2/4/06: Agra Culture (and Photography)

Briefly, the Taj Majal was built by Shah Jahan, the grandson of Akbar, as a loving testimonial to his wife of 18 years, who died in her 18th child birth, but not before he promised to not remarry, get involved in politics, and build her a memorial. Allegedly, during the 40 days after her death, Shah Jahan’s hair and beard turned grey and he decided to build the Taj Majal, along a river on one side, and with a pool in front, as dual reflections of love. SJ is also buried in the perfectly symmetric (as love should be) Taj, whose three domes and four minarets are 73 meters high (80 yards for the Yanks) and took 18 years to build. Enough for facts. The place is drop-dead gorgeous! For the next 75 minutes, we watched its white marble put on a chameleon-like light and water show—changing hues from front-to-back, from side-to-side, from direct to reflected, from white to grey to yellow to peach to mauve. We noticed sparkling stones, but only when viewed from the right angle, we marveled as floral carvings and inlaid marble, and all for the love of a woman. Paul and Rick were so inspired, they offered deeply insincere promises of post-mortem monuments to their lovely wives. 88 digital images later, including an oxen-powered lawn mower on the Taj’s grounds, with our souls well-fed we headed back to the Oberoi to feed our bellies.

Next stop, the Agra Fort, ironically built by Shah Jahan as essentially a lovely palace to house his multi-denominational harem, and protected by a walled fortress. The marble carvings and other architectural delights reflected the melding of Hindu, Jain, and Islamic influences, initiated by Grandpa Akbar. Unfortunately, after Shah Jahan’s wife died, his wicked and intolerant son Aurangzeb imprisoned him in the Fort, after killing his brothers. This is the same lunatic who moved thousands of people from Delhi to Aurangabad, losing more than half along the way, only to retreat 12 years later.

On our way out of Agra, we visited an inlaid marble factory, feasting our eyes on lovely and overpriced table tops, boxes, plates, and elephants, and escaping with money belts in tact, the Sinha Six all showing great restraint. Further down the road, we stopped a the Fatehpur Sikri, another palace-enclosed fortress, built by Akbar, in honor of a local astrologer who foretold his legacy. It is here that our guide Dubey (dubey do) summed up Akbar’s openness to Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, as “Destination (nirvana) the same…ways (specific practices) different,” an attitude that seems to permeate the Indians we have come to know and love.

The road to Jaipur could easily be labeled Washboard Superhighway, one lane each way, with the usual assortment of camels, potholes, goat hearders, dogs, cows, bulls, oxcarts and timber tractors driving American style (on right side of the road), along with toll stations, brick factories and uninviting bordello huts with saree-clad Hookers on cell phones.

The four hour drive into the moonlight seemed an eternity, but our destination, the Oberoi Raj Vilas was well worth the journey. Suffice it to say that Travel & Leisure’s 100 rating for service and facilities is almost an understatement!