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 cannot reduce my excitement. I am actually going to visit the tomb of Mumtaz Mahal, (1) one of the storied venues on Earth: it framed my Grade Three geography textbook. Secretly, I don’t believe that it is real. It is actually only a cardboard cutout of some created picture – a Hieronymus Bosch image of Heaven and Hell: The Garden of Earthly Delights. (2) My doubt of reality extends back to when I was a child. It was my first glimpse of memory. We drove from our little village, with its non-gazetted roads to the metropolis of Victoria. The dirt path finally shuffled into a paved highway. Then the road gave way to an actual expressway with divided lines. As I looked out the window of the car, I noticed that at times there were two solid parallel lines in the middle of the road, they would run together for the longest period; then, suddenly, without a moment’s notice, the lines were divided into little spaces on one side, then on the other, then abruptly both lines would be solid once again — streaming into the distance : what a dilemma? How is this possible?
My father was very laconic, a man of few words. At other times, he could be very talkative, but he loved to tease; at my tender age I could not tell the difference. “There is a man in an office controlling the lines from Victoria.” “How does he make them change so rapidly and when?” “He is very skilled, very skilled.” Even in my adolescence I realized that the word “skilled” was a euphemism for “I don’t know!” Now if my father didn’t know – a man who knew everything – then it indeed must be a mystery. I stared at those lines for the remaining four hours of the trip: the line-controller was indeed very busy. This fueled an interest in transportation systems that continues to this day. It was my secret knowledge. I knew the reality of movement: there is a man in an office that controls all — Sir Isaac Newton (3) could only “take a back seat.” I inadvertently revealed this classified information to a close friend when I was nine. He was, however, two years older, and much more worldly. I remember him laughing and making fun of my naivety. This was far, far worse than uncovering the truth about Santa Claus. (4) This occurrence I had seen with my own eyes. How was I to dismiss my perception so easily? To quote Plato in the Phaedrus: “Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.” (5) At the gare, I am also given one of those seminal bequests that come infrequently in life: the gift of ingenuity.
A diminutive man appears carrying a small blue sac-a-main. We negotiate to have my shoes shined: a pure luxury in dusty India and, after all, I am going to see one of the jewels of the world. After the price is agreed on (it is so ridiculously low that stating it would be an embarrassment), he proceeds at an intense pace: wiping, brushing, shining and the like. As his arms and hands move spasmodically, he glances over at my bag. The front handle has been partially torn off by one of the train porters. “I can fix that as well,” he announces. I am somewhat bemused. You normally don’t think of luggage repairman in the same breath as shoe shine specialist: you need specialized tools, don’t you? I agree – what do I have to lose? The Oxfords (6) are quickly finished and he springs into life. It is as if this is his real “first true love”: luggage! He carefully unzips the top of the case and removes the broken fastener, the one that secures the handle. How it is removed is a trade secret, his hands working at such a frenetic pace. His bag is opened and another identical handle pin appears. It is gently fixed in the place of the old. Glue and thread dance in some form of oriental concoction and “voila,” a repaired case reemerges. The whistle blows, it is time to board the train: her majesty awaits. To be continued … Dame Edith Sitwell (1887-1964) leaves us with a thought: Eccentricity is not, as dull people would have us believe, a form of madness. It is often a kind of innocent pride, and the man of genius and the aristocrat are frequently regarded as eccentrics because the genius and the aristocrat are entirely unafraid of and uninfluenced by the opinions and vagaries of the crowd.
A closing thought: What truly differentiates the mediocre from the excellent is fervor. If a task is done with sincere passion most of us are willing to apologize for its finished lack of finesse. It is the slothfully completed effort that we criticize harshly.
A small joke: Why is the historical period after the Roman Empire known as the Dark Ages? That’s easy: this is because there were so many knights — please!.
This week, ponder the passion that you display on a daily and weekly basis. Is it strong enough?
Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: Where do I journey when I feel alone or frustrated or directionless? I must travel into myself to find the pathway to the answers. This can only be accomplished through meditation and prayer.
Footnotes:
1) Mumtaz Mahal
2) 15 Things You Should Know About Bosch’s ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’
3) Isaac Newton
4) The Jackson 5 I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus with lyrics
6) Oxford shoe