I catch the train to Agra. It is an uneventful trip. The only truly exciting occurrence is that the Indian Rail Corporation does not view Agra with the reverence that I (or we) do. I am sitting rather contentedly, half asleep, in my seat when the train suddenly comes to a lurching stop. I am jarred to attention. As I glance out the window, I see an enormous sign: Agra. “Are we in Agra?” I inquire with some urgency. The incredulous look of the weary conductor says it all: another ridiculous foreigner with an inane question! “You have three minutes!” he responds rather haughtily. Life moves in slow motion. I cannot seem to disengage my valise from the upper rack.—the seconds tick by. I tumble out of the train scuffing my newly polished shoes: such are the blemishes of travel.

 

A man immediately hails me. It is my home-stay patron. He is an intelligent, personable chap with fiery eyes and soon we are in his little car on our way to his home. Given the display of his automobile, I hold out little hope for an elegant residence. His abode, however, is the exact opposite. It is newly built and situated inside a gated community: (1) first class, truly first class!   

I am, curiously, a little disappointed: my room is decidedly excellent – but not the India I have come to expect. It is an expensive hotel room – nice, but not for me. After hard mattresses and the lingering scent of curry, this room is too much: I cannot sleep until three AM. I awake at four — God is still asleep – all is quiet. I come back to that devilish question, “How does one prepare to visit one of the more remarkable edifices on the planet?” Aesthetics (2) is such a limitless study that I do not know where to begin. I do my yoga, shower with earnestness and put on my best monogrammed shirt. I shine my shoes. I am ready. My home stay is awake along with his mother. They proffer an excellent cup of coffee – just right. The driver and tour guide are waiting. I am going in style.

 

We journey for thirty minutes and arrive at the tomb. The sun is not yet awake, only emitting yawning flickers of light. We pay and approach the main gate. Photographs, books – every visual form of knowledge cannot capture where I am. I descend into the 17^th century. All my preconceived notions of space and time are eviscerated. How do you feel such love that you place it in material form? I am reminded of a Tissot painting: “The Artists’ Wives.” (3) His lover and muse, Kathleen Newton, is looking at him with the whimsical connection that only two intimate people can have: rare. When she died at 28, he sat by her coffin for four days: totally inconsolable. I cross the threshold of the gate and view the tomb – magnificent. Almost like magic, the sun opens her arms and embraces the garden and buildings – it is five thirty. There are no people. I am alone with my thoughts of love. I am humbled by the expression of emotion. Somehow, Shah Jahan, convinced 20,000 artisans to reside here for 21 years and physically complete his vision. According to the Indian government, these same family members today still engage in the ongoing refurbishment and maintenance of the buildings. Great love affairs often end badly – his did. As the Taj Mahal was nearing completion, he crossed the Yamuna River and laid the foundations for the Black Taj Mahal: (4) he then became ill. Though he recovered, his youngest son, Aurangzeb (1618 -1707) — perhaps fearing the additional costs on the Mughal treasury– deposed him. He died eight years later only being able to view the tomb from his series of rooms in Agra Fort.

 

I complete my tour at around lunchtime. My guide takes me to a magnificent restaurant for a Mughal repas. It is finished and punctuated by an interesting concoction of spices used as a breath freshener: unique. I bring some home for my students but they are poorly received – too exotic, I am told. I then visit the aforementioned Agra Fort and view the small chambers where Shah Jahan was detained until the end of his life. I am reminded of the quote from the Book of Job, (5) Job 1:21 “Naked I came from my mother’s womb and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” This reminder of the grandeur and contrasting humbleness of life is one of the greatest gifts of India. We then proceed to view a plethora of tombs and monuments. All, of course, are anticlimactic. It is time to return to Delhi. I am booked on India’s version of the “bullet train.” As I enter the coach, I realize that I must give the attendants their due respect. Their uniforms are obviously bespoke and demand obeisance. This is not just a one-hour train trip back to the capital. It is a hurtle, now forward, in time: we leave the 17^th century and return to the 21^st in Indian style, if you will. I am, at least look, duly impressed: I mirror the awe of my fellow passengers. I arrive and stay the night at the home of a lawyer. One of the luxuries of life, however, is withdrawn for the evening: water. The woman tells me that she didn’t know I was coming and has turned off the water pump. I cannot bring myself to ask the question, “Can it not simply be turned back on?” she is already too flummoxed: I bathe from a bucket. What a day: the mind reels from a surfeit of information. To be continued … Albert Einstein (1879-1955) leaves us with a quote: My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.        

 

A closing thought: Luck, a short story by Mark Twain, (1835-1910) tells the tale of an incompetent British general who rises to fame and glory due to his remarkable good fortune. The passage poses the question, “Is luck not self created?”  

 

A small joke: Why did the dinosaur cross the road? That’s easy, because the chicken didn’t yet exist.

This week, please reflect on the now. This is the only moment that you can truly control.

Every day look for something magical and beautiful.

Quote: The morning sunrise can bring but hope to a beleaguered and frustrated human mind. This shields us as we do battle in an all consuming day.

Footnotes:

1)   gated community

2)   Aesthetics

3)   A Closer Look at Tissot’s “The Artists’ Wives”

4)   black tajmahal

5)   Bible: The Old Testament