You have seen the pictures. You have watched movies where street kids give bogus tours. You have heard me say how it is truly the most amazing spectacular human-made creation I have ever seen. How it floats on the horizon, its whiteness and proportions not believable, like a figment of the imagination. And yet…you are caught off guard by its beauty. It is just after dawn, the crowds have not yet arrived, and the light is a soft yellow, reflecting off the marble and making it look buttery, then rosy pink. You are snapping away, an early morning shutterbug, and I can see that you are caught up in its magic too, captivated by its spell. You half-listen to the guide explain its story, already familiar with the love story narrative, of its genesis as a mausoleum, a tribute to Shah Jahan’s immense love for his third wife, Mumtaz, who died in childbirth bearing their fourteenth child. Of how he was then imprisoned by his son, confined to a room where he spent the rest of his days gazing outwards towards his beautiful creation. We walk alongside the pools and make our way into the interior, you behind the camera as I run my hands over the smooth marble, the inlays of precious stones intricately patterned along the walls. We gaze at the false tombs, the real ones safely barricaded deep below, and look out through the latticework of marble screens. We walk again outside into the light, and take it in from all sides, savoring the quiet, the way the light hits each wall of marble differently, the strange concoction of opulence and simplicity, of pure white lightness. It is somehow both gargantuan and weightless. The longer we stay, the prettier the light becomes, and the harder it is to tear our eyes, and your lens, away. It is almost too much to take in, a sugar rush of eye candy. I follow the guide towards the gates, it is time to leave, and you linger behind, capturing a few final images in the last of the morning light. We exit, still in awe, stealing glances behind us, hesitant to fully depart. As we enter the fray of cheap T-shirt stands and pushy boys selling snowglobes and figurines, our guide tells us that there are two types of people in the world, those that have seen the Taj Mahal and those who have not. We, the lucky ones, have had our morning in the aura of its greatness.
clarebeardrew 