From the Steps of the Taj Onto Camel Country

From the Steps of the Taj Onto Camel Country

I went to see the Taj just to say that I saw it, because I knew all my friends and co-workers would give me a hard time if I didn't. After seeing dozens of churches in Europe, I pretty much got over the 'thrill' of architecture . . . I think man is too full of himself, and I didn't want to take part in worshipping anymore of his holy, static creations. Why, when I can just marvel humbly at the anatomy of the organic, human body, with its veins and magnificent respiratory system, the miracle of the eye that can be peered into, and which seems to reflect the state of the entire system . . . a machine more complex and perfect than man could ever devise with his own hands . . .?
But the Taj breathes. It even took my breathe and breathed it better than I did, exuding the essence of pure love. Or perhaps it was all the pollution in the dirty city of Agra that gave it its etherreal quality. I didn't care . . . it stood taller than I could have imagined, luminous, and otherworldly. There is a ton of space surrounding it, in the form of ornamental gardens and stone walkways, allowing for the monument to exhale and let its aura permeate unobstructed, undisturbed.
Though the acid rain caused by all the smog in Agra has led to a bit of discoloration of its white marble, and has eroded its carving and inlays, I'm sure its spirit remains untarnished. True, 20,000 slaves were forced to build it on the orders of of Emperor Shah Jahan, as a memorial to his second wife, but as Virat said, after I cynically lamented this fact, suggesting that evil and ignorance played a part in its construction: 'Once you see it, you'll realize why one man couldn't have built it on his own . . .'

So, you've seen pictures of it, you know what it looks like, but I can say with confidence that it is one of those places that despite the hype, never ceases to impress . . . you have to see it in real life to experience its true magnificence.
From Agra, we (as in my driver and I) travelled to Jaipur in Rajasthan. I knew we were close when we started to pass camels strutting snobbishly down the highway. They have a runway walk and most of them point their noses upward. They are most AWESOME. I look forward to the camel safari I plan on taking into the desert for a night or two under the stars.
Now that I'm here, I'm exploring the old city, and dusty palaces atop arid mountains. I saw a Hindi movie about a suicide bomber in Delhi, called Black & White and could understand barely a word. I ate my favorite dish today, Gobi, with a heap of steamed rice and Indian tea. Later, I went to a park to read a book under a tree, drawing stares from the boys playing cricket, the ones sitting idly under their own trees, and . . . everyone. Just everyone. I was approached by a couple Indian boys wanting to know where I was from, but I told them I didn't feel like talking. So they stood there for five more minutes, staring at me while I read Bridget Jones' Diary, picking at their teeth, splitting apart leaves in their fingers. Finally, one sat down next to me, and reached for the other book I had brought with me, Ayn Rand's Fountainhead (stark contrast between the two books, I know). He opened to the first page and started reading the introduction on Objectivism. I knew he was making progress because I snuck a look to see if the words on the page had changed, and indeed, they had. But I had to be careful he didn't see me looking, otherwise, he'd try to start talking to me again.
So that was my day. I'm glad you're still reading.