February 21, 2012 Delhi Agra Weekend Episode 10
I am up by 5am on Tuesday because the welcome letter of the Hotel Howard Portico promised great views of the Taj Mahal from the roof top restuarant. Last night, I had checked that restaurant but since it was a dark moonless night, the waiter pointed me in a direction of darkness and said that's where the Taj was.
As I take an early shower, in the Taj hangover, I begin to admire the cheap, thin stone skirting of the bathtub and the washbasin. The bathroom is so much tidier and neatly constructured compared to the one at Clark Surya in Delhi. But there is a slightly mold covered, rough wood rectangular beam that stands under the wash basin platform supporting it. I hope none of the numerous Taj inspired couples staying in the hotel tried exciting sex on the fully wall mirrored basin.
We are disappointed to find that the roof top restuarant is locked. But back in the room we discover that the main onion dome of the Taj, the tops of couple of minarets and 11 domes of the back of the grand gate are visible from the room window behind the tv table. Our first instincts make us push against each other to get a view. Maturity dawns in a while and we take turns.
The breakfast buffet at the ground floor restaurant includes one of my favorite, chicken livers. Achan and Amma opt for onion uthappa and omelets. I indulge in choco puffs as well. The restaurant manager makes us fill a feedback form. I suggest it would be great if along with omelet some typical Indian breakfast dishes are also prepared on the fly for the infotainment of the foreign tourists. Foreign tourists are aplenty at the breakfast. An old American couple walk very slowly between the buffet table and theirs. From their accent, they are southerners.
A young man who had been having coffee out of the blue exclaims, "Oh Crap!" and calls the waiter again, "Please some coffee for my girlfriend, or I will be in deep trouble." he says pointing towards the empty cup on the table. The waiter smiles and appears not to have understood anything other than the world coffee in that request. Soon the aforementioned girlfriend arrives. She is a short hair blonde with a zero fat body. Dressed in a saffron and orange sleeveless salwar, she looks like a quintessential American yoga and spirituality freak.
After the breakfast, we spend several minutes watching the sun illuminate the dome. There is smog in the area. Kids in red sweaters begin to arrive at the Dr. Rai Junior High next door. We watch a bunch of them play a tiles game. A boy leans over the backrest of a bench talking to a girl on it. In the city of the Taj, I guess love is in the air.
Santoshji takes us out of the city by 8:30am. We pass several sets of school kids, with their "shining morning faces" and different colored uniform sweaters. I remind Santoshji that we have to pick up some of famous Agra Petha sweet. It is a succulent hard jelly made from ash gourd and sugar syrup. Santoshji wants to get out of the morning city traffic before stopping. We stop at "Pracheen Petha" shop outside the dilapidated Pracheen temple. We buy 2 kg Petha for home and some namkeen for the road.
We take the National Highway 2 back. This time, I get a chance to clearly see the massive Jai Gurudev temple. Apparently he is a big godman in the area. The divider on the highway near the temple is packed with the Guru's advices...mostly about becoming vegetarian. I start wondering about the dietary religious wars that have always been part of India's history. Buddha's strong advocacy of vegetarianism broke the old beef eating Brahmanism. The Brahmanism then reinvented itself into a much more hardcore vegetarianism and nearly banished Buddhism from India. Back in 1998 I had taken a bus trip from Kanpur to Lucknow with Rajkeshar and Lokesh. While we were searching for the famous Lucknow biriyani in that city, one of the men who we had stopped to ask for directions chastised us, "Aap Hindu ho? Aap maams kyun khate ho?" (Are you Hindus? Why are you eating meat?)
My reverie about the obsession of religions with diets and hair is broken as a cow family tries to cross the road in front of us leading to some major manuevering by Santoshji.
We reach Sikandra and are stuck in a very long traffic jam. It takes us 10 minutes to get to a roundabout and some very aggressive driving by Santoshji to take a u-turn to reach Akbar's tomb. We have 45 minutes to spend there keeping in mind all possible traffic problems all the way till the airport.
Akbar with a reign of over 50 years was indeed the greatest of all Mughal emperors. Assuming the throne at a very young age, he pursued a policy of tolerance and inclusion. He even tried setting up a new religion combining the good points from Hinduism and Islam. He himself started the construction of the tomb which was completed by his son, Jehangir.
Beautiful sandstone gateways on all four sides of the main tomb building. white marble, black onyx and other colored stones create patterns on the sandstone. Though not as impressive as the Taj that was built one century later, Akbar's tomb is still a magnificent project. The domes of the tomb have distinct Rajput feel than Islamic touch. The passage way to the centotaph is long and dark. The cenotaph chamber is dark and cold. A very simple resting place for one of the greatest monarch India had seen.
The gate closest to Yamuna is in a sad state of damage. The great gardens around the tomb are very well maintained. Plenty of deer. Lots of parrots perched on the tomb. Parrots are like the crows of Agra. We make it back to the car in 40 minutes.
Santoshji has no intention of being stuck in the same traffic jam again. So he follows some cars and bikes that are taking a detour into an alley. "Local log honge, unko patha hoga" (They must be local folks who know alternate routes) Soon there is a long line of vehicles following us as we chase the white Suzuki in front us. We go through narrow roads in housing areas. Sharp turns and plenty of pot holes later, we rejoin the high way around 10 meters from the point where all the traffic in India seems to have converged that morning. And in the last few seconds, after we spot the highway, we overtake the vehicles of the local folks who had shown us the shortcut. Indian traffic: survival of the fittest.
Mathura is much more alive since it is a working day. Lots of folks outside the city court. The small prison is right next to it. Passing near Vrindavan, I remember all that I have read about the sad state of widows who are dumped there. Since nobody pays for their funerals, there are reports that the dead bodies of these abandoned widows are being chopped up and thrown into the river. In some of the small towns we pass through, surprising presence of "Body Suppliments" shop.
The shift from Uttar Pradesh to Haryana is amply clear from the change in the physical structure and dress of women. Haryana is much more well endowed. Even the frequently appearing poster of Karishma Kapoor endorsing some salt biscuit gets enhanced contouring under her sports bra in Haryana. Women in salwars carrying bundles of hay on their heads supported by both hands. The mustard fields wave in the morning wind. There are no Shah Rukh Khans and Kajols running towards each other in slow motion there. Only a boy taking a dump behind a fence.
At Palwal, the traffic is so heavy that Santoshji decides to detour. Instead of Faridabad, we head to Sohna. The town is a glorified village. Driving between vast fields of the great Indian plain and patches of eucalyptus trees that infrequently line the highway, we pass through several small villages. I had never seen bunch of men in turbans huddled around rope beds, smoking and holding a village conference in real. It looked like an image that had jumped straight out of a long forgotten primary school civics textbook. I had seen plenty of car washes, but outside Sohna there is a tractor wash.
An old lady with a broom very gently was making her way very gently across the highway. Since the road was straight, we could see her from couple of hundred meters away. Santoshji blared his horn, but she seemed least bothered. Getting a little closer, we found the source of her confidence. There was a huge speedbreaker right next to the park that she was going to sweep. Even if we had hit that speedbreaker at the speed we were coming, we would have only flown over her!
There is a World Institute of Technology in the area. Traffic increases as we near Gurgaon. Whatever is left of the Aravalli mountains after its steady demolition for construction work of modern Delhi, rises to our left. The toll booth of Gurgaon coming from Sohna looks like a scary thug post from the past. Unkempt men sit in small stone towers and wave the cars down. Towards Gurgaon the road is as straight as the crow flies for a few kilometers.
Driving through modern Gurgaon is like driving through Houston. Wide roads with bright big road signs and exits well marked. Tall apartment buildings, shiny glass walled malls, towering corporate offices. Posh. Wealthy. Modern. Sophisticated. Tree-less. "dus saal pehle yahan kuch nahi tha" (There was nothing here 10 years ago) Santoshji says. . The rise of this latest city of Delhi has been quick. Anyone aspiring to live in an ultra modern city in India, should pack their bags for Gurgaon, not Mumbai or Bangalore.
Archeological Society of India calls Delhi "the city of cities". They are speaking from a historical point of view as modern Delhi contains several capital cities of numerous dynasties from India's tumultous past. But the description is apt in every sense to present day Delhi as well. The crowded Karol Bagh and the incredibly congested Gaffar market was a certain Delhi. The well planned, tree-lined, impressive administrative center of modern India at Janpath, Safdarjung and so on...that is a different Delhi. Then there is the Old Delhi of Chandni Chowk and the footpath markets. And Nizammudin. And most recently, there is the glittering Gurgaon. Delhi is very much a city of cities.
As we reach the final toll plaza which charges an awkward Rs. 21 towards the Indira Gandhi airport, Santoshji hands me a feedback form. He eyes me discreetly as I go on ticking the "excellent" boxes. I recommended that tourists from Delhi to Agra should go via Faridabad and return via Gurgaon so that there is a chance to see both these routes.
By 3pm, we are at the modern Indian architectural wonder called Indira Gandhi Airport. I enjoy walking around admiring the huge paintings and sculptures. I wonder if movie studios have already erected sets of this airport. It is a great setting for scenes.
I take the window seat on the flight back. Setting sun on the horizon is a beautiful sight. Venus and Jupiter mark two bright spots. Halali reservoir is silvery at dusk as we fly over Bhopal. Air hostess apologizes for running out of non-vegetarian dinners. I suspect Jai Guru of Mathura with his white domed temple might have something to do with it. Hyderabad looks like an illuminated simulation of neurons. Bangalore's light lines radiate outward. Past Coimbatore, we land in Kochi. An unclaimed black bag in the security area delays our take off by 10 minutes.
Viewed from the sky, slender Kerala has no dark pockets at night. Getting closer to Thiruvananthapuram, the fishing boats out in the sea seem to be the reflection of a starry sky. They make it easy to imagine that we are on a space ship tumbling towards outer space as we descent towards Thiruvananthapuram airport. Landing. Prepaid taxi. Home by 10:30pm.
In the morning at our hotel room in Agra, after watching the Taj dome at dawn, Amma had suddenly recited, "Sapthalbhuthangalil onnanu Taj Mahal. Athu verum oru shava kallara mathram. Ennal athinte bhangiyo? Avarnaneeyamatre. Kettariyunathinekal nallathanallo kandariyunathu. Veru nammukku angottu pokam..." (Taj Mahal is one of the seven wonders. It is only a tomb. But its beauty? Indescribable. It is better to see than hear about it. Come let us go there...)
These were the opening lines of a lesson that she had memorised from her 2nd standard textbook, over 50 years ago. Now she had finally been there.
Amma's old primary school textbook is right: "it is better to see than hear about it. Come let us go there..." I want to again...some day!
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