A Day In Agra

Agra is one of those rare and unique places in the world that is shaped and defined by one single object.  In this case the Taj Mahal is a building of such exquisite beauty that it deserves all the admiration and praise that has been bestowed upon it now for hundreds of years.

The Taj Mahal is legitimately possessed by Agra but it is too precious to be the property of just this city of 3.5 million.  It instead belongs to the whole world.

Not too far off is another place whose story is historically and physically linked to that of the Taj Mahal.  The stories of the Agra fort and its close connection to the other more famous monument are intimately intertwined.

 In 1558 the Mughal emperor Akbar came to Agra.  He needed a new capital that would allow him to rule over his vast kingdom that spread across much of what is now India.

Agra was to be his capital.  On top of the ruins of a fort that was already situated here would he build the center of his power in order to reign over his ever increasing empire.

 It is said that 4000 men worked for 8 years on building his mighty fort.

He wanted it to be a practical and powerful place.  He also spared no expense in making it beautiful as well.

Wedding Season

It is the time of weddings in India.  Or at least the time of Hindu weddings.  We are told that the season is over by the end of February.  Then during the month of March Muslims traditionally get married.

We were driving down the road in Agra at night.  The bright pool of lights in the distance surprised us as it is mostly very dark on the outskirts of the city where we are staying.

The road is narrow and traffic has to drive carefully around the wedding procession.  Which besides lights has a band and people dance who dance happily in front of the groom riding a horse.

The Road to Brindavan

"The power of God is with you at all times; through the activities of mind, senses, breathing, and emotions; and is constantly doing all the work using you as a mere instrument.”...Quote from the Bhagvad Gita

The road out of Delhi was light with traffic while the sky was thick with haze.  We were not exactly going to Brindavan but the birthplace of Sri Krishna was not far from where we were staying in Mathura.

In Mathura there are several important Krishna temples.  The first destination was Banke Bihari.  The driver parked the car as the Sunday crowds filled the road.  Sanjaya, myself, and the driver rode in a pedicab to the temple.

It is hard to describe the utter outer chaos and yet somehow things still manage to work.  Here in this building the shoes are kept by those who don't want to just leave their shoes on the ground.

On the way into the temple a large crowd had stopped to watch a monkey, high up on a pole chewing on a man's eye glasses.

Afternoon In Delhi

Shobit Singh is our guide on this Saturday afternoon.  Sanjaya and I have taken the plunge and decided to see the sites of Delhi with as much help as we can.  Our plans are ambitious on this election day. The daylight or what remains of it will define much of what happens.

The roads are mostly clear but by the time we leave it will be nearly impossible to see all the items on our list.

The light is quickly fading when we arrive at the Quatab Minar.

It is ancient and it is grand.  The warm afternoon light makes its sandstone blocks glow with life.   Shobit has many stories to tell about it. More than I can really appreciate.

 But anything built nearly 1000 years ago has more to say then any young guide from Rajisthan can possibly tell you.

Morning In Delhi

It is the time of day I so love most.  The promise of sunrise faintly glimmering on the horizon.  The atmosphere still and cool though the air of Delhi seems to be permanently tainted by a dull dirty haze.

I am staying near Central Park, Or at least New Delhi's version of it.  A long steel fence surrounds it and you have to walk some distance to find a gate to let you in.  A small group of scruffy man stood next to a little shack.  A bedraggled security check point I believe.  A metal screener stood off to one side ignored by the chatting men wrapped up in shawls.  They paid no attention to me as I walked in.  Signs said no pictures.

A giant Indian flag hangs limp.  The wind has yet to rise the city still slumbers.

In the middle of the park are many many signs asking park goers not to spit.  On the way into the park I could hear the shuffling steps of a man behind me.  Then the conspicuous sound of a throat gathering a load of phlegm.  Followed immediately by a roaring discharge onto the sidewalk.

The peculiar mix of the divine and the worldly I always find mysterious.  The goddess of beauty Lakshmi juxtaposed with an old hanging tire.

Some of the earliest ones to wake are the crows.  Their voices still a little timid in the morning coolness.

I learn over my coffee that it is a special day in Delhi.  There are I believe municipal elections.  The polls are open starting at 8am and close again at 6pm.  The television is filled with the excitement of it all.

You cannot drink alcohol on a voting day.  Security is tightened, or at least so they say across the city.  The faces on the screen as sincere and as well meaning as anyone who has ever stood in front of a camera and had important things to say.

But just outside the Radisson hotel, security and voting is not so important, or so it would seem.  In the still dimness a dog sleeps and a shape lies on the sidewalk under a slim blanket close by.  Both beings waiting for the sun to rise and to find purpose on this Saturday morning in Delhi.

Statues....Old and New

As time has passed I have continued to accumulate more and more interesting and satisfying Bali experiences.  Since my first visit in 1988 this small tropical paradise has continued to provide something unique and special with each new visit.

In 2004 I went in a taxi with some friends to visit some of the carving shops on the road that leads to Ubud.  At one point we stopped in an area of stone carvers.  As the others examined the art work in the various small shops I wandered out back behind and down a small lane.

What I found there was an amazing landscape of endless rows of stone statues of all kinds that seemed somehow abandoned.  Of all shapes and sizes they were gathered here and there on any clear flat patch of earth that they could be placed.  All extremely heavy and clearly not moved in many many years.

It was amazing, yet there was no explanation at all for why they were collected there, who owned them, and what would be their fate.

Abedan took this picture with his new fangled digital camera and would eventually give a copy of it to each of us.  We took the experience as just one of the wonders that is the Bali experience.  Kaivalya, here wearing the red hat, saw something else.

An artist and  sculptor, he soon took upon himself just a few years later the task of creating statues of our teacher Sri Chinmoy.  In 2009 one of his statues was erected at the Arma museum in Ubud.

Morning Starts The Day

There is always a pervading sense of peace here.  I tried calculating just how many times I have been here to experience the magical charm of Bali, but am not really certain just what the number is.  This must be at least my 5th visit.

Something calls me out most mornings.  In the tranquil hour before the sun rises, while the dogs still doze under the trees, and before men rise up from their mats and go out and do meaningful things.

It is at that time that I enjoy this place most.  Have unexpected but not necessarily surprising experiences.  There seems to be endless supply of beauty that can be enjoyed no matter whether your eyes are open to it.

Particularly after nights filled with tumbling torrents of rain.  The morning then slowly opens up revealing its brightness and all its sweet promises.

I am sure there is some pleasure in long distance travel, but I have yet to see it.  We endure such discomforts though to get us to a place like this.

But perhaps there is a price to be paid for all fulfilling rewards.  Some struggle, some effort, some wistful hopes that all things lead us on to something better and better.

Of course I am not the first out in the mornings.  Fishermen with headlamps have waded out before there was even a hint of light in the sky.

And the Goddesses of course have never slackened in their endless vigil guarding the dawn and the warm calm sea stretching eastward.