speak to the most aggreived travelers through India, and I should say that any generalizations I do make about India are based on very limited exposure to the culture here.

What do I think about Indian culture? First, I think that any statements have to take into consideration that the vast majority of people I’ve interacted with are in some form of the tourist business and that the economics of the business must create a very different culture than what should be considered “Indian” culture. Second, India is almost as geographically large as the U.S., and has a population more than four times that of the U.S., so to speak of an Indian culture must be even more inaccurate than to speak of an American culture.

But why, where the American tourist industry – suck as hotel concierges, etc. – seems to generate an aura of artificial hospitality, does the Indian tourist industry generate such aggressiveness and pushiness? And that is a badly weighted question itself, because the hotels that Danielle and I stayed in (five and four star hotels) the service was excellent and the people polite. So what I’m really talking about is the rickshaw-wallahs, street-shop owners, children, and beggars; in other words, the poorer side of the tourist industry.

My working theory is not particularly insightful: Poverty creates desperation and desperation manifests as aggressiveness. In a country where beggars mutilate their children so they can earn more alms, and older children beat up the younger ones who get rupees from tourists, it isn’t hard to imagine that the people who succeed (relatively speaking) aren’t the ones who provide the best service to their customers (or benefactors, in the case of beggars), but those who can beat out the hundreds of other people competing for the same business. So the rickshaw-wallahs are aggressive, not because they think that will appeal to customers, but because aggression is the only way to make sure the next rickshaw-wallah doesn’t take their customer away. And there are seven hundred shops on one street selling the identical bangles, hippie-shirts, and cold water that advertisement becomes volume and the content is irrelevant.

Two Indian men has seperately told me that the “problem” with India (or maybe Delhi specifically) is over-population. Boby, the rickshaw-wallah I’ve been hanging out with, said, and I quote: “Do you know what the problem with India? Population. I have six children!” Raj, the same person I spoke to about the Maharashtra blasts, simply said that with enormous regret in his voice that population was the problem with India. On a personal note, Raj asked me for American coins because his 9 year old son wants to have the best coin collection in his fourth-grade class. And Boby’s wife is currently in the hospital with back problems, so send good wishes his way.

But I started at the root of the problem without describing what it really is. And talking with these other Western tourists has left me with an unanswered personal inquiry, namely, why don’t I have the same, visceral, negative reaction to all the people grabbing and shouting at me as I walk down the street. Objectively, I can sympathize with the sentiments of those who have expressed frustration with India. There are beggars every five steps in the tourist areas of Delhi. Cycle and auto-rickshaw drivers cut in front of you to ask if you want a ride. Everyone overcharges tourists – in Varanasi the quoted prices were at least 200% of the final price I managed to get, and even in Nepal (where the culture is quite different, except for the tourist areas) I was quoted Rs. 2500 for a singing bowl and after some half-hearted haggling had the guy at Rs. 350. And it’s not just the prices, it’s trying to do the things you want to. Getting a rickshaw is challenging if you don’t want to visit the “government” shops. At a travel agent, I spent at least ten minutes telling the guy I didn’t want a driver through Rajasthan for $700 and that sleeper trains were fine. Even then, he asked for Rs. 6500, and I fortunately waited to go to the foreign tourist office at the train station where all five trains were a mere Rs. 900. And I’ve already written some about involuntary guides at temples and tourist sights.

But the personal inquiry is that these things don’t really bother me. I’ve had only one or two experiences of genuine frustration with someone. Otherwise, I’m mostly entertained by figuring out the best strategy to avoid unwanted offers or requests. I’m convinced that the best strategy is to completely ignore whoever is trying to get your attention (it works on everyone except begging mothers, who clutch at your clothing and follow for blocks and blocks). But it’s hard, and a little monotonous, to ignore everyone around you. I’ve found that saying “nahee” or “mujhe nahee chahiye” is significantly more effective than just saying “no” (which is the hindi word for “nine”). Singing “nahee” at the top of my lungs has sufficiently baffled a few persistent touts. “Chalao,” or the ruder “jao” (“go away”) work sometimes, but I had one young man in Fatephur Sikri tell me “why should I go? This is my home, you are visitor, you go! It is not a good person.” Assuming he meant “you” and not “it,” he at least had a point that I was the visitor and he was the resident. And sometimes, I give in to somewhat cruel humor and either quote absurdly low prices, “ten rupees!” or tell rickshaw drivers that I want to go somewhere totally ridiculous. That actually led to one of my favorite impromptu interactions.

Rickshaw-wallah: “Where do you want to go?”
Me: “We want to go to the moon!”
RW: “Oh, I like the sun; I like more the warm. The moon it is too cold.”

When people tell me that they can get me “anything,” I’ve asked for a solid gold toilet – which has let to offers to both find a toilet and sell me gold bullion.

But walking around with other tourists, I’m surprised by how angry some of them have gotten, some yelling angrily at small children. The Lonely Planet Nepal says that raising your voice is never effective and I think that has contributed a bit to my attitude, but not entirely. Passivity and conflict-avoidance or tolerance and open-mindedness? That dichotomy probably doesn not capture everything, but I’ve been trying to figure out what it is, why I find most of it funny instead of grueling.

And since the comment about how Indians treat each other, I’ve been trying to pay more attention to interactions between local people on the street. Today, for instance, our rickshaw was revving loudly as it tried to escape a particularly deep pothole and a young man walking by instinctively helped push us along. And Manush and Boby, or restaurant and hotel operators are gentle with beggars while shooing them away from their storefronts.

[It's now 12:30am here and I'm going to bed, but I'll try to finish my thoughts on this tomorrow before going to Jaipur in the evening]

Addendum to the question of Taj security

2006-09-12T22:13:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting conversation with a shop owner about the recent attacks in Maharashtra (near bombay) that occured on Friday. I thought I would post a reuters article on the event before relating the conversation:

From Reuters:

MALEGAON, India (Reuters) - Indian police said on Sunday they were questioning several people in connection with blasts that killed 32 people in a western town and were investigating possible links with train bombings in Mumbai in July.

Three bombs went off in and around a mosque in the textile town of Malegaon on Friday, killing at least 32 people and wounding about 100, mostly Muslim worshippers who had gathered for weekly prayers.

No one has claimed responsibility for the attacks in the town that has a history of strife between Hindus and Muslims. Muslims make up about 70 percent of Malegaon's 700,000 population.

"No arrests have been made. No one has been detained. As part of investigations some people have been only questioned," Anil Kumbhare, additional police superintendent of Malegaon, told Reuters.

Investigators said although they had no evidence, they were exploring if the Malegaon explosions could be linked with the July 11 serial bombings on Mumbai's railway network that killed 186 people and wounded around 700.

The Mumbai carnage has been blamed on militant Indian Muslims backed by Pakistan-based Islamist group Lashkar-e-Taiba, which is fighting against New Delhi's rule in disputed Kashmir.

Mumbai, India's financial and entertainment hub, is the capital of the western state of Maharashtra. Malegaon, also in Maharashtra, is 260 km (160 miles) northeast of Mumbai.

Suspicions of a link between the two attacks were based on several arms and explosives seizures from Islamist militants in Maharashtra, including in Malegaon, this year.

"This (Malegaon) attack seems to be the work of very professional people because it was well coordinated and timed like the attacks on Mumbai," said a senior investigating officer.

Officials said investigators had gathered leads from three blast sites in Malegaon and the evidence had been sent for forensic testing.

"What type of explosives were used will be known in two days and then we may be in a position to say if these blasts were linked with those in Mumbai," said R.R. Patil, deputy chief minister of Maharashtra.

"The investigation team is very hopeful. They have a box, some bags, three cycles which might give us important leads."

The Malegaon strikes came on an auspicious day for Muslims called "Shab-e-Barat," when they pray for the dead and which comes just before the holy month of Ramadan. They also believe that prayers on this day absolve them of sins.

The blasts also came days after Prime Minister Manmohan Singh said that intelligence agencies had warned of more terrorist attacks across the country, possibly against economic and religious targets as well as on nuclear installations.

I think it is interesting that the reports I've read seek to link the attacks to the ones in Bombay, since some of those detained appear to have connections to Pakistan. Which leads to the interesting conversation I had today. Raj, my interlocutor, has the theory that the attacks are by the same, or loosely affiliated group that has the aim of promoting communal tension in India, as opposed to a group affiliated directly with one side or another. Raj also said that most Indians know that these attacks are meant to be divisive, which ameliorates the effectiveness of the attackers strategy. It sounds a little conspiratorial to me, but I thought it was a very interesting perspective on recent events.

Photos of the Taj Below

2006-09-11T20:45:00.000-07:00

by popular demand, I've posted photos of the Taj below...

It really is that magnificent

2006-09-11T00:30:00.000-07:00

The Taj Mahal is difficult to write about, if for no other reason than so many more talented writers have attempted to capture it in their literary nets. I particularly like Rabindranath Tagore's phrase: "a teardrop on the face of eternity," which lonely planet is kind enough to quote.

My experience at the Taj was varied - from awe to skeptical curiosity. The first thing one experiences at the Taj is the process of entry. I believe it is a form of cognitive dissonance that the more difficult a task, the more one convinces oneself that the result is worthwhile. At the Taj, I had a few accentuating experiences. Immediately after muscling my way through the entry line to the ticket booth, I learned that the cloak room closed at 6:00, only an hour after I would begin the process of standing on line. So I retreated to my hotel and stored my bag in the luggage room, only return to the South Gate of the Taj and learn that gate closes at 5:00 and that it was necessary for me to circle around to the East Gate. From there, forewarned by Mike (in Pokhara) about potential "cavity searches," I negotiated my way through security without too much discomfort.

The security at the Taj raises several questions on its own. Recent bomb blasts outside of Bomby have greatly increased security procedures at the Taj and, pending Supreme Court approval, the state of Uttar Pradesh is seeking to install x-ray machines at all entrances which would for some reason require breaching part of the outer wall that surrounds the monument. So here was the question I had - which I believe comes from a valid, albeit naive, understanding of the current political climate: Why would the Taj Mahal be a target of terrorist activity? I am, of course, conflating terrorism in India with Muslim terrorism and my confusion stems from the unlikelihood that Muslim terrorists would seek to destroy the single most iconic display of Mughal architecture in the world. I ask this not as a critique of India's proposed security measures, but as a genuine question. There seem to be many possible responses - Hindu extremists may seek to retaliate against the Taj for recent attacks on temples near Varanasi, or Pakistani-affiliated groups may believe that attacking India's icon of tourism more compelling than preserving a Mughal landmark. Or there may be internal divisions within terrorist organizations of which I am unaware - does the Taj represent of version of Islamic history that is anathema to some other version, similar to the split between Sunni and Shiite in Iraq? Or is the fear that a rogue cell would stage an attack with no thought to the historical or cultural consequences of destroying the Taj? Or is it, in fact, simply part of a general system of precautions that all governments take concerning their precious landmarks - without the need for any particular threat to be shown? I really don't know and I would invite anyone interested by these questions to comment, either in the form of pure speculation or by providing actual information (Dave, that means you ; ).

So, sorry for the digression, but it provides a good segue into my overal attitude visiting the Taj - being totally overwhelmed by the aesthetic experience and then spiraling off for long minutes on odd tangents...

From the security checkpoint, the site opens onto an outer garden fronted by a large, red-sandstone wall with a gate placed in alignment with the front of the Taj. The entryway was crowded, all by tourists (the Taj is the first monument I've visited where security managed to keep out the otherwise ubiquitous touts and souvenir vendors, making it one of the more peaceful places I've visited), although the vast majority were families from around India.

I couldn't help but notice that tourists around the world, or at least in India and America, all behave in certain similar ways. Parents encourage somewhat befuddled toddlers to pose for periods much longer than the child's attention span facilitates,

young couples seek secluded corners to create an ambiance of romance, and whistle blowing tour guides conduct herds of both Indians and foreigners like cattle.

There were, however, some clear differences. National generalizations are inherently dangerous and not wholly accurate, but I've consistently noticed that certain norms are disregarded in India, norms with great force in the U.S. In the law, there is an age-old distinction between "malum prohibitum" and "malum in se" (apologies to the lawyers in the audience). Malum in se refers to criminal acts that are clearly wrong - murder, arson, battery, etc - while malum prohibitum refers to acts that are only criminal because the state has deemed them so - speeding, insider trading, not paying taxes, etc. While I have seen no instances of malum in se while in India, there seems to be less concern malum prohibitum than I am used to in the States (or at least, that I notice). At the Taj, however, it was difficult not to notice the twenty or thirty families clustered around the large signs stating "Walking on the lawns or picking flowers is strictly prohibited." If it was an Indian privilege only forbidden to foreigners, I would understand, but the signs were printed in English and Hindi (although I'll admit the Hindi could have said just about anything without me knowing it differed from the English imperative; and actually, the Indian/foreigner price thing at monuments continuously pisses me off). And inside the Taj, where the tombs rest, clear signs prohibit photography, but failed to deter Indians from snapping photos of the resting place of Mumtaz Mahal. And it's not necessarily a bad thing - after all, in a year where the top story is the tyrannical surveillance of our government, a little anarchy is welcome. But I find the contrast continuously surprising, whether as an idle observer in the Taj, or as a participant passenger as a rickshaw driver swerves into oncoming traffic.

Entering the main garden through the South Gate is, for lack of a less cliched term, breathtaking. Seeing the Taj from the back side, or from the roof of my hotel, it was difficult to grasp both its immensity and intricacy of the facade. From within the outer wall the black arabic inscriptions against the white marble, the discolorations on each piece of marble, and sheer size of the building all clamor for immediate attention. I've always loved the artistry of arabic writing and the inscriptions on the Taj are the most beautiful I've seen. The history of it makes sense; when the representation of human and, according to some interpretations, animal figures is a form of idolatry, the human impulse for artistry will find new avenues - in this case writing. But the contrast to block or even cursive writing in the West could not be more evident. The absence of an aesthetic to Western images of writing, as opposed to the content of that writing seems to be a serious gap in our literary history.

I jostled with the crowds at the entry gate to take as centered a photo as possible,

and then again mid way to the building on the raised fountain platform, where two young women were kind enough to take my photo for me.

From the base of the Taj, I had the option of leaving my shoes at the official stand or wrapping them is gauze booties; I chose the former option and strolled around the Taj barefoot. Up close, I could perceive the sorts of details that don't make it into the postcards. There are odd rings drilled into the dome - at least some of which keep thick cables of unknown purpose in place. The top of the Taj and its base are ringed with marble gutters that extend outwards from the building and must create an impressive waterfall during the heavy rains. And my favorite - the fact that the pigeons were completely undaunted by the magnificence of the edifice and roosted in its marble crannies as comfortably as they do in decrepit commerical buildings.

On top of the architectural narrative of the Taj - it took 20,000 people 22 years to build - there must be a fascinating human drama. And I must confess here that I was completely ignorant of the contemporary meaning of the Taj before arriving in Agra and even now know only the Lonely Planet version of its origins. So here are the facts:

"The Taj was built by Emporer Shah Jahan as a memorial for his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child in 1631. The death of Mumtaz left the emperor so heartbroken that his hair is said to have turned grey overnight."

But what a story must lie behind these barebones facts! A second wife, fourteen children! Did the child survive? And if so, what was Shah Jahan's relationship with the boy or girl? And how did the first wife, if she still lived, consider Shah Jahan's immense investment in Mumtaz Mahal's mausoleum, which clearly would outstrip anything she herself would receive?

Or the political ramifications of the Taj: Only five years after it was completed, Shah Jahan's son Aurangzeb seized power and imprisoned his father in the Agra fort - although he had the grace to keep Shah Jahan confined to an area with a view of the Taj. Did construction of the Taj weaken Jahan and make him vulnerable to his son's betrayal? The Taj was built for love, but did it also prove its creator's undoing? Is there a cautionary tale of obsession ingrained in somewhere in the marble?

Beyond the political, what is the psychological narrative of the Taj? Did love continue to motivate construction and investment in the mausoleum into its tenth year, its eleventh? Did Jahan's love transmute into something uglier? A meglomania, an obsession with building another wonder of the world? Or did the construction accentuate Jahan's emotions, so that as the walls of of structure increased so did his love? Perhaps after 22 years, Jahan had fallen in love completely with this new marble effigy of his deceased wife.

And why, to put the point clearly, do people bestow the greatest honors on the dead? The trite notion that we only know someone's importance when they've passed, or because the dead have no ability to criticize or comment on the blueprints of their memoria? Is it simply a matter of time - would Mumtaz have been less impressed if Jahan had promised her the most beautiful building in the world after 22 years of marriage? Or is it that in death, Jahan felt so consumed with love that he needed to build a place of gathering so his emotion could be disseminated through hundreds of daily visitors?

Sitting against one of the marble railings, I thought both "this is what it means to love someone," and "this is what it means to be unbelievably wealthy and self-centered." Or, "this is what love has the power to inspire," and "how perverse that it required the combination of love and death to spur Jahan's creation." These are, clearly, only a miniscule fraction of the possibilities, the tensions, that are created by anything sacred - textual, architectual, historical - things that lend themselves to infinite interpretation and reinvention.

I think that is the only way to summarize the Taj - it is fantasic. In a more literal sense than the word usually conveys, the Taj evokes fantasy. For me it was imagined histories of Jahan, dreams about my own (proportional) gestures of love, wild speculation about human nature, cultural differences, and whether the two are mutually exclusive, feelings of distance as an observer and being completely enmeshed in the experience and activity around me. It is fantasy, accelerated - a day dream in solid marble.

Going to the Taj

2006-09-09T15:59:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

It's almost four here and I'm transferring photos to CD so I have enough room on my camera to take photos of the Taj... where I'll be heading next.

Love,
Sebastian

New Photos

2006-09-09T15:54:00.000-07:00

In case it wasn't obvious, I've added photos back up to my post on Pokhara's Peace Pagoda!

Enjoy,
Sebastian

Photos of Agra II

2006-09-09T15:37:00.000-07:00

[Three shots inside the Agra Fort]

[The guard at one of the smaller mausoleums took this photo... most of the people who take shots for me aren't so keen on traditional notions of framing and angling a photograph :)]

2006-09-09T15:30:00.000-07:00

[The Taj Mahal from the rooftop of my hotel]

[Photos taken courtesy of Suraj, a young truant with the directorial authority of a fashion photographer]

[Suraj's young friend, who also wanted to pose... and get rupees]

[The "baby Taj"]

[Entering the Agra Fort]

Photos from Varanasi

2006-09-08T21:01:00.000-07:00

[Sunrise over the Ganges]

[People bathing in the Ganges]

[Wood for the burning Ghats]

2006-09-08T08:33:00.000-07:00