Day Seven in India - Agra and the Taj Mahal

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I boarded the train in Varanasi Junction station at 5.20pm, where I had arrived early so I dumped my backpack on the floor trying hard not to think about what I was putting it in. They spit a lot in India and it's common to see red splatters of paan (chewing tobacco) all over the streets. I sat next to a little boy selling guava. I smiled at him and he looked back at me with confusion all over his face. The children in the orphanage had taught me the Hindi word for smile which is 'hashna'. I said this to him and he looked so concerned at my knowing some Hindi. So much so that he then ran away to some older men and jabbered something in Hindi. The men laughed at him and it seemed he was asking them to help him move his stand but they found it amusing that he was scared of a little westerner. He found another boy to help him move the stand, literally, about two feet further away from me and he seemed somewhat more comfortable with this but still looked at me as if I would leap up and murder him at a moments notice. I found it all very funny but I wondered why he was so afraid of me.



Soon after, my train arrived. I, along with every other white person on the platform, wandered up towards the AC2 carriage. I find that, unlike the last when all my roomies were Indian, I am this time surrounded by westerners. A couple from America and a lady from Australia. We all get off at Agra Fort which is due in at 5.55am the following morning. We chat for a while but then I resolve to catch up on my blog and listen to Bon Iver on my iPod. I get an early night but sleep very little. On the top bunk in the AC carriage it is freezing so I wake several times. People chat quietly in various languages throughout the carriage, men wander up and own and I think at one point I kicked someone in the head mid stretch.



I arrived in Agra Fort almost on time. It is still dark but the whole train station is alive with activity. Indian women carrying their modern luggage perched upon their heads, taxi touts outside the doors, people commuting and grabbing a chai en route. India is bustling even at the time of the morning.


I called the hostel who sent a tuktuk straight away to pick me up. As soon as I get to the guesthouse I experience my first Indian sleazebag. The manager of the guesthouse, Yusuf, who is the owners son at just 21 wraps his arm around me and strokes my sleeve until I tell him that this is not ok. But even then he continues to make comments like 'I give you double room madam, you want to share? You want to share with me?'. I make a point of mentioning immediately that I have a husband in the UK but this doesn't seem to deter him in the least. In fact, he seems even more persistent. I suspect he is this way with all his female guests and I ignore it as best I can. It's almost 7am by the time Yusuf has stopped pouring over me and showed me to my room. I close the door and relax for a while but cant sleep as the rest of India is awake and noisy. It's noisy out on the streets, it's noisy upstairs where they are doing building work on the roof and it's noisy out in the corridor where other guests have stirred and ventured out in search of breakfast. By 9am I'm bored so I ask Yusuf if he can arrange a tuktuk just to Agra Fort. Haseen arrives outside just a few minutes later. He shows me a book full of comments from previous guests. All seem very positive and so I agree to let him drive me around for the day. We agree a price of 600Rs (about £7) and we set off to see the baby taj. The tuktuk ride is freezing cold as the mornings are bitter in India at this time of year. On arrival I get a stern talking to from Haseen and am told that I should not accept any food or drink from strangers, I should not allow men to show me around as unofficial tour guides will often pose as staff but will then try to extort money from you afterwards. I enter the grounds a little on edge after the plethora of warnings, expecting to be grabbed and harassed at every turn but I find the place to be very peaceful with few people at all. I enter through the main archway and am confronted by an imposing building. At this moment I am grateful that Haseen has brought me here first as I think it would be disappointing to have seen this after the Taj Mahal which, let's face it, most if not all architecture pales into insignificance next to. From here you can see across the river to the hustle and bustle of the rest of Agra but here I am able to grab a few moments peace. I walk alongside the wall that separates the structure and grounds from the river and look down. A small boy is walking along the waters edge. He glances up and his face illuminates to see a big sack of western money staring back down at him (that's me, and that's how I feel, not all but some, Indian people see me sometimes). He sees my camera and shouts up to me 'picture, picture?' I take a shot of him smiling and waving frantically. He asks then for chocolate, I don't have any. He then asks for a pen which I throw down to him. Then he asks for money so I say no as I had already given him my last working pen...which in hindsight was stupid. I should have just given him the 2Rs he was asking for (about 3p). I finish up and head back to Haseen, where he waits just outside the gates. Next he wants to take me to the back of the Taj Mahal. We chat about his family and he asks me that old indian favourite, am I married. I explain that I have been with my fiancée for 7years and we hope to marry soon. I expect judgement but what I get is mild envy. Haseen explains that he thinks it is a wonderful thing to be able to know your partner before marrying them. He is Muslim and his parents chose his wife for him. He says with a big round smile 'but I am lucky, I have a beautiful wife, a good wife'. They have three children, two daughters and one son and he is very happy. We pass a 'laundry' on the way to our destination. It's a feast for the eyes. Hundreds of beautifully vibrant, coloured saris laid out on the dusty road to dry in the sunshine. I wonder if it ever occurred to them that laying freshly cleaned clothes out on a dusty road is counterproductive, as we pass by. We arrive and Haseen directs me down an old track. I walk for a few minutes, passing some children and a man with a camel on the side of the road. The area is wooded but the track is open to the increasing warmth of the sun. I reach the end of the path where there are a few men sat to my right, here in what feels like the middle of nowhere, still there are men just sitting around, seemingly doing nothing. I reach a barbed wire fence and a tired, old metal gate. The fence stretches out as far as he eye can see in both directions and beyond is the Taj Mahal. It is magnificent. In the haze of the morning it looks almost like an apparition. I take a bunch of pictures and head back to the tuktuk. On the way I am accosted by two boys selling postcards. One clings to the others arm, who guides him along the road. The boy is blind, his eyes milky white. I speak to them in my basic Hindi and as soon as I do, the charade of selling is dropped and they now speak to me more like a human being and less like a walking dollar bill. We chat about where they come from and they ask me about my life. In hindsight I wish I had bought a few postcards from them and as I write about the experience, I find that I am upset that I didn't. You get so constantly harassed in parts of India, always there is someone wanting something from you and so you become blinkered and shut off to people in many ways. These boys weren't begging, they didn't ask for anything but for me to buy a postcard and in fact as soon as we started chatting even that stopped (unlike many others who will hound you until you give in or run away). I wish I had bought a postcard or two. Have I become so thick skinned that cannot even see when the time is right to give? The cause is most often worthy but it is impossible to give to everyone. They waved goodbye to me as we drove away, with wide smiles. Haseen next dropped me off at Agra Fort and then headed home for lunch. I had an hour and a half in the fort which was a fascinating place with wonderful views over to the Taj Mahal. I felt that all my sightseeing so far was all building up to the Taj. I sat in the courtyard of the fort to eat lunch when I spotted a large red monkey over the other side with a fairly severe limp. He had spotted me too. He started moving towards me slowly and almost as if to pretend that he had no intention of robbing me of my lunch. I put the food away pretty quickly and moved to the other side of the courtyard. He nonchalantly wandered over to where I had been sat, as if he hadn't even seen me or my food. He wandered off and out of sight but it turned out I had no idea who I was dealing with. This monkey, despite his physical ailment turned out to be like ninja cat of the monkey world!! Every time I glanced up from my food he was completely still but each time, a few steps closer to me. I was being stalked. I decided to abandon lunch and instead photographed some Muslim men in brilliant white full length tunics who stood out beautifully against the red brick of the fort. Soon after they decided to come sit with me. My basic Hindi didn't get me very far with them and they did not speak English at all so we sat in silence until I went to leave. All of a sudden a camera appeared and they asked to have a photo taken with me. I could hardly say no after snapping away at them paparazzi style with my zoom lens!! Finally, about two hours before sunset, I arrived at the Taj Mahal. After another safety talk from Haseen I started on my way towards the Western entrance gate. It was buzzing with people. Many, many Indian tourists and a few westerners where queuing to get in. I bought my ticket at the horrendous price of 750Rs for foreign visitors. NB. Indians pay about 20Rs to gain entry. When I came to join the queue for security I was horrified to find four separate queues. Foreign females, foreign males, Indian men and Indian women. Now at this moment I was both glad to have paid the extra as the queue for me was almost non existent but at the same times ashamed to see that the queue for Indian women was about 150 deep. There is no preferential treatment for these ladies as foreigners and Indian men are invited in before them. It was shameful. That night I met a few of the visitors at the guesthouse; a group of brash Australians who talk loudly and smoke whilst everyone else is eating, a Dutch girl who seems incredibly highly strung and speaks about a hundred miles an hour and a slow speaking American named Ben. I order my dinner twenty minutes after him so he is a little perturbed when my food turns up first but we chat about the places we've been. He's heading to Fatephur Sikri in the morning and asks if I want to tag along. My train isn't until 4pm so we agree to meet at breakfast and leave for about 9am.

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