Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Bizarre Incidents)

Mr. S, our guide made a couple of wonderful (?) comments to Ms. L and Ms. G that shook my faith in common sense and etiquette.

1. When Mr. S met us for the first time and sat down in the car, he introduced himself and asked about our comfort so far. So far so good. Then he wanted to know if this was our first trip. It wasn't my first and I told him so. Ms. G had been to India once before but this was her first trip to Agra. Ms. L had already been thrice to Agra before but the last had been a long time back. Instead of asking when was the last time or keeping his mouth shut, Mr. S wanted to know if this was before he was born. Mr. S was in his late twenties and Ms. L had been to Agra in 1994 the last time. So, I guess that Mr. S had been born by then. But did the question deserve to be asked? What was he trying to imply? That he's very young or that she's too old!

2. The second incident happened when I was not around and I was told about it on our way back to Delhi from Agra by Ms. G. It so happened that while I had been buying the entry tickets to the Taj, Mr. S had asked Ms. G if she was on pension. I don't know what prompted him to make such necessary (?) inquiries. Of what benefit was this information to him? But all that it could have meant to Ms. G was that she looked old enough to be on pension. Ms. G is the Vice Chancellor of the University (Russian People's friendship University) and is not accustomed to people making such remarks. She is not as young as Mr. S but is still in good shape and is quite good looking and definitely not in the 'pension' age bracket.

I can not understand the reason why Mr. S could have made such irresponsible, unnecessary, and insulting remarks. I am sure that Ms. L and Ms. G would never be able to forget the Mr. S's immaturity. Nobody likes to be reminded of their age, especially women.

I am sure that if I see Mr. S again, he'll be at the receiving end of a barrage of questions and suggestions. Nothing that he should be looking forward to.

Is this how the official guides are prepared to receive tourists? Maybe the government and the citizens need to look into the proper education of these representatives of their country.

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Part III - Hotel to Home - Last leg)

With a slight limp, I walked out of the lift as it opened its doors to let me out of the hotel. I was now limping quite visibly and obviously. Each step was shooting pain right from my right knee upwards and upwards, till my eyes had started to moisten. I paid the parking attendant and sat down in the driver's seat. I took a moment to take deep breath and calm my nerves. I turned the key. Bhrrrrr. Bhrrrrrrrrrr. Nothing absolutely, just some initial response but the engine wouldn't catch. The car refused to start. Shit!

It was already late evening and the surroundings were looking a bit deserted and gloomy. I opened the hood of the car and located the torch to help me see something in the darkness. I knew that it was something to do with the battery wiring. Tugged on the wires and generally checked for some loose connection. Checked the ignition and still there was no response. I called my friend, who usually repairs my car. Luck was on my side and he answered. Luck left me and he told me that his staff was long gone. He told me to try something and if nothing worked to call him back. I tried, really I did, but it wasn't good enough. This is when I start searching for a garage. Most were closed. I found one open but still too late, as the electrician had already left and the others were in no mood to check my car. They directed me to another garage down the road. Same story - electrician had left. Maybe it was the look on my face – disgust, dejection, and pain (So much walking had worsened the pain. I was now hobbling awkwardly.) that prompted them to remember that he might be back. I waited for about 5 minutes and he came. Drunk! Great! He heard me out without falling down, actually quite patiently and then told me that he would only start the car, not repair it. What to do? I asked him to follow me. 'Rs. 200'. Bastard! He knew the desperation of the situation. I hobbled and he followed me almost identically. Although, I don't think it was a limp for him, just plain intoxication.

He was carrying a plastic bag full of strange stuff. He rummaged through the bag and removed a heavily entangled bunch of wire with a bulb connected at one end. The rest of the length was one serious mess. He connected the wires to the battery. The wire was cut and reconnected in several places and these connections were quite loose. The bulb decided to play hide and seek. It developed disco fever. On! Off! On! Off!... He asked me to keep watching out for the light of the heater coil (on the dashboard) to go on. It flickered once or twice and then there was a continuous glow. I turned the key in the ignition and the engine caught. Such nice and rhythmic noise. Music to my ears. By now my hands were black, my T-shirt was clinging to my body and felt like a piece of me, my head was throbbing and the knee had a mind of its own. I asked him for the reason of the problem. He didn't know. Just some wire was loose. Which one? He didn't know. Bastard! I still had to give him Rs.200, as promised. Screwed, well and truly screwed.

I left the parking lot and joined the procession. The traffic had built up even more. I cruised along and reached home. As I opened the door, I was mobbed. My dogs went mad to see me back. Unfortunately, I didn't share their enthusiasm, even though I was really happy to see them. I was feeling nauseous. The reason could have been tiredness, pain, frustration, and even hunger. My wife had not returned home, but thankfully there was food in the refrigerator. I was relieved to see the food. I filled their bowls with the dog food and while they gobbled it up, tried to rejuvenate my senses with a light (?) Vodka + Coke concoction. Only after the liquid had burned its path through my choked throat did I go and washed my hands and face. Either the drink or the wash or the combination of the two. Whatever! I felt slightly better.

As I was putting on their leashes, I noticed that the white one had blue patches all around her mouth and paws. She had chewed up a pen. Now I started to notice things that I had deliberately avoided. Their water bowl was empty. It was all on the floor and they had been taking wet slides through it. Now I started to lose my mind. My tired knee was also hurting like hell. It felt as if I was going mad. I felt sweaty, dirty, tired and really irritated. I decided to take a bath. I left their leashes on during the bath. In between, the phone rang. It was my parents, who wanted to go out for a dinner (?) No way was I going out in the mental and physical condition that I was in.

Refreshed a bit by the bath, I took the patient canines for a lame walk. The weather didn't seem as nice as it had felt earlier. The wet road was also no longer enticing. Still we splashed through the water logged street. Came back home. Dirty paws, and dirty torsos forced me to give them a thorough wet towel wipe. Once done, I waited for my lady love to arrive. She came but we actually ate in silence.

Later as I settled down on the bed with her next to me, the smaller dog curled up next to me on the bed. The bigger one looked me in the eye, sniffed me and then lay down beside the bed. I was jolted with a bolt of lightning. I realised that here I was with the love of my life. All the frustration and tiredness left me. Now I feel that I love them all. To hell with the touts and middlemen and the many problems and challenges that I encountered on my trip. This was the moment that I should cherish, and remember. The rest was not important. The lesson learnt, helped me get a good sleep. But as it always happens, I forgot all about it by the morning. The trip was finally over.

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Part II - Agra, Taj Mahal)

I parked the car in the somewhat spacious, but very dirty parking lot. Although, I feel that this is one idea that's beneficial for the environment and the monument. I remember that when I was still a schoolboy, I had visited the Taj mahal with a school trip and the bus had parked up right next to the gates. The Taj mahal had even then shown the after effects of the vehicular pollution. The white marble had looked quite grey and beige. The environmental preservation efforts have borne fruit and the Taj looks to be in better health. The parking, which is much before the gates now, restricts the pollution caused by car fumes from taking its toll on the monument.

It has also provided employment to more people by virtue of creating more opportunities like, the parking lots need more attendants, more cleaning staff, more security; the battery operated buses need more drivers; horse-driven and camel-driven carts need their respective 'mahouts' (operators); the path enroute to the actual gates from the parking lot has shown a mushroom growth in bars, restaurants, 'dhabas' (roadside, cheap eating joints) and handicraft shops. Though most of the local (?) handicraft is displayed and sold through the UP State Handicrafts Emporium, there is flourishing direct salesman to customer business. The salesmen (in most cases children) converge on the tourists like locusts and simply don't understand words which have a negative connotation. Words like 'No!', 'Get away!', I don't want anything!', 'Nahin chahiye!', 'Hatt jao!', 'Tang mat karo!' are deftly avoided by them as the persisting tone to sell whatever they carry increases in volume. The swarming lasts right up to the gates. All modes of transport stop some distance away from the gates. The short but tedious walk to the gate can be annoying, irritating, depressing but definitely not what one should have to bear when visiting a world heritage site.

Well, for ourselves, we were well equipped and also had Mr. S for defence. As per Mr. S's words, he was responsible for our safety as well as for a detailed and informed tour of the Taj Mahal. Safety was to be bought by refusing to acknowledge the mere presence of any salesman, child, beggar, children requesting money in the garb of selling trinkets, basically anyone who presented an opportunity of getting up close and personal with us. He kept safe distance from us for most of the journey so as not to tread on anybody's toes. (and I don't mean our toes here). He distinctly advised us not to speak or get into conversation with the 'leeches'. (Did he mean himself, guess not.)

I asked Mr. S about the best mode of transport up to the gates. The battery operated bus was the choice and he told us that it would cost Rs.100 per person. Thankfully, I had been forewarned and I told him that I would manage it on my own. We got on the bus, waited for a couple of more tourists to board and then raced across the road towards the gates. On the way, there is a police check post, which has a barricade on the road. The bus slightly slowed down before zipping past. There was obviously no policeman at the barricade and they looked like anybody but people ensuring security of the area. We came to a halt and as every one got off, I gave the driver Rs. 10. Rs. 10!!! That's right. I paid Rs 10 for the ride for all of us, when Mr. S had advised me to part with Rs. 400. Truth be told, there was no need to pay even that officially, as it is a complimentary service. Just imagine the amount that these people must be minting. WOW! That too Tax-free. Although, I believe that the 'tip' is shared by many hands. Well, surrounded by our small contingent of infestation (salesmen), we strolled over to the gate and I went over to the ticketing counter.

The tickets for foreign nationals were quoted at Rs.750, of which, ASI charge was Rs.250, while the State toll charge was a whopping Rs.500. (Why?) Absurdity at its best. Inscribed lower were the charges for the Indian nationals, who in comparison, were in no comparison at all. Rs. 20 only. Bullshit! (sorry for the expression) Another slap to my already wounded Indian pride. Inequality. Foreign nationals were being provided a bottle of water and covers for their shoes. I paid an extra Rs.10 and got a set of shoe-covers for me and Mr. S. The person, manning this service, very reluctantly parted with the extra covers.

Mr. S had already informed us that no electronic items, cigarettes, lighters or food items were allowed inside. We waltzed through the security check and waited for the ladies to emerge. There was some holdup and it transpired that Ms. G had forgotten to remove her electronic diary. I went outside with Mr. S to the locker room, where the diary was locked up and the key was transferred to me. We returned through the scanner and continued our guided tour of the Taj (another mausoleum) As we reached the center of the square and were being told about the unique and truly symmetric nature of the architecture of the monument and its surroundings, we were soon engulfed by the state authorized (?) photographers. They lingered around and then were eventually snubbed off by us (not Mr.S). Our attempts met with glares and they made rude remarks (thankfully) in hindi. We decided to move forward.

Mr.S told us that only cameras for still photography were allowed. Video cameras were allowed but only till the platform, and that too for a fee of Rs.25. Idiots! (my apologies for the foul language) I guess the administrators are still living in the dark ages. These days, most digital cameras can take some amount of video coverage too, along with the still photographs. Even most mobiles can do both, which are allowed. We walked through the eastern gate, crossed the entrance dome, and entered the lawns and the main Taj area. Beautiful and breathtaking. It is very difficult to be unmoved with the sheer magnificence of the monument and the impressive entry through the domed structure. The architecture is such that unless you are inside the dome itself, or beyond, the Taj is never completely visible. The complete view is well worth the pains. We were in luck as the weather was excellent. Raindrops simply enhanced the beauty and the overall experience. It was not hot, though slightly humid but at the same time breezy.

As we neared the platform, we wore the shoe-covers over our shoes. Mr.S returned the cover to the counter, where you can leave your shoes and socks (for Indians), and in the process pocketed Rs. 10 in return. He left his shoes and socks at the counter. Shoes are not allowed on the platform and beyond to conserve the masterpiece. Bullshit! (sorry again)

I was experiencing some pain at the back of my right knee and felt severe restriction in walking. I decided to let the ladies enjoy the guided tour, while I settled down on the boundary wall facing the river yamuna. Serene. Lovely. Picturesque view. I can find no appropriate words to express the thrill and peace that I felt at the same time, looking at the white marbled structure of exceptional architecture on one side, and the slightly bubbly river on the other. The river surface rippled as the raindrops fell on it. The ladies moved around with Mr. S and seemingly had a nice tour. We returned back from the platform and took off the covers . We were forced to throw them onto the pile overflowing from the small, covered dustbin. Why can't a bigger one be placed in it's place? I wonder! Ms. L decided to take some pics as we walked back.

The ladies expressed a desperate desire to visit the restroom. They had actually requested to avail the services of one when we had parked the car but Mr. S had suggested to use the ones inside the complex as they would be cleaner. And, then forgot all about it. (Same as me) Obviously, the aggrieved party remembered. Mr. S told us that it is free for foreign nationals but cost Rs.2 for Indians. Yippee! I was elated to have scored one over the foreigners. Indian piss scores over foreign.

We went out and collected the locked up electronic diary by depositing Rs.10. (Why?) We paid another Rs. 10 on the bus ride back. This time the driver collected Rs. 100 each from another group of two Indians and two foreigners. At last, equality for all.

Mr.S offered to take us to Mr.M's shop. Ms.G and Ms.L accepted the offer. We drove a bit and reached the shop. The ladies got busy with the staff, who could speak good russian. (?) I was offered a coke, which I accepted. It had got quite humid. I explain my relationship with the ladies when probed. Mr.S wanted to get me Rs. 50 from the shop. Why? This is provided to all the drivers that come with guests, he said. I explained that we were standing next to the SUV I owned and reiterated that the foreigners were my personal guests for whom I'd paid everything. (including the entry tickets and all) Rs. 50 was the last of my concerns. He insisted that I take. I refused for myself but asked him if he needed that money. He said no but still asked someone, who had just walked up to us, for the money. I requested (?) him to shove it up you know where. He didn't look very impressed but he pocketed the money back. Mr. S was very disappointed that I let go of Rs.50, which will now be pocketed by that individual on my behalf. This got me thinking and made me nervous with regards to Mr. S's payment and his ethical stature on the whole. To avoid any more surprises, I contacted my friend in Delhi and he said that he wanted to talk to Mr. M. I enquired about the whereabouts of Mr. M from Mr. S and was surprised to learn that he was in the shop. How come I didn't see him? Anyways. He was in the interiors of the shop and that is when I learned that he was the owner of the establishment. He spoke to my friend and a 10% commission of the sales was decided upon by them for Mr. S. The ladies bought in excess of Rs.40000. (paid in dollars) It turned out to be a good deal for Mr. S. (he told me he charges Rs.650 for the service)

Once through with the sales, Mr. S insisted that we accompany him to a marble shop but we refused. He sat down in the car and directed to the shop but we refused again and instead asked for the directions to Delhi. He implored me to pressurize the ladies to visit the marble dealer. I suppose he was on their rolls as well. Our denial to comply with his insistence must have spoilt his mood, as he got off the car in a huff and said goodbye. He got off but then stood there waiting. (expectantly for tips) Nothing doing! We started back. The road condition was even worse and there was no proper signage. I followed the road and almost ended up taking us the other way to Gwalior. Wow! Thankfully, I asked for directions and got back on the right road.

On the way toll tax is collected at two places. The to and fro journey costs Rs.52.50. This we had paid on the way to Agra. Interestingly, 0.50 is pocketed and the effective toll comes to Rs.53. (why not have it as Rs.53) Assuming that around 2000 vehicles ply on this route daily. Rs. 1000 goes to their pockets. One hell of a business.

This time round the drive seemed longer. Ms.G slept all the way till Faridabad. The last 30Kms. from there were the toughest with heavy traffic. We reached their hotel by 7.30pm. I said goodbye to Ms.G. Ms. L presented me with a bottle of vodka. Yahoo! She allowed me to use the 'restaurant' Actually, this was a small joke between us. When they had requested to go to the toilet at the Taj parking, I had asked Mr. S for the location of the restrooms. He had goofed up saying 'Restaurant' instead of 'Restroom'. Once in the privacy of the bathroom, I let lose the flow for 3 minutes at least. It was slightly embarrassing but I guess it's just this human thing. I bade farewell to Ms. L and walked out of the hotel.

How I wish that could have been the ending of the trip for me? What followed shouldn't have happened? Well, that's again another story, for another day.

Please Note:

Disclaimer : All photographs have been taken on last year's trip

1. Picture 1 - the view of Taj while we were still within the domed entrance;

2. Picture 2 - Taj in full glory

3. Picture 3 - Taj in a picturesque setting

4. Picture 4 - My sketch of Taj

Road trip to Agra from Delhi (Part I - Sikandra)

Having returned and almost recuperated from the adventurous ordeal, I wondered if the experience deserved the monologue that follows next. The fact is that it was not as much as my fingers or hands that had been subjected to excessive strain (no restrictions in punching the keys) but rather:

1. my lower limbs, which handled the pedals, and
2. the minuscule, almost non-existent, yet, evidently still signalling life – 'brain'.

It might be better to start at the start itself. Here goes: The big bang that followed GOD's unintended, jalapeno-induced 'burp' ... OOPS! Wrong start, or maybe the wrong story.

Let me try again.

I was blessed with an opportunity to escort two beautiful and highly influential ladies from the Russian People's Friendship University, Moscow, from Delhi to Agra. (That's better.) The ride was to be done on a saturday. Summer had been strange in Delhi this year. More rains in summer than in the monsoon season till date. But since the ladies belonged to the usually snow-laden city of Moscow (I know summers in Moscow can be hot too, but a reminder, the evenings are still windy and chilly there. Even in summer.), they had the concern of sunburns and asthmatic responses to oppressive heat in Agra – the city which boasts of Taj Mahal (Seven wonders of the world, remember). We had negotiated and reluctantly compromised to start by 6.30am. I wanted to start their leg of the journey at 7am, while they at 6am. They felt that the 4-5 hour journey would subjugate them to a blast of hot air if they reached Agra an hour later than they wished to. On friday night, they dined with some one influential from the russian embassy, and I accompanied my brother and a band of our relatives to a meet with a prospective bride for him. Both these parties lasted till late in the evening and as for me, lay down to sleep that night around 2am. I had expected it to be a struggle to get up the next morning, but it was the reverse. I had distinct difficulty in going off to sleep and even if I did doze off, to stay asleep for long. In other words, it was a disturbed sleep and eventually, I got off the bed at 6am, though reluctantly as I stood on my sleepy legs. I took my dogs for their well deserved walk, but strangely for them, at an unearthly hour. (we usually do so at 8am) Got dressed and after giving the ladies a wake up call, started my car for the first time that day.

I reached their hotel and once they were through with their breakfast (I too grabbed a stimulating(?) cup of hot, black coffee), we started the 430 km trip to Agra from Delhi and back.

The sky was heavily overcast and the temperatures were well within desirable limits. An auspicious start. Ms. L joined me in the front, while Ms. G settled down in the more spacious middle row of the SUV. Ms. G reclined the seat to the max (horizontal position) and with her shades on, decided to catch up on the few winks of sleep that she so missed. Ms. L was considerate enough to keep me engaged in small and large talk. We lasted the next 3 hrs awake. McDonalds, opposite to the Mathura oil refinery then provided me with an opportunity to stretch my aching legs and to satiate my hunger pangs (Chicken McGrill and Fillet-o-Fish with black coffee).

Our next stop was Sikandra, Agra. (The first image is of Sikandra with my car, a red SUV (Toyota Qualis) parked on the left side.) The monument holds Akbar's (the mughal ruler's) grave. Pitter-patter raindrops accompanied us across the surprisingly, scarcely populated enclosure. The touts, guides, photographers, kids with open hands, and some(?) salesmen swooped down on their unassuming victims. Well almost unassuming. I didn't want to have anything to do with them. Ms. L was experienced with these things (this was her 3rd trip to Agra). Ms. G had shades on.(although her 1st trip to Agra. Well done!) We skipped along the wet path to the ticket counter.

Foreign nationals – Rs.110. Indian nationals – Rs.10. Such discrimination. Apartheid. Racists! How dare they charge less from us Indians? Aren't we good enough! But to keep up the facade of being unfazed by this, I bought the tickets and joined the foreign nationals, who accompanied me (the 'not-good-enough-for-Rs.110-Indian').

Truthfully speaking, the monument is as depressing as its existence. Its after all a mausoleum. But I guess my mood loss was more in line with the dilapidated state of the monument and its surrounding areas. The only good factor was the lush green lawns spanning around us, peppered with blackbucks. (See the second image which has the blackbucks lazing around on the turf) (The third image has a monkey in the foreground to the monument) The intermittent raindrops were supporting a lift in my mood as well. In and out in twenty minutes. Why do you need a guide for this site? Why would you? All that you need to know is mentioned quite clearly and in plain and open view, engraved on a stone tablet right at the entrance. We had barely sat down in the car, when the infestation encroached on our private breathing space (a democratic right infringement).

'Three for 200!'
'See, one elephant inside the other!'
'OK, whatever you say, Three for 150!'
'Tea! Some tea.'

The shouts kept increasing - in number and in pitch. Troublesome and meddlesome. Thankfully, the foreign nationals have more patience. Is that why they cost more at the ticket counter?

We had been promised a guide for the Taj Mahal by a friend that I'd spoken to in Delhi. We got a call from a middleman (turned out to be the owner of a handicraft emporium in Agra) who requested us to meet him at the Hotel Taj View. Not at the reception. Outside, at the gates. This was to be the meeting point. The road up till now had been very good for most part of the journey, with some horrible stretches in between. But the potholes were restricted to some portion of the road at any given time. This did not seem to be true once we took the right turn from Sikandara to go to Taj Mahal. The potholes were an integral part of the road and at times were the only part resembling a road. Taj receives the maximum number of tourists in India. The condition of the connecting road shows the apathy felt by the city, state, and central governments. Rains were helping us along our now tiresome journey. The road was flooded completely at times and I really thank our stars that we were in a SUV with a higher ground clearance than most other vehicles. The muddy water made it difficult to make a topographical survey of what lay ahead. I crossed my fingers and surged ahead.

We were instructed to take directions on the way and so we did on a number of occasions as the road was long (seemed longer). On request, the auto rickshaw drivers directed us ahead, following the direction of our nose (I decided not to look anywhere but straight, lest the direction of my nose changed, leading to unnecessary complications) and take an immediate left (gesticulating to the left while verbally pronouncing right!) the moment we see the crossing that boasted of a black horse 'Kala Ghoda'. We stopped at each crossing and peered hard to locate one but unfortunately could make out only donkeys. Literally and rhetorically. The traffic sense or the complete lack of it bears mention, but not in this story. We were afraid that we might get late and the black horse might bolt from the crossing, thus rendering the directions we'd received, useless. Voila! There stood the black (?)(looked like an oxidized green to me) under the stone princess. The horse was in stone too (or metal) Well, the left turn negotiated, we curved along with the meandering road for another couple of kilometers, when Ms. G, suddenly awake, informed us of a fat, puff-cheeked man on a motorcycle, seemingly waving for us to stop. I had given the licence plate number of our car to Mr.M (our contact). We had reached the Hotel gates and gone past him. Mr. M introduced us to a casually dressed (it's fine with me, and mentioned just for the setting) person in his early twenties. This was to be our guide, Mr. S. He gave his name and checked about our comfort in a strangely accented version of english. Thankfully, Ms. L and Ms. G know the language well enough to understand his dialect. I was immensely pleased as this meant that I could enjoy the tour without having to interpret each and every word and consonant back to the ladies in russian. Another 3-4 km ride brought us to the Taj parking. Well, here begins another story for another day.

Please note:

1. Trip continued in part 2 and 3,

2. All the images are from my visit to Sikandra last year. This year didn't take any photographs because of the rain.