How do you approach one of the wonders of the world: Should I genuflect? Should I prostrate myself, crawl on my belly, what? These thoughts dance in my head as I arrive at the train station in New Delhi: my destination Agra – The Taj Mahal. This is my second excursion by train during my Indian adventure. I am more familiar with the transportation system and am therefore not as filled with anxiety. There are not 10,000 thieves lurking to steal all when I turn my head in the opposite direction. I ask two young men to glance over my luggage as I go to the washroom; miraculously, it is there when I come back. What fun this trust ‘thing” is: wow! Perhaps we could change the world just by trusting one another more – now that is a revolutionary thought.
I am off to New Delhi: capital of India. It is a relatively new “first” city. The great trading port of Kolkata, which we have already visited, was the capital of the British Raj until 1911. Old Delhi, however, did have a ruling pedigree having been the capital of the great Mughal Empire (1649-1857). The British were renowned for ruling their empire with great efficiency. The bureaucracy, in turn, was constantly “fine tuning” the workings of government. To this end, during the early 1900s, a proposal to shift the capital back to the environs of this region was accepted. The rationale being that this administrative district was geographically central to the subcontinent as a whole and yet could be more easily defended from military assault, as it was more isolated. The land for building the new center of Delhi was thus acquired. The city was finally inaugurated in 1931. Its main designer and planner, Sir Edwin Lutyens (1869-1944), can be credited with leaving the modern metropolis some of its most iconic edifices – many in the so-called Indo-Saracenic style. (1) As an aside, in the building of this new capital, the pure wealth of India was put on display. It was a fact not missed by future luminaries such as Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948). The construction was undertaken in the haunting shadow of the Great Indian Famine of 1899-1900. The government painted itself as completely soulless and not even worthy of contempt. This did not bode well for the future of Empire.
When I first hear of this city, I am mesmerized by its name. It has four syllables. Four stresses always fall off your tongue like droplets of wisdom: Varanasi – very classy, tumultuous, magnificent, esoteric, unknowable. Mere words are inadequate to catch its expression of humanity: India’s Delphi, (1) where all is possible if you believe! A trip to the city and you leave modernity.
I’m not a Raj orphan, (1) but I was imbued with the values of empire. When I was growing up in Canada in the early 1950s and 1960s, “that’s cricket” (play honorably) and “keep a stiff upper lip” (never show your emotions) were but a smattering of the concepts associated with the imperial ethos: though in its twilight days, it was not totally moribund — not dead yet. I remember coming to school and standing to sing God Save the Queen. (2) The teacher’s pedantic deference and contrived esteem made you feel as if you were in the Roman Empire being presented to Augustus Caesar; we only lacked the Nubian slaves (I had a vivid imagination). It was the same with our history studies. We were constantly shown textbooks with the British Empire in red, the color of the British army dress uniform, “The Sun never sets on the British Empire,” to paraphrase John Wilson. (3) Everyone knew of the Black Hole of Calcutta and how, after this abomination, Robert Clive, — justifiably, or so we were taught –, (4) established the suzerainty of the British East India Company in Bengal, thereby beginning the creation of The British Raj.
The day of my departure from the security of the temple complex has arrived. I am now aware of the fact that India never fails to impress dramatically and punctuate all with a tinge of the exotic: the otherworldly. My taxi driver arrives at the obscene hour of 4:15, as in the morning – not even God is awake, just the soft pulsating of nocturnal creatures, crickets and the like. The driver is naturally obeisant and gracious. At the gate, I receive my first complication of the day. Now appreciate that this is 4:30 in the morning and my mood is not yet, that should read good mood is not yet, fully engaged. “Where is your badge?” “My what …?” “You cannot leave here unless you surrender your conference ID!” This is not some state-of-the-art device, but a piece of laminated paper. Upon reflection, I realize that the aggressive openings of my suitcases and obscene utterances in Polish assist the guard in his resignation. “That document is actually not necessary. Thank you.” We are off! As the path falls away into the highway, I take the opportunity to reflect on the past few days. When we first arrived, the day before the course began, we were marshaled together and told class begins in the morning at 6:00 sharp, coupled with the admonition, “Don’t be late: be early. Two chances and you will be asked to leave.” “Wow!” This does not fit into my concept of easy-going yoga. By the end of the program, however, I realize these adherents have dedicated their lives to a particular interpretation of reality. They have no patience for triflers.
