I have read the Taj Mahal was built by a man for his woman. It is touted as an enormously great testament of love & I always thought it was the man’s idea, BUT. According to our guide, it was the woman’s idea. Interesting...but either way, there was NO way was I gonna to be in the same country & NOT go see the Taj Mahal! [sounds like the Taj Mah-hell when the Indians say it]. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I’d not go once, but twice due to a real Real OHMYGAWD! mishap. But I’ll get to that later. Upon request, The Office of Danceworx was kind enough to set up the one day trip through a travel agent they work with. It was on a comfortable small bus with a sign across the top screaming TOURIST in bold black letters [gee it’s already obvious enough we’re tourists, do ya have to yell it?] My very cozy intimate group of fellow trekkers consisted of a 3 member family from the Philippines, a college student from the US interning in Mumbai, [Bombay] myself, the driver & his aide. Way cool, not a whole lot of folks to have to wait for YEA!
I was picked up in the wee hours of the morning at my temporary guest house, matter of fact, that was the last morning I’d be there yippee!!!! [But not for the last time, little did I know what I was running to, ooh boy & that was talked about in an earlier post on accommodations].
On the way to the very upscale hotel which was the meeting point, I saw a sight so heartbreaking that I couldn’t even get the camera up to my eye, rendered immobile as an observer, too stultified to reach into my bag for it. Mountains of India’s dispossessed, stirring from another night of homelessness, awakening to another day of immense poverty. Imagine empty lots strewn together & inhabited by dozens of forgotten Human Beings, their meager possessions splayed everywhere, dirty, hungry, & thirsty; infants, grandparents, cousins, et al. Wow.
That sight really rocked me & I was so happy not to have to sit next to a chatty Cathy on the bus because I needed quiet to digest what I’d seen. & since it was my first excursion out of Delhi, I was in rapt anticipation for the 5 hour trip to begin. Too excited to close my eyes & still reeling a bit from what I had seen, I hunkered down in my corner seat at the back of the bus, blissfully unaware I was soon to be hit with Tourist Trap #1…
The drive out of Delhi was like a Technicolor movie. Hordes & hordes of people walking the dirty, disarrayed streets, ragtag auto rickshaws, tons of motorcycles, bikes & rickshaws peddled with Olympic ability, all jockeying for position, all doing their best to get ahead of the other since no law governs the motorways. Throw in the cows languishing wherever they please--some scavenging the piles of garbage along with the stray dogs & birds; pot holes & lumpy bumpy stretches peppered by dozens & dozens of old bustling stalls selling just about everything. Shacks in varying degrees of poverty from piss-poor to piss piss poor, dirty barefoot children playing with kid-like fervor. Women in oh so vibrant Goddess-like coverings casually chatting while carting bowls filled with water & other things upon their heads as both arms swing freely. The usual auditory profanity of cars honking, Honking, HONKING with no pauses within the cacophony.
I had seen a picture in my guide book but I couldn’t believe it! At an intersection, there were no less than 20 men sitting ON TOP OF A BUS! Now the thought of how they were riding without falling off & how the heck they got up there in the first place let alone how they got down churned in my mind that I missed the photo opp. Not the first or last time I missed a great shot due to being lost in the state of Incredulousness. Dagnabit!! [I later found out there is a ladder in the back to facilitate the roof-sitters]
Survival. It’s about survival here. With a an area of about a 3rd of the US, this country is on track to overtake massive China in the world population count, so I can see why it’s about survival indeed. I was told that the first week I got here & it has stayed with me since. Which brings me to Tourist Trap #1. At a ‘tax stop’ which is what I made out from the perfunctory sentence the driver threw out as to why we had stopped [trust me, much gets lost in the translation from the Indian’s mouth to my ears & brain], we sat for quite some time amid many other old old vehicles placed willy-nilly along a stretch of dirt when Whitney, the delightful college student interning in Mumbai for the summer lets out a shout. As I look to my left, there’s a monkey on the window! We coo, ooh, & ahh as we pop out our cameras & POOF! another monkey magically appears on my window. Out of the 5 shots I took, maybe MAY-BE I got two that could work via some heavy duty PhotoShopping. The glare on the window was wicked & there’s nothing like taking a picture with window glare in a hurry when ya don’t wanna miss the moment!
All caught up in the excitement of seeing monkeys [not the first or last] I didn’t see the man who also magically appeared at Whitney’s window until one showed up at mine with his hand out, wanting, EXPECTING to be paid. AND FOR WHAT? I took the doggone picture! [ I had heard about some such nonsense, someone offering to take a picture for a couple, then asks for money after he's taken it! ] So here I go again, fuming because it is instantly clear this was a racket the driver was so in on to the point that bus wouldn’t move! Sweet Whitney started to feel bad & began to dig for her purse but I was so pissed & evil because a) I didn’t foresee this, felt I should've been savvy & b) I didn’t foresee this, felt I should've been savvy but really c) because I fell for it & most importantly d) I DON’T LIKE FEELIN’ STUPID & PUSHED INTO ANYTHING! & because the child wanted to give money it made me look like a rat fink. So the showdown began, sweet child vs. crusty, cranky me. But since the bus wasn’t moving & the day wasn’t waiting I very begrudgingly dug out 20RS [about .20US] added it to her dough which was passed up to the driver & like magic, we shoved off instantly. Hmmph!