The mists that had heralded the mornings of Vrindhavan have also appeared over Agra.
As I climbed the steps this morning to the roof top the Taj Mahal was no where to be seen. The sound from the streets below were strangely muffled and the pigeons were firmly in their roosts.
I retired to my room to catch up on my writings as the sun did its best to burn the cold damp away.
By 10am the view was back,
the birds were flying,
life continued in its usual way.
I read for a while, looking up new places to visit, as after Pushka I had no idea where I was heading. Notes were written and ideas began to formulate and before I knew it the morning has disappeared yet again.
At 12 noon I walked the 100m to the edge of the exclusion zone to meet Kamal. Today, was to be my 'Time Share' day with Shamal. All the rickshaw drivers supplement their incomes by taking people to certain shops. If you stay for about 20 minutes they get a small fee whether you buy anything or not. As long as you go in looking interested, make the right noises, the driver gets his money.
Years ago, when the children were younger we would always have a timeshare day when we would 'win' free T-shirts or Free Flights on condition we listened to a presentation. Done correctly you can have a really good day out with drinks and nibbles thrown in for free. Transport is provided to nice complexes, a tour is given and chit chat is always a good way to meet new people.
Kamal was waiting as he had promised! I handed over 100RPS and said that once I had my ticket for the bus he could take me anywhere he wanted for the entire afternoon but I would be paying no more money and not buying. We shook hands and set off.
My day was wonderful!
I met a most interesting gentleman called Mohamemad and his nephew Ram at the Fashion Art Bazar. We chatted for ages and he really did have some amazing throws and clothes. He was most descriptive as well as informative about their origin and the methods used to create these masterpieces. We talked about family, the way the world is changing and in the end I bought a little packet of Bindi for 10RPS. If I had the space I would have bought more but the way I travel meant that on this trip is just couldn't happen.
We exchanged e-mails and I promised to send him the photos I had taken. So far I have been unable to make them 'send' but I will keep trying!
In the next shop I met the wonderful Annanda, a young boy who looked only 15 or 16 and who's English was again marvellous. Having wandered freely around the shop for about 10 minuites, chatting about this and that I asked if they had any nighties. An array of styles and fabrics were pointed to, cotton not nylon I stressed, simple not fancy. The choice was eventually narrowed to two.
“How Much?” the famous words were said. “900RPS”, I smiled, “No No “ I countered, ”This one was only 200RPS, I not pay 900!” We bantered too and fro, the quality was different, the printing finer, each time I refused his price,
“OK what price you pay?”, “My limit is 300RPS for a dress. I know it is a wonderful dress but I will look for a cheaper one somewhere, thank you so much for your time, it is not a problem!” I smiled and sat down in the chair beside me. I was offered chai, conversation once again flowed. A young girl began to paint my hand with henna then a whispered voice in my ear said “Which one you prefer?”. I smiled again, “This one is wonderful,” I said, “but I can not afford it!” “OK 300RPS but you not tell anyone else!” I smiled and nodded. My gift was wrapped as my hand was finished.
With my hand covered with henna future shopping was abandoned which was a shame as the next shop was to be a silver shop. We returned to the Taj and Kamal agreed to meet me again the next day. Check out was at noon and my bus did not depart until 8.30pm. I planned to spend a few hours at the Itmad-ud-Daulah or Baby Taj as the locals call it then after that we could go shopping again!!
Still buoyant from my shopping spree I allowed a young boy to take me to his shop on the way to my Hotel. It was indeed another wonderful place full of marble. He showed me how the light shone through the marble, how his grandfather made certain pieces. 'Looking is free' he reiterated every time I went to leave. Eventually, however, I bade them goodbye, took a photo and left.
I took supper at the hotel, loaded up photos to the Blog, had a quick chat to Peter back home and was in bed by 10pm, a late night by my usual standards.
Check out was at noon on the Friday. I thanked my host for a marvellous stay and walked to meet Kamal. He wasn't there!
Within seconds I was offered 100 different rickshaws but I had made an agreement so I said politely said no and sat down to wait. Kamal's 'brother' came up to me “Kamal had to do big journey out of town, he send me to take you”, I looked dubious, he made a phone call and passed me the phone. The voice on the other end said “You go my brother,” .“Who is this?” I countered, the words spoken were hardly understandable, I handed the phone back, “This not Kamal” I stated and sat down to wait again.
Five minutes later he was back. “Kamal take you to Baby Taj today, then you go Ajmer on bus tonight, I know, he tell me. He very busy, I his brother, please I take you.” We talked for a while longer, he did indeed know all my plans for the day with Kamal. I asked him to call again. This time the clear voice of Kamal could be heard, “I am sorry,” he said, “It Is OK, you can go with my brother, I tell him.” I hung up and climbed in.
At the Baby Taj I dismounted, “You come back at 5pm for me? Then we go shopping!”
The main gate in is impressive enough in its own right,
and the Baby Taj is a truely exquisite place.
Standing on the east bank of the Yamuna in quiet gardens again full of monkeys and 'Geleri's' (chip-monks),
it is the mausoleum of Mirza Ghiyath Beg,
an important member of Akbar's court who later became father in law to the Emperor Jahangir.
Designed by his daughter who became the favourite queen of Jahangir, it had the most feminine feel.
Made exclusively from marble it pre-dates the Taj and was the first entire building to be made in Marble in Mongul India.
From a distance it looks breathtaking.
Up close you can see the intricacies and details that was put into the incredible design.
Inside carved walls let in diffused light.
Ceilings are covered in now flaking artwork that must have been spectacular when they were first created as even flaking they still hold a beauty all of their own.
Each tower held a room, joined together by another room.
Each was decorated in the same way, inlaid and painted work as far as the eye could see.
Four arched doorways point in each of the directions.
I wandered out into the gardens,
walking along the wall that over looks the Yamuna,
Children from below called for a photo, and then called for money.
The city on the far side rushed on with its noise and fumes but over here all was peacefull.
I circled the great building and then found a quiet corner to sit.
The sun was warm, the marble upon which I sat cool. I pulled out my book and read for a while, interrupted from time to time by people wanting to take my photograph.
As a white face in a strange country, you get used to being stared at. Having my photo taken has also become common place. Just as we take photos of their chilren, their buildings, the people themselves carrying loads and going about their daily work, they too want to take a photo of something that is new to them. The white face at the Taj! Sometimes people just wanted me to take a photo of them!
Soon I put the book away as more and more people came to speak to me. Where was I from, why was I here, where was my husband.
In return I discovered where they came from.
Many were on holiday just like me, some came from Rajastan, others Maharashtra.
All were smiling, all were polite and the afternoon flew by in warm conversation and happy smiles.
Ragoo arrived at 3.30, he had brought one French girl and some French speaking Indian people to the gardens. He asked if it would it be OK if we all went back together? I said it would be fine and half and hour later we all piled back into the Richshaw.
This time as we careered around the streets of Agra I conversed in very bad French, then reverted to English as my companions were much more linguistically knowledgeable than myself.
I discovered that round abouts, although similar in design to UK ones serve a totally different purpose. Rather than go round them, they form 'walls' to hide behind while you wait to merge with the rest of the passing traffic. The first time this happened I figured it was a 'short-cut' a common Indian pass time like driving along the wrong side of the road to get to where you want rather than turning at the end of the road and coming back! As we drove to the Red Fort to drop our extra guests I realised that everyone used the roundabouts the same way and to be fair, it worked!
The French speaking Indian companions were dropped at the gate, agreements were made for their pick up in a few hours and Ragoo and I were off shopping.
The silver shop provided me with a new toe ring for 200RPS. It was cut and made smaller to fit my toe while I waited and drank chai. There was a little hard sell on other pieces of art work but the ring was what I had come for and the ring was what I bought.
Next came the Textile Super Bazar, more chai, a great conversation about Krsna, spirituality, family values and life in general that left me wanting to buy something from these wonderful people. I had been there for over half an hour and so far no hard sell! I chose some incense, paying the same here as I would back in the UK but I had had such a wonderful time the £1 was well worth the company.
Ragoo dropped me at the bus stop full of warnings to keep my camera and money hidden, “Bad people trick you” he warned. “I honest man, many people here not honest!”. I thanked him for his time and advice. I asked him to say goodbye to Kamal for me and walked to a corner of the bus stop and settled myself for the 2 hour wait.
Here I was stared at from a distance, not unpleasantly but warily. Eventually a family came to sit by me. The daughter was studying chartered accountancy and wished to practice her English. They too were going to Ajmer and the next hour passed well.
Sleeper buses in Vietnam are one thing, Sleeper buses in India are something else. Single or double comartments line the upper decks. Chairs as close as an ordinary bus line one side of the lower floor with single berths line the other. The foot well is stacked with stock and packages of all different styles and sizes. I found my berth, with a little help for 20 other people and climbed up. It was specious and the matress was thicker than the hotel one I had slept on the the past two nights! My Indian bag had been packed that day to double as a pillow. All the soft things to one side. I pulled out the spare sarong and covered myself first with that then the blanket/rug provided.
The noise was deafening as people called, the engine roared and children cried. As we pulled onto the streets of Agra the bumps threw us all around, the horn blasting and chatter making sleep impossible but like all things, once you become accustomed to the constant noise you can filter it out and I was soon asleep. Admittedly the sleep was in bursts of 2 to 3 hours but life as a taxi driver had well prepared me for this kind of rest!
I arrived in Ajmer at 5.45am. It was dark and cold, I had no idea where I was nor where the bus stop to Pushka was. I accepted the rickshaws offer of 50RPS (75p) to take me to the bus stop 4k away. I arrived in time to catch the 6am bus and before I knew it I had stepped off the bus in the pre-dawn light to be greeted by a man holding a hotel card!!
“Two minutes!” I gasped, stumbling to the side. I arranged my belongings and looked again at the man. Dressed in warm clean clothes Pappu looked respectable enough. The Hotel was his he said, it was very clean he stressed and with no better option I agreed to follow him.
All I can say is if anyone else meets this man you are very fortunate. Situated just out of the main Hotel area, his place, the Atithi Guest House is quiet yet only a 2 minute walk to town through 2 wonderful side streets.
The Hotel has 10 rooms on two floors, 200RPS for the ground 400 for the biggest one on the second floor.
Set around a court yard packed full of greenery it also has a roof top terrace and restaurant that give wonderful views over the town.
The rooms were indeed clean and bright with detail being given to little things like good tiling and fresh paintwork. Toilet roll, towels and soap were provided. The beds had good thick mattresses plus quilts, and even a fluffy extra blankets if like me you get cold.
I was shown the room for 200RPS on the ground floor, large and spacious with a wonderful bathroom.
I asked for something upstairs and was shown room 106. A large double bed filled half the room,
a tiny bathroom lay to one side.
It was perfect for my needs. Not too big that I felt lost in it yet big enough to spread out. It even had a view of the Gayatri temple!
The comfort of the bed was amazing and I was soon asleep again as the sun climbed out of its own bed and into the sky!
During this trip I have learnt a strategy that I will pass onto any would be travellers. This has worked in every place I have been to so far!
I awoke, totally refreshed, at 10am and armed only with my bead bag I headed into the town. With no camera, no bag, and no money, I could wander where I wished without being hassled by anyone. When people asked me to look or buy, I simply clasped my hands together, Namaste-ed in polite fashion and continued my walk along the street, smiling and nodding to people as I went.
There is also a scam to be aware of in Pushka called the Pushka Passport. A flower is placed in your hand and you are told to throw it into the lake for good luck. Suddenly there is a 'priest' beside you doing the rest of the Puja. You are instructed to place water on the flower 5 times, recite certain mantras and at the very end your wrist is tied with the sacred thread. You are then asked for money. 50RPS is suffice but people have told storied of being charged anything up to 1,000RPS having been intimidated by the growing crowd if they had refused. The good news is once you have your sacred thread this acts as your passport and you will not be bothered a second time.
By chanting my way around the lake I also avoided this hassle, I raised my hand ensconced in the bead-bag to show I was praying each time someone offered me Puja. Respectably they all moved away.
By the end of the day you should have your bearings, you will know where to go and possibly where not to go. I marked possible shops on my route, I discovered alleys that led out of town and then found others to bring me back again. Feeling very proud of myself I walked once more around the lake as the sun began to set and then got myself totally lost on the way back!!!
It was dark when I returned to the Hotel, people had 'helped' best they could, sending me first this way and that as the translation of 'Main Road' was first translated as the Main Bazzar in one direction and the actual Main Road in the other.
I sat in the roof top restaurant eating home cooked food prepared in the tiny kitchen to my right. I watched as my rice was dropped into boiling water, my panier fried in ghee. Pappu not only runs a clean and safe Hotel, he also cooks divinely!!
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