…and the Taj

A love story, a tomb a marvelously carved marble jewelry box of art. It most certainly could be “a teardrop in the cheek of eternity” as the great poet called it.  It is most definitely what everybody says it is.  It is also a story of a broken family and if the myth is true, if the builders’, masons’ and artist’s hands were cut off in order to prevent the Taj’s reproduction in any way– then, it is also a story of deep- seated pain and incredible sacrifice.

We woke up early in the morning to cross the sandstone wall that divides a dusty and hectic Agra into the world of the Taj. We had a tiny cup of chai that we bought on the go as we waited in line together with hundreds of other tourist. Some of whom had matching neon yellow caps on. Oh dear.

I bet you didn’t know that red sandstone understated buildings hugged the Taj from both sides? I didn’t; needless to say I was completely taken by them. I mean really, how to sculpt these architectural marvels with no powered machinery other than chisel and hammer? It is  beyond me.

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