Dizzying Delhi, The Tear Drop on the Face of Eternity, and A Parting

We departed Udaipur on the 16-hour bus ride to Delhi on the evening of the 2nd. Our experience was similar to the first trip, only we had much warmer garb, and this time we were sitting over the front axle and our driver liked to pretend he was driving a rally car, so we were jarred and bounced so much our denchers came loose. We got to Delhi in the morning, though, and made our way to Pahargang, the city's main strip for budget sleeping and eating. We got a crappy hotel for 400 rupees on the first day because we were too tired to look for anything else, but on the second day Michael went hunting, inquiring at every single hotel and guest house, checking out their rooms, haggling them down to their lowest price, then moving on to get an idea of the real cream of the crop. I would have thought this a bit too laborious previously, but I'm going to do it wherever I go now because he got us a great place for a mere 300 a night.

For our first 2 days in Delhi we hung around Paharganj's awesome bazaar and tasty eateries, also visiting Connaught Place, the heart of New Delhi (and consequently the purported "New India", as well), a metropolitan shopping center packed with McDonalds', T.G.I. Friday's and Western shopping chains, sadly almost devoid of trademark Indian charm. We had made it a goal to see a movie while in Delhi, and by sheer lack of options ended up in the very front row of National Treasure: Book of Secrets where the faces of the actors were so enormous I thought I might throw up. I thought the movie was a bit below average (then again, I have a weakness for treasure-hunting, relics, clues and incredible leaps in logic), and proved yet again that Jon Voight is neck-in-neck with Ben Kingsley for biggest Hollywood sellout, and will gladly attempt to lick his own scrotum on live TV if you pay him enough.

On our third day in Delhi, we had planned to make an excursion into Old Delhi, but Michael had a severe bellyache so I had to go alone. I decided to try and walk to Old Delhi to see the Jama Masjid instead of taking a rickshaw - I end ended up being pretty successful. I walked a long way into the bustling streets and frenetic bazaars (where actual Indians buy their clothes) before I was sure I would never find my way back or forward without some help, and I got a cycle-rickshaw to take me the last kilometer or so to the Jama Masjid.

Designed and built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan (whose opus was the Taj Mahal) in 1656, the Jama Masjid is India's largest mosque, and boasts magnificent architecture with a magestic archway at its posterior and long, low lines defining the walls of its serene courtyard, which holds a whopping 25,000 people. Entry to the mosque is free, but cameras cost 200 rupees to bring inside, and I'm a cheapskate, so I opted not to bring it in - however, once I saw the structure I started wishing I had smuggled it in somehow. The mosque is made all the more beautiful by the flocks of pidgeons which grace its domes and the floor of its courtyard. There is a tranquil pond in the middle of the courtyard where many people wash their feet or sit and relax, and I sat down next to it to read for a while and watch the people. Every once in a while, a child would barrel into the group of a hundred pidgeons milling around, and in a flurry of wing and feather they would all take flight and circle the courtyard, bringing a smile to the face of nearly everyone watching. But every time, the grumpy old fart in charge of the mosque's courtyard would run over and try to whack the imp with his stick, reminding us that old people, especially in religious institutions, are crotchety joy-killers all over the world.

I took a cycle-rickshaw back to Paharganj after the Masjid because I had zero idea of the way home. I am so happy, though, that I ventured into Old Delhi - it's more fascinating and has more pizzaz than most of New Delhi, and plus I didn't see a single other foreigner in my whole time there aside from at the mosque. When I got back to the room in the evening, Michael was a wreck, with his stomach in real pain, and he informed me that he probably wouldn't be able to go out to Agra to see the Taj Mahal the next day, even though we already had our train tickets.

In the wee hours of the morning on the 6th, when the wake-up call came from reception (it actually woke up Michael, who woke me - I'll sleep through anything), I started to get ready to go alone, until Michael said he had bounded back and was feeling well enough to risk going. Our train left from Nizamuddin, where many southbound trains from Delhi depart, so we had to take a taxi to get there, but once we did we got to our train on time and found it to be very empty and very cold. Michael and I were able to stretch out in our uninhabited cabin, and congratulated each other on choosing such a ridiculously early train, and I congratulated myself for bringing my blanket, which kept me nice and toasty. We arrrived in Agra at 9:30, and once we left the train station we were beseiged by rickshaw drivers wanting to take us to the Taj Mahal. We paid the standard 50 rupees and were whisked away to Taj Ganj, the area surrounding the Taj Mahal (vehicles aren't allowed within 500 meters of the Taj itself to keep pollution from harming it), where we got breakfast and then walked to the complex's east gate. We reluctantly paid the painful 750 rupee entry fee, then deposited our bags in the locker room outside (they don't even let books inside!) and went through the gate's security.

The architecture in the courtyard outside the Taj itself immediately recalls the Jama Masjid - both are obviously products of the same mind. As we approached the main archway leading to the actual Taj Mahal, I caught my first glimpse of the world-famous monument, and as we drew closer my mouth fell further and further open. As you would expect, the Taj is far more magnificent and beautiful than any picture could hope to convey. The attention to detail is simply mind-blowing. Every square foot is a true work of art, crafted by master artisans and marble-workers, but to see them all working together in such an enormous, cohesive whole is truly awe-inspiring. Constructed by Shah Jahan between 1631 and 1653, the Taj was built by the emperor to commemorate his love for his late second wife, Mumtaz Mahal - Jahan was so heartbroken after her death that his hair is said to have turned gray virtually overnight. On the inside of the structure lies a darkened maosoleum housing the ornate grave of Mumtaz, as well as Jahan, who was buried there later, offsetting the immaculate symmetry of the Taj. Walking around and admiring the monument's gorgeous desing and milky-white marble, one is struck by the fact that it exists for no other reason than to memorialize Jahan's great love for his dead wife - Rabindranath Tagore may have hyperbolized a bit when he called it "the tear drop on the face of eternity", but the Taj almost lives up to its colossal hype. It's an incredibly romantic tale and edifice - a love song sung in syllables of stone, and you couldn't possibly imagine a more beautiful building.

As we departed the Taj Mahal, I felt great about seeing it, as much for the actual experience and beauty of it as for being able to say I've been there and strike it from my life's to-do list. We hopped in the rickshaw and went out to find somewhere to eat lunch - our driver said he would take us to a good budget place he knew, but on the way we also stopped at another restaurant to check it out. We opened the front door and peeked our heads in, saw a man playing a sitar and a little boy dancing to it, and we immediately decided it was too ritzy for us, and hopped back in the rickshaw. Before we left, though, the restaurant's manager flew out the door and begged us to stay, that he would give us a special discount to 150 on a meal which is usually 375, to which we agreed. And it was a pretty swanky place, with smooth marble tables and scrumptious food, and it was fun looking around at the rich tourists dining there and think about how much they were getting screwed over for their 500 and 600 rupee meals. The only downside was that the guy with the sitar and his little boy dancer who wore heavy eyeliner and lipstick were making their rounds at the tables, and it was seriously freaking me out. Remind me never to let my 8-year-old be an exotic dancer at an Indian restaurant.

After lunch we decided to head back to the Agra train staion where our train left from at 4:10, but on the way our driver tried to divert us to tourist-trap marble-works shops where he gets commision, and Michael needed to make a stop at the Indian Airlines office to get his physical ticket from Delhi to Kabul changed to the next day. Our train ride back wasn't quite as the one on the way there - it took around 5 hours as opposed to the 3 it took to get to Agra, mostly becasue for the last 3 hours the train was going about 7 to 8 miles per hour. There is also no way to tell which station you're at other than asking other passengers - Indians have the innate ability to tell exactly which stop the train is at and how many more stops till yours without looking out the window or any external help. I really can't figure it out, but I know it's very mystical. We arrived back at the Nizamuddin station around 10:00, and a helpful guy told us we could save rickshaw money by just hopping on the train across the platform and hitching a ride in its free-for-all compartment, because its next stop was the New Delhi station, right next to Paharganj. We did, and it was an experience to say the least, one I'm glad I have, but it wasn't fun. It was standing-room-only, the car absolutely busting at the seams with people. We were also standing right next to the car's toilet, so we got the double blessing of the smell of people's butts wafting out of the toilet and guys constantly trying to squeeeeeze back and forth between the airtight bunches of people. I made sure my hands were firmly in my pockets to prevent any unauthorized borrowing, and it was a big relief when after 15 minutes we fell out of the train at New Delhi and Paharganj. Michael ate a burger on the way back (not the best remedy for an upset stomach) and we got back to the hotel a few minutes before midnight after an exhausting final day together and in Delhi. Michael packed his stuff up in his suitcase and arranged a taxi from the hotel to the airport in the morning, then as we fell asleep we told each other how glad we were we had travelled together, because we knew we'd be delirious at 5:00 AM.

At 5:00 we got up, took Michael's stuff downstairs and loaded it into the taxi, then we said bye, nothing fancy, and he left to go back to Afghanistan. I really am so glad I spent the last 2 weeks travelling with him, not only because I wouldn't have gone to Goa otherwise, but I learned a lot of stuff about travelling in India which wouldn't have been fun to find out myself, and it was just great getting to know him and talking to him about life, God, travel and filmmaking.

When I returned to the hotel room, my bag was the only one sitting there, and as I lay in bed under the covers I was overcome by the reality of being alone, profoundly alone. There is no one else for me to rely on now, I'm responsible for everything, and I have to watch my own back. Then, as a little bit of fear started to creep into my heart, I was reminded of the 23rd Psalm, that the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, and I shall fear no evil for his rod and his staff they comfort me - and my fear melted away, replaced by surpassing comfort. I lay in bed until 9:00, then got up, packed my backpack, checked out of the hotel and walked down the street to have a breakfast of muesli and chai. I wrote in my journal in the cafe there for a few hours, then got up, strapped my backpack on and walked down to the station where my train left from in an hour, truly excited for what lay further down the road.