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.