It was a winter of 2014, I was in Jodhpur attending a friend’s wedding when a girl from Azerbaijan asked me how to go to Agra and if I had seen Taj Mahal? I was blank. After all, I hadn’t been to Taj Mahal, not until yesterday.
On a whim I had redeemed all my credit card points and bought flights to Delhi (slowdown doesn’t mean you need to slow down your travel plans, there are always some points somewhere which you can redeem) and there I was in Delhi welcomed with a pollution mask by my friend, Ritu.
And there on a beautiful winter morning we left for Agra via the Yamuna Expressway (undoubtedly one of the best roads in the country and spot on clean women’s washrooms) and headed to the Taj Eastern Gate. As we walked in I could see an ocean of people thronging the main courtyard and the stage from where every ambassador in the world clicks a pristine picture to take back home. As luck would have it, common man does not have access to such luxuries of life so there you are elbowing, edging with other visitors to get a picture without someone’s arms or scarf photo bombing your picture.
But it all changes when you enter the main property, there stands a huge white structure with intricate flowers etched and carved along the walls. Ofcourse, the Mahal is large enough to accommodate human chaos but in it also lies the fact that you will always find a corner for yourself to appreciate this marvel.
The first time I laid my eyes on it, I ended up asking why does it have such a dark tinge? I realized I had the answer, but there this was a magnanimous structure clamouring for your attention, for you to come inside those walls and take you back to history. But does it really take you back in that era? I don’t know I still don’t have an answer to that. I observed that inside the mausoleum two columns have flowers etched downwards while the next two columns had the same design with flowers looking upwards. I don’t know the science or the art behind the design, but the intricately etched flowers had my heart.
After walking through the entire stretch we were standing at one of the corner of the compound and from there the same Taj Mahal looked like a wonder, something so beautiful yet so painful at the same time. While I stood in solace I kept staring at it and wondered- a man who was capable of building something so grand and glorious to give a befitting good bye to the woman he loved why would he cut the hands of the labourers, the ones who made his vision come true? What love meant to him? What love means to people around me, as I looked at the central courtyard there were hundred people still clamoring for space to click that picture where they hold the tip of the Mahal. May be they are there with their loved ones doing things they love together.
Barefoot-Stories 