Dehli, Agra

July 13

I thought I got it, driving in India, after making it from the AirPort to Arkashan Street, and our bullet-dodging (read child, cow, dog, car, jitney, bus, car, people, people, people-dodging) adventures through Delhi, we thought we understood the risks... Then we met our driver, Raj, short for something he told me I wouldn't be able to pronounce. He's 40, maybe, stoic, tight-lipped and looks perpetually unshaven. But smiles when we meet, and I joke a little - can he stand the hours we'll be together in the car, stuff like that We all agree we'll behave, then we leave, about 8, and then all bets are off. Not about Raj, but about our thinking we understood driving in India. Rush, real rush hour, throngs leaving and coming, navigating the streetless streets, honking, and swerving, and speeding up mostly, rarely slowing down. And all of it, the white-knuckle, lip-biting, sphincter-tightening tension without a breath of malice or anger from any of the participants. Every driver, of every vehicle - donkey-cart, motorbike, three-wheeler, auto, truck, big truck, bus, big bus, none of them display anger at the horns being honked, or the advantage being taken. It is the spiritual puzzle of the street, and the players are at the mercy of their god.

For 4 hours we weave through almost constant traffic on questionable surfaces, punctuated by relatively open spaces with fewer vehicles, where our hero, Raj, manages to get an extra 10 more kilometers per hour out of our ageless but immaculate white diesel Ambassador Classic.

We land in Agra. Another busy city (did the city ever end?), but this one with air a little different than Delhi. In Delhi diesel busses are forbidden; all the city vehicles use C gas. Here there are diesel things, except in a 4 kilometer radius around the Taj Mahal. Sometime ago people realized the acid from the diesel and gas was ruining the Taj, and outlawed diesel in the city and all gas burning vehicles in the 4 km radius.  Anyway we get to the hotel - this largish, beautifully marbled palace full of tourists in buses and lawns and pools on a pretty busy street.

We rest awhile, have drinks and then meet up with Raj, who introduces us to Nam, a guide we didn't really bargain for, but are with. And for the next few hours we're rushed though the Agra fort and the Government craft shops where we're served drink after drink and told thing after thing about the rugs and the gems and marble inlay because when the government realized the precious Taj was being destroyed by the pollutants of the industries in Agra and shut them all down, it subsequently subsidized these craft industries. The rugs and the gems and the marble inlay are sold without tax (but the prices are jacked up to compensate, blah, blah, blah). Nam says the guides are on strike and he can't go into the Taj with us - I realize later he's not really a guide at all, but a friend of Raj who is in training. And we never really wanted a guide anyway. But we pay him too and get to the the Taj Mahal alone, at dusk on a cloudy evening, through the east gate, and are struck and dumfounded. All that love and gift and history shines like it should after three days of hard rain. Too much to talk about, too much to try to explain, and what could I say that poets have tried to describe for centuries. We were charmed, transported, inspired, and delivered at closing to the west gate. And when I went to pick up the lighter, cigarettes, and iPod we had to check, I'm told we're at the wrong gate, the palace closed, and we'll have to find our way around the fort to pick up our stuff and meet Raj in the electric jitney. At night. Without a clue. And it's a pity we were so absorbed in our need, because we passed through the details of this place I've read about.

We ate at the hotel, quietly and a little too observed - then I went searching for Internet access and found Adil, the most lovely rug maker in Agra. A Muslim young man, who while trying to connect me to a cable connection drowned in the downpours today, talked about nothing but God, and how doing things with the world's best intention is the only way to know love - love of yourself, then love of those around you, then finally the love of your God. I am trying.

Comments

[Adil]

Respected People , I just got to see this page and i read about myself on it , thank you for sharing and i wish and pray for love and happiness for you and for family and friend's..
Adil.
Agra
mughal_carpet@yahoo.com
India..

[Danielle]

I completely feel like I was pulled back into time by your explanation of the driving and craziness in India! haha I love it. I visited in 2001 to partake in MahaKumbamela making it into a two month pilgrimage, one stop being, of course, Agra to see the Taj Mahal where my yoga friends and I met Paul McCartney! Yah, no joke. I have the autograph to prove it. But, what I took with me and still carry in my heart is a dear and sweet loving friend, Adil. Yes, I met him too and we bought several rugs which I cherish still to this day. Adil and I speak much about God and continue to inspire one another as we both journey through life from different sides of the world. I'm ever grateful. Glad you met one of the most remarkable beings on this planet!

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