THE TAJ MAHAL

The Taj Mahal was built by Emperor Shah Jahan as a memorial for his third an favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal Begum, who died giving birth to their 14th child in 1631. The death of Mumtaz Begum left the emperor so heartbroken that his hair is said to have turned grey virtually overnight.

Rabindrabath Tagore described the Taj Mahal as "a teardrop on the cheek of eternity." It is widely considered the most beautiful building on earth. One of the seven wonders of the world.

Well, it's hard to argue with that. The Taj Mahal is so completely dramatic. The first thing that strikes you is how peaceful it is. The government has managed to keep all traffic at a reasonable distance, to reduce pollution and the resulting damage to the monument. As a result, there is no street noise. All you hear is the song of birds (and not crows like most other places here) and the grounds are so lush. The Taj is on the banks of the sacred Yamuna River, so there's plenty of water for irrigation. The flowers and plants are as healthy as any I've seen in India and there are all variety of trees all around.

The focus, though, is the Taj Mahal itself.

Architecturally, the Taj is brilliant. The structure is built upon a large marble plinth, raising the whole thing several meters, so when you view it, all you see in the background is sky. Brilliant.

It's quite amazing seeing something so iconic right in your face. We've all seen so many images of this place, so there's no surprise about what it looks like. And yet it manages to take your breath away. My train arrived in Agra early, at 8am, so I was nice and early at the Taj and there were not yet hoards of tourists. Like everyone I snapped loads of photos and eventually made my way inside to view the mausoleum. The Pietra Dura (marble inlaid with precious and semi-precious stones) inside and out were stunning, mostly with flower motifs, representing the garden of paradise. Surrounding the cenotaphs in the middle is an amazing filigree screen carved out of giant single pieces of marble, with such intricate latticework allowing light into the central area. Available next season at Wa in small, medium, large, and extra large. Prices available upon request.

I enjoyed being somewhere where more photos were taken of the thing itself than of me. Not that I didn't have my share.

There is more to Agra than the Taj Mahal, it turns out. This is the Agra Fort, a nifty piece of Mughal architecture if ever there were one. Puts the Red Fort in Delhi to shame. It seems the British tool all the good stuff from the Red Fort, but never got around to pillaging this one, so there's still Loya to see inside. Nice view of the Taj, too. I guess that was the point. 

Really, what Mughal ruin would be complete without a few monkeys? They're all over Agra.

नमस्ते

OLD DELHI & A GAY PARTY

So my love affair with the old city continues. I've been there at least once a day since I've been here. There's always something exciting happening. Strike that. There's always like a thousand exciting things all happening at once.

This morning I was up and out well before dawn to catch the first Metro train into the city for my bicycle tour of the old city. The Shah Jahan Tour. I couldn't imagine how we would maneuver the tiny lanes around Chandni Chowk, but we began early enough that the neighborhoods were just coming to life. Still, it was pretty death-defying riding bicycles through this area. There were seven of us on the tour.

We made our first stop in the spice market (an area of the old city where huge sacks of spices are brought in and then resold) at a large communal building next to the Fatehpuri Masjid. Loads of spice workers (all men) worked and lived in this building, surrounding a huge courtyard, which had been filled with makeshift housing. As soon as we entered the building, and began climbing the stone stairs through several stories to the roof, we all began coughing and sneezing due to the turmeric and chili peppers in the air.

As soon as we were in the building, one of the dogs sleeping there, followed me. I pet his head and that was all it took to make a lifelong friend. From then on, whenever the guide was telling us things, this dog had his front legs on my leg and his head nuzzled against my waist. The other people on the your were horrified, but I told them its better to make friends with the nice dogs, because you never know when you'll need protection from the mean dogs.

Plus it made up for yesterday. I was walking down the busy Chandni Chowk, packed in between hundreds of people, walking down the sidewalk, so congested that I couldn't see where I was going to see if I was about to fall into an open sewer, when all of a sudden I stepped on a dog, sleeping in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.

The bicycle tour lasted three hours. We stopped for chai near Civil Lines and then stopped for a traditional Mughal breakfast at Karims, the old Muslim restaurant where I had eaten the other day. We had goat. Apparently the goat is cooked for eight hours in many spices and is not served for lunch or dinner. Only breakfast.

While we were riding near the Red Fort, a fellow said to me as I rode by, "You were here two days ago, wearing a green kurta and a dhoti!" Yes I was. This in a city of 14 million. Or as they say here, one crore, 40 lakh.

After the tour, I wasn't ready to go back home, so I walked back toward the old city to explore some more. Thankfully I had my iPhone with the interactive map. I would have been so lost on these twisty alleys, with barely any sunlight. Several times I took wrong turns and ended up down an alley, walking into someone's house. Before long, these two boys saw me and thought I looked so funny that they began running after me and yelling for the other children in the neighborhood to come also. Soon I had a whole contingent of children following me. That was a bit much.

Last night I went out to a gay party in New Delhi. My friend, Jivi, hooked me up with the organizer, who texted me the secret location. I was the oldest one there by a few decades. It was cute. Reminded me of when I first went out to a gay club in the early days of electricity. All the boys wore cologne and their best Jordache jeans. The one fellow who chatted me up refused to believe that I was gay.

You know this is a gay party?

Yes. I do.

Why are you here?

I'm gay.

Ha ha. That's funny. Where are you from?

America.

Are you married?

No.

No? Why not?

Because I'm gay.

You can't be gay.

Why not?

Because of your body and your mustache.

That's when I decided to leave.

P.S.

This tiny stall, about the size of a bathroom back home, had all these live chickens wandering around and a whole bunch in crates. Customers would chose a chicken and the clerk would pick it up and throw it at the guy with the grey shirt, who would ring its neck and then dunk it into boiling water to loosen the feathers and then pull off all the feathers and then pass it to the guy up top, who would chop it into pieces for the customer. I bought a dozen of those eggs. I think they had been laid right there. They all had double yolks. That's what fear will do. 

नमस्ते

THE RED FORT

What a cool city!

I arrived yesterday morning in Delhi, on the glamorous Rajdhani Express. The Rajdhani was unlike any of my other trains. The first class compartments were like European train compartments with carpeting and uniformed attendants serving non-stop food and drinks through the trip. Fresh linens and comforters made the night's sleep enjoyable. Two of my three compartment mates were railway managers traveling to Delhi and they explained that there are several Rajdhani trains in India. All of them go from Delhi to other state capitals like Chennai and Calcutta. Rajdhani means capital. Had I known, I might have planned my trip to use only Rajdhani Express trains. So glamorous.

We arrived at New Delhi Station at 8:30 am, right on time, so I walked over to the Metro station and hopped on a south-bound train to Hauz Khas, where Jack's apartment is located. It was rush hour on the Metro. I haven't had that much physical contact in months!

Jack's apartment is great. Very comfortable and in a perfect location, in an upscale neighborhood right near a Metro station. The only problem is, after looking all around the apartment, I still cannot find the swimming pool. I spoke with Jack's friend, Amrish, who made a joke about there not being a swimming pool. Very strange sense of humour, this fellow.

Anyhow, I just dropped my bags and headed right back out to the Metro and a train back to Chandni Chowk. I was eager to explore the old city.

There is a wonderful book by Sujit Suraf, called "The Peacock Throne" set in and around Chandni Chowk. It begins in 1984 with the assassination of Indira Gandhi and the riots targeted at Sikhs and follows several inhabitants of the neighborhood for the next 15 years. The novel is so evocative of the spirit of life in the old city, it made me anxious to visit. In fact, I re-read the novel in preparation for this trip. I highly recommend this novel.

So often, when you have high expectations for a new place, it does not live up to your expectations. Not old Delhi. The old city was exactly as I had imagined it. It's a crazy mish-mash of various cultures (Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, and Jain) all living and working together shoulder to shoulder in this tightly packed warren of tiny alleys, barely big enough for two people to pass one another without turning sideways. The alleys are so narrow that the sunlight rarely filters all the way down to ground level. All along these alleys ate a myriad of businesses: jewelers and sweets makers and chai wallahs and cloth merchants and sari shops and paper manufacturers and car parts. It's all so much to take in!!

After wandering around the alleys a bit, I walked over to the Gurudwara (Sikh temple) and observed the activity for a bit. The Sikh tradition fascinates me. Despite their carrying daggers and the ceremonial soldiers at the gates with huge spears, the Sikhs seem like a lively peaceful people, and they have those great mustaches and beards and cool turbans. How can you not love a man in a turban?

From there, I went to the Jain temple and checked my shoes. I was eager to visit the bird hospital. They allowed me to wander around. All three floors of the hospital (and also allowed me to give a generous donation!) and it was very cool. Thousands of birds of all sizes were recovering peacefully inside. Since they are Jain, they will only admit vegetarian birds into the hospital, but will treat carnivorous birds on an out-patient basis. I love that.

From there, I crossed the busy road to the Red Fort. I had been so anxious to see this former home of Shah Jahan and was not disappointed. Over 50 acres! I wandered around inside the Red Fort for about an hour, until I began to get hungry. So after posing for several photos with Indian tourists, I left.

I then headed south through more tiny alleys, chock full of people, toward the Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in all of India. That's pretty big. I had heard about an old restaurant near there called Karims, so I sought it out. Good mutton kebab and chicken curry.

There was a prayer service going on in the Jama Masjid the whole time I was at lunch (you could hear it over the loudspeaker) so I had to wait with the other whiteys for that to end, before they would let us in. This place is huge. I took loads of photos of the Mughal architecture and then bought a ticket to climb the tower. Imagine climbing the Pilgrim Monument, but barely wide enough for one person, barefoot, in the dark. The view was killer, though.

From there, I wandered through more alleys to Chawri Bazaar, where there are loads of paper sellers and wedding invitation shops and card shops (don't think Hallmark, think handmade paper cold pressed in the back). Eventually, it was late and I needed to head back to the Metro.

I had planned an early morning bicycle tour through the old city for Sunday morning, but I still had to go to the office to pay for it. I had looked at a map and thought I could take the Metro and then walk from there. I will now admit that this was a serious mistake, simply out of stubborn refusal to take a taxi. But at least I got to see a part of Delhi I wouldn't have otherwise seen. Delhi has way more trees and flowers than I had expected.

Last night I went into New Delhi to Connaught Circle for dinner. Such a different feeling than old Delhi!

नमस्ते

HAJI ALI MOSQUE

Bombay is so exciting. There is such a great mix of history and spirituality and urban hustle-bustle.

Last night I went with my friend, Alok, to meet his partner, Vikram, at the Bombay Gymkhana. Gymkhanas were built by the British all over India, as exclusive men's clubs (British men, that is). After independence, the gymkhanas were taken over by Indians and remained as exclusive a ever. The Bombay Gymkhana has had a closed membership list for generations, so that only family members of members can become members. Vikram's father had been a member, so he is a member.

The Gymkhana is one of those colonial relics that simply exudes old world elegance (much like the Taj, where I am once again enjoying a cognac in the lounge). We sat outside on the terrace enjoying a beer, with slowly rotating ceiling fans keeping us comfortable. Vikram showed me around, introducing me to the president of the club, a delightful old gentleman. In addition to the club bar and formal restaurant and tennis courts and squash courts, the club also owns a large maidan, where rugby is played. So here in the middle of this crazy busy city is a beautiful park with green green grass belonging to a private club.

Today I did some galleries and museums and also did a bit of shopping. I went to the large Khadi Store. Khadi is homespun cotton. This is what Gandhi advocated: home industry. So the Khadi shops around the country sell locally produced crafts and clothing from various parts of India. The one in Bombay is like a grand old department store. Lovely.

Funny, on my first two days, when I went wandering around some fairly traditional areas, including some predominantly Muslim neighborhoods, I was wearing white kurta pajama (Indian costume). Absolutely no one bothered me. Yes, many comments about the mustache and my resemblance to Gandhiji, and the usual requests for photographs. But yesterday, since I was heading for the trendy suburb of Bandra, I wore western clothing (what they call pants-shirt) and immediately I was harassed upon leaving the hotel. Loads of touts tried to get me into their car for a tour of the city, or to come into their shop. A lesson in sartorial expectations.

It's quite funny to see the rich Indians at the Taj. The restaurant is full of locals for high tea and they are so rude!! Yesterday I was watching a table of three Indians (one man and two women with way too much plastic surgery). The women were so mean to the staff. "Bring us more tea! Bring us more pani puri! Bring us more sandwiches! Take this away! The table is too crowded!"

I've done some fun sketches here in Bombay. I rarely do two sketches of the same place, but I did two of the Haji Ali Mosque. There's just something special about this holy place stuck out in the sea. There is a thin causeway going out to the mosque, lined with beggars, which is always full of pilgrims heading out to pray at the mosque along with loads of Indian tourists. Perhaps it is the sight of a pure white marble structure in this oh so dirty city.

Bombay has been great. My next stop is Delhi, where I'll be for a full week. My Bombay friends hate Delhi and say that a week is way too long, but I'm very excited to see Delhi (old and new).

नमस्ते