Pretty Picture Postcard

Alexander and I took the 6 a.m. train to Agra and arrived four hours later. Although the city was wrapped in a thick morning mist, I recognized the subtle outline of the Taj Mahal as we drove to our hotel. It stood like a distant mirage, luring us closer.

As can be expected, the highlight of our stay in Agra was the Taj Mahal. Alexander and I woke at five a.m. to be present when the sight’s doors opened an hour later. We shuffled past security and several tour groups wearing matching yellow baseball caps. Through a colossal red-stone entrance gate I caught my first intimate look at the world’s most famous monument to love.

The Taj was built by Emperor Shah Jahan to commemorate the passing of his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child in 1631. The elaborate monument took more than two decades to complete and required a work force of 20,000 people from India and Central Asia. Architects were brought in from Europe to help produce the intricate marble screens and inlay work made with thousands of semiprecious stones.

For years I envisioned the Taj to be creamy white with the smooth texture of a meringue. Imagine my surprise as I began to notice the gray swirled marble and intricate inlay work. As we walked along the thin reflecting pool I could distinguish intricate designs on the exterior. Vines of colorful flowers and large Koran passages written in Arabic calligraphy decorated the mausoleum’s entrance. It was beautiful.

Alexander and I spent five hours wandering around gardens and mosques. We took pictures from every angle and sketched pieces of the structure in our sketchbooks. In the central mausoleum we admired the lace-like marble screens and dragged our hands over the flawless inlay work. The Taj changed colors with the rising sun. Under our gaze the central dome transformed from pale blue to a golden yellow to a subtle cherry-blossom pink. At noon the Taj turned a brilliant cotton-white, framed by a cloudless, autumn sky. By the time we left, however, a thin haze had settled over the gardens, veiling the monument in a thin lavender curtain.

As we departed, I felt a twinge of discontent, as if I had somehow failed to absorb, capture or retain the Taj’s beauty. Here I was: Standing halfway around the world and in the presence of one of the world’s most celebrated wonders, the image of which I have seen reproduced on stamps, calendars, book covers, postcards and on TV. But how can one consume such a significant landmark? How can one preserve an impermanent moment? Staring, wandering, taking pictures, sketching, meditating, touching, smelling- all yielded fleeting pleasures that immediately congealed into memories. When we exited the monument’s gates, the Taj Mahal had already converted itself into an imprecise image projected against the black of my mind.