India Travelogue, Ep. 9:

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There’s something so ethereal, so chimerical, so magically entrancing about the Taj Mahal that it doesn’t seem real. And I think that’s why I love this photo so much. It literally doesn’t look real. It looks like a painted backdrop in a Broadway musical.

I think it’s because the air pollution we encountered in Northern India gave this magnificent relic an other-worldy feel. I found the effect oddly fitting, as if the Gods had lowered a cosmic veil to obscure its stunning beauty from immodest admirers.

I had no idea what to expect. I knew it would be awesome but I failed to anticipate how jaw-dropping its scale, artistry, and symmetrical perfection would be. The only metaphor that comes to mind is Brigadoon. Once you step inside the massive gate and glimpse the Taj for the first time, you are stunned beyond belief. This must surely be a dream, you think, and you pray you won’t wake up.

Yesterday I mentioned that I grew up thinking the word “Indian” applied only to people like my Cherokee relatives. Despite my parochial upbringing, I knew about the Taj Mahal. It was part of a phrase my Okie mother invoked anytime she thought I had gotten too big for my britches. Sometimes she’d call me “Miss Astor” (after Ava Alice Muriel Astor, NY socialite and daughter of John Jacob Astor).  Other times she’d say “You don’t live in the Taj Mahal, you know!” For years, I thought the Taj was a palace rather than a mausoleum. I knew it was far away, from another time, and probably beyond my ability to visit.

When I toured the Taj Mahal, my friends and I sat on the “Diana bench” for a photo and I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother. She would have been gobsmacked by my stories (and frightened out of her socks that I had traipsed off to a place like India). Oh, how I would have loved to tell her all about it and about the Indian stranger who called me “Diana” when I walked by. She would have said “Ain’t that something!” about a million times and I would have felt even more like the little girl from the small town who visited the magical place her mother only dreamed of.

Colleen would have loved the Taj, and I’m quite certain she somehow thinks my britches are perfectly sized for the world traveler she inspired.

 

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Comments

  1. If you’re lucky, “chimerical” is an adjective you can use with total justification once or twice in a lifetime. This was definitely one of those times.

    • In case you’re wondering, M’del, I did give it a lot of thought. In the end, I decided if the adjective didn’t apply to that photo of the Taj Mahal, it couldn’t ever be used. I mean, hello, Wonder of the World.

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