Taj-tastic

I'm sitting on an Indian train at 5.50am. It's below 10 degrees and there is no heating. The smell of spices has masked the smell of the toilet, but we've been sitting here for over an hour after getting up before 4. No sign of when the train is leaving. Whenever an announcement is made, there is a Mario Bros "da-dah" sound. The locals are wrapped in blankets and pashminas and I'm envious. But then, I didn't have to sleep at the station.





There are currently protests across Rajasthan that are stopping road and rail traffic getting through. A low caste people group are demanding land rights and want a reservation to farm their sheep. It's not going to happen.

So rather than catching a train yesterday, I sat up the front of an Indian bus, learning about Indian driving etiquette. There were a few hairy moments where pedestrians and bicycles were nearly taken down. Lanes are just a suggestion because there is too much traffic and not enough road. The traffic includes people, overloaded auto rickshaws, horse carts, camel carts as well as trucks, cars and buses. The bus expertly weaves around them with a constant honking of the horn to announce it's presence.

However, we arrived alive in Agra - the home of Moghul opulence and the "tear drop on the face of eternity": the Taj Mahal. A memorial to a beloved wife, it was awe inspiring, despite the 10,000 other people there.





I remember being there as a 9 year old, tracing my fingers over the delicate floral patterns of the tombs made by semi precious stones, imagining the riches of these people. Now, we can't touch the tombs, nor can we take photos inside the mausoleum. The tourists line up and circle the tombs, with a little push and shove. Still, it didn't undermine the experience of seeing such clever and beautiful design.

Likewise, the red fort brought back memories of my childhood experience. Built by the Moghul emperors over a period of 95 years, it wasn't a fort to mess with. A moat of crocodiles, then a pit of tigers, then a wall of cannons surround the palaces inside. It was designed to indulge every desire of the Emperor and consists of hundreds of rooms that were once covered in jewels and gold and filled with fan waving concubines. In the women's quarters I remembered running around imagining I was the Empress. I did the same imagining again. It is a very romantic place full of stories of riches, love and betrayal.

The train has started moving but very slowly. I hope it will warm up from the body heat, but I fear the open doors between carriages will create a wind tunnel. The locals have literally covered themselves with blankets, including their faces. But, again, I didn't sleep on the street so I shouldn't complain.






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