Breathing fog out of my mouth, we strode the streets embraced by the darkness of the winter tail-end dawn. I felt my body shivering not because of the cold weather, but due to my overflowing enthusiasm, knowing only the thick walls separated me before I finally laid eyes on the Taj Mahal. It had been a long journey for me to get there—both literally and figuratively.
Starring Eternal Splendor and Love: A Dawn at the Taj Mahal
Ever since we hopped inside an airport cab at Kolkata and saw with my own eyes the wild street activities of our first destination in India, my mind was set in gleeful anticipation of seeing this famous landmark, which the late great Rabindranath Tagore referred to as “a teardrop on the cheek of time.”
Agra, where the Taj is located, was penciled on the first leaf of our twenty-five-day journey across India and our third stop after Kolkata and Varanasi—two cities that had gifted me with loads of wonderful experiences and a wealth of knowledge, aside from slowly familiarizing me with local life in India. Despite the sensory overload brought upon by a myriad of religious activities we witnessed at the Ghats along the holy Ganges River at Varanasi, I was still betting on the Taj Mahal to top that experience.
A twelve-hour sleeper train journey later, we arrived at Agra the previous day under a mask of afternoon dust and the normal chaos of train stations dotting the length of India’s inner belly. Figuratively, my journey to the Taj Mahal began when I first read a book about famous landmarks in my school's library way back in grade school. Since then, I became consumed by the idea that I should visit it someday.
As the sun slowly rose from the horizon and sunlight began to sweep our surroundings, we were introduced to a flood of humanity all waiting in line at the gates. Slowly, as the queue started to move, I felt my heart beating faster. A matter of seconds later, I caught my first glimpse of the grand structure, and in one synchronized motion, I pumped my fist and dropped my jaw in sheer awe.
Long gone were the camel trains that transported the glistening marble used to construct the Taj Mahal. They were replaced by mechanical trains that ran surprisingly efficiently. The men and women in bright sari clothing remained, along with the long-lasting aura of love still enveloping the magical journey through time of the Taj Mahal. Playing the integral part behind the story of this seventeenth-century mausoleum was Emperor Shah Jahan of the Mughal Dynasty. Disconsolate at the death of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, after giving birth to their fourteenth child in 1631, the Shah envisioned the monument he ordered built in the same year to be his posthumous gift and never-ending symbol of love for his departed wife.
It took more than twenty years before the Taj Mahal rose with unmatched splendor the world had ever seen on the banks of the Yamuna River in 1654. Artists, marble sculptors, and cutters from all over India were summoned along with more than 20,000 workers, toiling for the whole duration to decorate the interiors of the Taj Mahal with impressive carvings and calligraphy that matched its combination of Indian, Mughal, Islamic, and Persian architecture to perfection.
As the crowd made its way to the Taj, my friend Aileen and I stood behind dozens of visitors parallel to the reflecting pool, giving us a full view of the Taj with the four towering minarets impeccably framing the main tomb. We took our sweet time, slowly pacing our steps toward the grand building housing the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal.
Like dining on an expensive slab of steak, I was chewing the experience little by little, taking photographs from afar and gazing to appreciate every detail of the Taj’s exterior. As I crept closer, the main marble dome and the ornamental spires spreading from the limits of the base walls appeared more spectacular—instantly I felt my architecture-junkie self experiencing an optical orgasm. Despite the hordes of us tourists crawling all over the massive compound, the sheer size of the Taj Mahal dwarfed my existence, and I imagined myself being just one of the thousands of workers who labored to build this extraordinary landmark.
Inside, visitors can only see the replica tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal in a plain interior consisting of marble walls and nary of unnecessary aesthetics, as their actual sarcophagi are housed in the basement where it is locked from view of anyone.
The bare interiors appeared anti-climactic in stark contrast to the visceral feast adorning the exterior, where one can appreciate the several decorative elements believed to be the finest representation of Mughal architecture. Scanning the exterior walls, one can see a variety of abstract forms of vegetation motifs, calligraphy of Persian poems, and other intricately designed marble tiles.
As the cool wind descended from the Yamuna River and gleams of sunlight illuminated the Taj Mahal, an otherworldly photographic reflection was created making the scene look more surreal than what I was already feeling at that instant. I mouthed the word “wow” for the last time as I sat still, slowly trailing all my thoughts behind. Realizing the high of the moment, I rejoiced at the thought that we were still at the first part of our journey to India, and what better way to spend the passing of time while I stared at the Taj Mahal. Not soon after, I felt a smile dominating my face as I reveled at the eternal splendor and the love shared by Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal both in life and in death.
