Agra. Everything But Romantic Appeal
Everybody who’s craving for beauty and romanticism are now welcome to go somewhere else as in the following few passages I’m going to be extremely cynical.
Once upon a time there was a rich and mighty indian shah. Nevertheless he had whole harem of fine maidens for quenching his lust he got stuck to the only one loving her to death. Indian shahs knew nothing about contraception and so this poor maiden had to give birth to eight sons and six daughters virtually without resting or stopping. Giving birth to the last fourteenth child this heroic woman signed with a sense of relief and breathed her last. Because of this unexpected outcome her husband turned grey and spent most of state treasury on building huge white mausoleum. He was just about to spent the remaider of GDI on another mausoleum - exactly same but black - for himself but opposition formed out of his own sons was quick enough to put him from the throne to jail. And it was where he died overlooking white domes of Taj Mahal in the narrow loophole of his cell.
Generations of shahs came one ather enother, then there were English and finally India became democratic republic highly dependent on income from tourism. To see this monument of pitiless muslim love would cost you quite an amount - 750 rupees, enough to cross the whole country in a train from the very top to the very bottom or to live some days in a nice village by the ocean. And naturally Taj Mahal gave grow to a number of hotels, restaurants and souvenir shops just by it. But becides the white silhouette on the horizon Agra is an ordinary relatively dirty indian town.
If you belong to those backpackers in stretched out old t-shirts travelling along LonelyPlanet routes then your Agra most probably will begin with an autorikshaw to the Taj South Gate and one of local hostels or restaurants with some view of the monument.
Over the roofs of ordinary indian houses.
And with local sweets made from glucose, pumpkin, saffron or rose syrup.
And if your luck would not cover the weather, if the white domes would be hidden by thick white fog, then at the very first moments you are most likely to wonder where the huck you are.
You will ask yourself only one thing: is there anything nice and beautiful in this town? And even the tea with sweets will not be able to help you.
It’s always like that in India, no matter how much time you spend here. But the warmer air would get…
The clearer would appear the shapes of whide domes out of it…
The more you will like it here.
And playing with focus and view angle…
You will even catch a glimpse of some old-fascioned romanticism.
However, it is likely to finish straight after the doves fly away and then perfectly plain indian town would start or, to be more specific, continue.
Perfectly plain indian town where monkeys steal chapatis.
Where local families come to warm themselves up on the rooftops.
Where you will be noticed straight away and immediately smiled at.
Coming from the top to the ground…
We immerse ourselves into its life.
Ignoring everybody who’s trying to tell us the Taj Mahal is not on this but next street we turn straightly into narrow passages.
What is more interesting: cold monument to dead beauty or living people?
Each and everyone of nearby children would be asking, pleading and demanding "one photo" and, of course, "money".
But sometimes they can become happy only with one handshake.
But don’t try to find any kind of romanticism in here.
Having noticed a goat in a shirt my friends comes to take some pictures of it and I would firstly grumble someting about "nothing interesting, we have whole country consisting of goats in shirts…" but then would not resist the scene and take some photos of it as well.
Yes, it’s true, locals are pitying their domestic animals, their feeders putting old sweaters and vests on them.
Crying children can be well pacified by showing them some white girls passing. And by taking of a family portrait.
Sure, India is impossible without cows. There are no shirts their size that’s why they walk absolutely naked though nobody gets shy out of that.
There’s a plenty of blues on the streets.
Though sometimes this blue is quite shabby.
There are canteens on the streets - chapatis are going to be ready soon.
Men are sitting in groups talking their manly talks.
We are "caught" by some helpful boy who shows the way to some hidden arch and crossing the staircase underneath it we enter the street which would lead us directly to Taj Mahal.
Entering the mausoleum would require a lot of patience: the queues are huge both in the ticket office and on the entrance. We looked at them with same sized doubt and walked into neighbouring park hoping to find another entrance.
Eventhough some doors would make our hearts beat faster they were naturally locked tight. Who would deprive country of such an inportan part of the income?
But there on the doors we found some nice squirrels.
Well-fed and absolutely not scared. They were posing for us quite a long time.
Little grains which make up their food are thrown everywhere in here especially for them.
And the squirrels are enjoying it absolutely.
When they are not around the grains are enjoyed by all-pervading cows.
I think that Taj Mahal is definately worth going inside. Especially on a nice sunny and ferial day.
But on a foggy sunday you’d better be satisfied only with the surroundings.
It was very interesting to meet here some herons. For the first time I realised that these are the actual birds that leave my home country in autunm heading for the south, for some warm countries. They are spending winters here, exactly here.
So I can easily understand them.
And wonder if some backpackers in old stretched t-shirts will be reborn as migrant birds.
Conserning the India itself, I will remember it exactly like this: brown-blue and foggy.
Beautiful but shaggy.
Rich in nature but miserable in everything else.
Miserable but yet surreal.
Equally filled with both garbage.
And most amazing architecture..
Once ancient, mighty civilisation.
But totally childish and comic in modern reality.
Either fog or dust.
Either street.
Or market.
Either Hinduism.
Or Islam.
Either transpot at the breaking point of capacity.
Either woman…
Wearing sari.
Either common, daily or sacred.
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November 30, 2008 3:20 pm
By Trust in India, March 3, 2009 @ 3:34 pm
I do agree that Agra the town does not have any romantic appeal for the tourists who come to visit the place. However tourists are also aware that the main place of interest is the magnificent Taj Mahal which is the epitome of love and romanticism…