When our bus rolled into the parking lot of the hotel, I was shocked at the fancy chandeliers I could see from my window. Butlers quickly came to take our luggage to our rooms, and we were all served glasses of rose water in the lobby. Someone (I think Thomas Lee) said that this hotel was just as expensive as the YWCA in Delhi, but the price of the latter was inflated by the nearby airport. Regardless, I was elated to live in luxury for the first time in a while.
When we got to our rooms, we had a half hour to gather ourselves before dinner. I decided to overdo myself and wear the sole dress shirt I brought on the trip. No one knew where we would be eating—Vipul had been suspiciously vague about it. Only once we were sitting in the bus did Vinny explain where we were going. He announced that instead of attending a five-star restaurant or eating at a fancy hotel, we would be attending a restaurant founded for acid attack survivors to work, make money, and grow in a supportive community.
The restaurant was the idea of a journalist who reported on acid attacks in Uttar Pradesh, exposing what many did not realize was a severe and widespread atrocity in India. I had not even heard of acid attacks prior to this experience. For those like me who had not heard of acid attacks, acid attacks involve throwing strong acid on (typically) women, whether for hateful purposes or no reason at all. We watched video testimonials from survivors at the restaurant, and the stories were eye-opening.
Once we weathered the emotional blow of hearing these stories, the ladies who work at the restaurant served us a phenomenal meal of cooked vegetables, rice, and paneer. The paneer was easily the best I had eaten so far in India. After dinner, we spoke with the founder and took a nice picture. I was glad to have supported the founder in his cause to increase awareness of acid attacks and petition for more legislation to punish perpetrators and uplift survivors.
After this rather heavy but rewarding experience, we returned to the hotel to prepare for an early wakeup. We were told to be ready by 5:45 AM to leave for the Taj Mahal, as we wanted to avoid crowds and heat. I took a great shower and got into bed, but I needed to work on my blogs, so I did not fall asleep until midnight.
The next morning, my alarm blared at 5:00 AM, and I would want to roll back asleep under any other circumstance. However, my excitement to see the Taj Mahal was enough to spur me out of bed. We did not need to pack or eat breakfast; we would do both upon returning to the hotel. I had saved a sandwich and an apple in my bag from the Hanifl Centre, so I ate those to make sure I had energy in the heat.
We took our bus only part of the way to the Taj Mahal (about 10 minutes), as vehicle access is banned in a certain radius of the monument to reduce pollution that could taint the white marble. So, we exited the bus and loaded onto a tram, which took us to security. Around the entrance, we quickly noticed what Vinny had warned us about: hoards of solicitors advertising trinkets. Many were children bearing toys. Vinny and Vipul were quite harsh and stern with them, so we followed suit.
Once we cleared security, we walked through a hallway containing pictures and renderings of the Taj Mahal over the years. I learned from our tour guide (not Vinny, but another gentleman whose name I unfortunately forget) that the British restored the gardens in accordance with London-style lawns. However, they kept the structure of the building as it was (besides plundering the gold at the top of the highest dome and eventually replacing it with brass).
As we walked to the front gate, we got our first glimpse of the white marble in the morning sun. The day was already fairly hot, but the weather was certainly bearable and not a cloud could be seen in the sky. I was awestruck, taking pictures of everything (as I always do).
Soon, we arrived at the red sandstone gate. Its beauty should not be minimized. On its roof, there are 22 small white domes, each representing one of the 22 years it took around 20,000 laborers and 1,000 elephants to build the Taj Mahal (from 1631 to 1653). The door is framed by Muslim prayers in Arabic, but the calligraphy was not drawn using ink or paint. Instead, onyx was inlaid into the white marble of the frame to form black symbols. This craft is called parchin kari, and it was used to inlay ornate flowers on the gate as well.
As we walked closer to the flowers, we could see that they consisted of several different colors. Our tour guide explained that all of the colorful stones are semi-precious gems inserted into chiseled marble with a special glue (the recipe for which has been kept a family secret by artisans for generations). I was spellbound. The mausoleum would reveal even more stunning and intricate examples of this art.
As we walked under the gate, the full Taj Mahal (“crown palace” in Persian) came into view, and I stood for a minute to take in its grandeur. Then, we all took pictures in front of the long reflecting pool. What made the monument so striking to me was not so much its beauty, but its embodiment of everlasting love and eternal memory. We learned that the fifth Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan, built the mausoleum to exalt his beloved second wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Mumtaz died giving birth to her 14th child with Shah Jahan.
In awe, we continued along the reflecting pool and through the green gardens. The garden is organized into quadrants with walkways between them. Toward the side, we were shown a nice spot to take pictures on a bench under a tree. We eventually made our way to one of the two symmetrical buildings on either side of the mausoleum. Both are made of red sandstone, like the main gate. Only one, however, is a mosque that properly faces Mecca; the other is a guest house, almost identical in structure except for key religious platforms and niches. The mosque is the second-largest marble mosque in the world, behind the white marble mosque in Abu Dhabi that my sister visited in January.
We walked by the mosque first, then entered the Taj Mahal from the west side. We had to wear blue booties on to cover our shoes, and we were not allowed to take photos inside the mausoleum. We passed through a security checkpoint, then ascended a set of stairs to reach the main platform. The ornate parchin kari was magnificent in close range: hundreds of flowers made of brilliant gems, all uniting to make beautiful patterns. The most prominent stone was the orange-red carnelian, which formed most of the petals. Others were malachite (green), lapis lazuli (deep blue), and jasper (yellow-brown). The door frame also contained Muslim prayers in onyx (black), and we learned that these symbols are larger at the top than the bottom to create the illusion that all of the symbols are the same size.
When we walked into the building, we saw the fake sarcophagi of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal. The fake tomb of the wife lay directly in the center; that of Shah Jahan lay to the left. Both false tombs lie directly above the real tombs, viewable in the basement (but not to us). The false tombs were surrounded by an octagonal marble grating. I am not sure whether the entire grating was carved from one continuous slab of marble or whether each panel was a slab. Regardless, I cannot imagine the perfection required to chisel all of the holes and not make a single error (which would ruin the entire piece).
Every inch of the tomb was covered in flowers. We learned that some of the lotuses on the marble screen contained 64 gems, all neatly inlaid in flowers half the size of my hand. It was spectacular to witness. I want to continue learning about the significance of the designs chosen for the tomb: why did the Mughals choose flowers and octagons, and how broadly is this approach observed in Islamic architecture?
We then meandered through the rest of the mausoleum, which did not contain anything particularly notable (though I am sure there were tidbits I missed). Ultimately, we emerged on the other side of the Taj Mahal, which overlooks the Yamuna river. We saw a small red sandstone structure on the other side of the river, and we inquired as to why the land was flat and somewhat manicured. Our guide said that Shah Jahan desired a black marble replica of the Taj Mahal across the river to bear his own tomb. Only the beginnings of a garden came to fruition, as the emperor fell ill and was ousted by his power-hungry son, Aurangzeb.
The succession of Aurangzeb to the throne was quite shocking. Shah Jahan had named his eldest son as heir to the empire, but Aurangzeb and the other brothers were not enthused with this decision. Ultimately, Aurangzeb prevailed by murdering or banishing each of his brothers. He declared Shah Jahan unfit to rule and imprisoned him in the Agra Fort, which overlooks the Taj Mahal across the Yamuna river. Shah Jahan spent the last eight years of his life in a tower bejeweled with the same floral parchin kari as the Taj Mahal, gazing at the masterpiece he created in honor of his wife. I thought the story was rather poetic (and sad). Aurangzeb scoffed at the money required to build another Taj Mahal in black marble, so he slapped the tomb of his father to the left of his mother’s. The tomb of Shah Jahan is the only asymmetrical feature of the entire monument.
At any rate, we continued winding around the Taj Mahal and began our walk back to the tram. One interesting realization I had was that the white marble was not exactly white when viewed up close; instead, it was sort of gray. However, the building appears brilliantly white in the sun from far away. The monument was also remarkably clean and devoid of degradation, mostly thanks to the durable Makrana marble from which it was made. Makrana marble is highly calcified and minimally porous, so the Taj Mahal is quite water-resistant. The only upkeep necessary is regular cleaning with soap and water.
Before we lost sight of the monument, I stood for a minute and cherished its splendor. I soon had to hustle to keep up with the group. As we filed into the bus, Vinny handed each of us a printed photograph taken by one of the men browsing the grounds for tourists. We warmly thanked Vinny for the gift. I adore the photo, and I plan to frame it for my desk. Look out for Part 3 to read the rest of my story!