June 15, 2001

AGRA, INDIA (June 3, 2001)

Dear Friends and Subscribers,

I'm so glad our meetings in Istanbul fell through, so we were able to come to India a day earlier. There is so much to see here, and still not enough time. I was especially glad when our wake-up call came at 5:30 this morning that we hadn't just arrived from the airport at 1:45. The Taj Mahal is located in Agra, a four-hour drive from Delhi along India's 4-lane highway. We brought a couple of books to read along the way, but realized within minutes that we wouldn't be reading--the little bus was air-conditioned, but its shock absorbers were shot. We bounced and jounced over the ungraded road, singing softly to ourselves, "The people on the bus go up and down..." But it was part of the adventure, as we kept telling ourselves throughout the day, and we were grateful that neither of us became carsick.

Our little group of a dozen tourists includes people from Lebanon, England, Turkey, Philippines, Singapore, and Canada, all in India on business. Mark and I are the only Americans, probably because most Americans are too smart to come to India during the summer. The temperature at 8 am was 47 degrees Celsius. I quickly divided by 5, multiplied by 9, and added 32 to determine that it was already 117 degrees out, and the sun was far from high in the sky. Almost unbearably hot, and yet I'm almost glad, because I'd rather put up with this oppressive heat than be overrun by other tourists, as we were in Egypt and Athens earlier this spring. Instead, wherever we have gone we have enjoyed mingling with and among Indian families enjoying weekend outings.

People live all along the roadside here, in sidewalk huts that often are little more than sideless tents or awnings to take advantage of any breeze or movement of air. Early in the morning the streets were alive with people doing business--buying vegetables in the open-air markets; getting a shave or a haircut in the barber chairs on the sidewalk; collecting water from the huge drum dispensers set up by the local government, I assume; little boys literally "doing their business" in the road; workers traveling here and there in rickshaws, bicycyles, motor scooters, buses and open trucks. We saw hogs rooting around in the mud for food, scrawny cows living side-by-side with the huts, and even scrawnier horses. A caravan of camels carried massive bundles of hay toward Delhi, presumably to feed the cows in town. Women in silk saris sat daintily side saddle on the backs of motor scooters for miles and miles, often with a baby snuggled between herself and the driver. We saw several overloaded scooters, one with as many as ten people clinging perilously to the sides, and a truck carrying four men in the cab and about a dozen women in the back, their bodies and faces completely veiled. Drivers honk their horns constantly; the standard joke is that the horn is permanently attached to the accelerator. But they don't seem to honk in anger or impatience; they simply seem to be saying, "I'm here, watch your side, I'm coming around." In fact, many buses and lorries (transport trucks) have large, gaily printed signs on the back saying, "Honk, Please" because they don't have side-view mirrors.

Several times, particularly in the evening on the way home, accidents would close the lane ahead of us. But instead of stopping traffic, drivers simply cross the median and drive on the other side, in on-coming traffic! No one takes charge diverting traffic from one lane to another; drivers simply know that it's likely to happen, and they drive anticipating the unexpected. They even pass while driving on the wrong side of the road, moving further still into oncoming traffic! But it all seems to work out, no one angrily demands their "right of way" or shakes a fist in anger. They all seem to take fate as it comes.

What leads to this calmness in the midst of chaos? I couldn't help comparing our impatient taxi driver in Brussels and the equally impatient driver who demanded his "right of way," even though it meant getting his fender dented. I think it's the cows. Indian drivers will honk incessantly to warn other drivers, "I'm coming through." But they never honk at the cows. Cows have the supreme right of way, and they know it. They meander out into traffic, crossing to the median where they can munch grass and relax in the breeze stirred up by the cars passing in opposite directions. Meanwhile, when a cow appears in the road, drivers just slow down and wait until the cow moves on its own. You don't honk at the cows, and you certainly don't nudge them out of the way. I think this philosophical acceptance of obstacles that drop unexpectedly into one's path allows the Indian to have inner peace even when surrounded by chaos and poverty. I'm not sure this is necessarily good, mind you; after all, India's poverty level is abysmal, and the acceptance of fate may contribute to that poverty. But it taught me a lot about accepting a past that can't be changed, even as I change the present to improve the future.

Halfway through our drive we stopped for breakfast at the "Country Inn," where a snake charmer sat in the shade near the parking lot. His cobra rose dutifully from its basket, but looked almost bored as the man waggled a pitiful rag on the end of his instrument to get the snake's attention. Mark walked close for a better look, and the snake turned toward him, hood out, head upraised, ready to strike. It slithered in Mark's direction just as the charmer grabbed it by the tail and jerked, wagging his sorry rag in the snake's face again to keep its attention. I would have been terrified by this whole scene, if our guide yesterday hadn't explained that the snakes are devenomed. We were amused, but not impressed. I was almost sorry to know the truth!

As we reached Agra we had to leave our diesel bus in a parking lot 2 kilometers from the Taj Mahal, and board a battery-operated shuttle for the remaining distance, to cut down on pollution to the marble. This was our first real hint of the brutal heat that would punctuate our day. It was now 49 degrees (you can do the math this time!) and very humid from yesterday's rain. We learned to walk in the shade and keep moving to create a breeze against our damp skin. We also carried two bottles of water that our guide provided for us.

The Taj Mahal is a gigantic mausoleum built by Shah Jahan for his favorite wife, who died in 1631 giving birth to their 14th child. The Taj is surrounded by 4 massive gatehouses of redsandstone inlaid with white marble. Our guide jokingly explained, "If a father wants the potential groom to be impressed by his daughter, he will present her with several ugly girls, to make her look all the better." "Of lesser beauty" might have been a better term than "ugly" because these gatehouses are exquisitely beautiful in their own right (see the photos that will be posted in this column next week). The Taj Mahal is built on the highest point overlooking the river, which means that its only backdrop is and always will be the sky. One approaches it by a long walkway past lovely fountains and reflecting pools perfect for meditation or conversation (I noticed one young couple deep in conversation, and wondered whether theirs was an approved relationship, or an unrequited one.) From a distance the Taj appears to be pure white marble, but as one nears it, the intricate designs of inlaid marble, lapiz lazuli, onyx, malachite, and mother-of-pearl become visible, reminiscent of the design on an oriental carpet. And the Taj is huge--look closely at the pictures to see the people on the steps to get an idea of its size.

We removed our shoes and entered the mausoleum, where we were allowed to see the builder's model that had been used by the workmen as they built the crypt those many centuries ago. However, we were not allowed to go downstairs to see the actual tombs. It's probably just as well. With the press of bodies and lack of air movement, the temperature in the area housing the model was 130 degrees or more. Sweat covered our faces like fat tears. We admired the workmanship and then went outside to find some shade and keep moving to stir up a breeze.

After our visit to the Taj Mahal we bought a cold Fanta from young vendors eager to please ("You want a Coke? I get you Fanta! Right back! Cold! You want postcards? I have t-shirts! How many rupees you give me?") and then boarded our air-conditioned bus where we agreed that we would give up shock absorbers for air conditioning any time. At the Taj View Hotel, where we ate lunch, two of our fellow travelers skipped lunch and jumped into the hotel swimming pool instead, fully clothed! Then we headed for the Agra fort, a red sandstone complex where the Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son in a coup d'etat. The shah lived out his years in splendored incarceration (ala Sir Walter Raleigh) reclining on marbled porches overlooking the river and his magnificent Taj Mahal, where he was eventually buried beside his beloved wife. (His original intent was to build an indentical mausoleum of black onyx on the other side of the river, joining the two by a silver bridge, but the usurping son put an end to that plan. Wouldn't that have been a sight!).

The Agra Fort is a complex of red sandstone buildings including a 3-story cistern for collecting rain water. A system based on gravity brought water to the fountains throughout the fort that acted as an air-conditioning system of cross ventilation. It must have been a magnificent place in its heyday 400 years ago, decorated with gold, precious stones, and silk carpets.

The 4-hour drive back to Delhi was an adventure. Much more traffic of every kind (although I was disappointed that we never saw an elephant). The streets were bustling with activity as the sun went down, not only with work but with play. We were the last ones to board the bus today and the first ones to get off tonight--lucky us! It was a grueling, hot, and absolutely wonderful day.

-- Jo Ann Skousen

email: jaskousen@mskousen.com

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