A wonder to last...

The first time I saw the Taj Mahal, I cried.

To have the most beautiful memorial rise before you in all its astounding glory and to hope that you will be able to appreciate its magnificence all at once is a humongous task. And so I cried.

I was restless. I had to travel, to vent out my passion, to relive the exhilaration of a journey alone. So, I went to Agra. To see the Taj Mahal and to bask in its splendour.

The next morning I sat on the balcony of a cheap hotel, inhaling the smells of a new city that often inspires fear in some, relief in a few others. I was amidst the jostling crowd, I was the one debating the affairs of the nation with the men in the shacks over cups of chai, I was the shopkeeper selling his colourful goods. I was one with the city, smearing myself with its sights and sounds.

I walked through the dusty, cramped lanes, past the rickety shops of wares, the makeshift stalls of kebabs smouldering in the tandoor, ignoring the calls for cold lassi and disallowing the wafts of food to flare my nostrils. My hunger was only for the Taj and I had no time for any other.

A long queue, sweaty tourists and a prickling sun burning down my spine was suddenly the most rewarding agony. A crack had burst open to reveal the mausoleum, pristine white, serene and dignified, compelling all to cower in its grandeur.

The pride of our nation, Emperor Shah Jahan’s unflinching love for his Mumtaz, the stories of the visits of numerous relatives to the Taj that I had so hungrily swallowed all these years swirled across my mind. Hot tears pricked in my eyes. And then in tandem, the heavens burst open, showering warm raindrops to drench me to my skin, to my being, exhorting me to absorb the history that it hid and had revealed in the chinks of time.

The domes, the minarets, the gardens and the edifices breathed anew. The voluptuous Yamuna swelled in sheer pleasure. The pigeons found their homes and the mosques shone.

But I had to go. Back to daily chores and livelihood. With a small marble box. And a fragment of the city that weaves itself around the Taj Mahal, a city that breathes a vibrant past.

Deep within though, an assurance burnt with a gleaming pride. I would strive, seek, know, feel and live again. In another time, in another place.