TAJ MAHAL

"I have to park the car here, some kilometers away because of the threat of pollution - you'll have to take an auto rickshaw to the site" said Satish Kumar, our driver.  We had left Delhi early that morning and the drive to Agra had taken four and a half hours with a couple of stops on the way involving breakfast and snake charmers.

The rickshaw ride took us to the ticket office.  The 750 rupee entrance ticket for the Taj for foreigners, provided a small bottle of water and socks to put over your shoes.  The security was tight, we were carefully checked and then joined the huge crowd heading towards the entrance to the Taj precinct.  The heat was intense.

It's interesting confronting something which you have seen a million times in photographs, on tea towels, or advertising something banal.  You glance momentarily, bored with the image and look away.  Now, here was the original.....  It has a presence, an unmistakable personality, like the smile of Mona Lisa, you are not quite sure of her.  She is weightless, ethereal, not quite of this world.  Complete in herself, down to every detail, perfect, ageless, nothing can be added or taken away, harmonious - like a painting of the Madonna and Child by Raphael, there is serenity and timelessness, changeable in different light and yet unchanging.

THE AUTO-RICKSHAW

"She said good morning !  Can you imagine?  She greeted an auto-rickshaw", laughed the driver, as he drew level, in the morning traffic, with another driver.  They both guffawed with laughter in a good natured way, looking in my direction.  I reflected on how 'Buon Giorno' was such a part of the morning ritual in Italy, as one walked along Via Faentina in the morning.  It would be unheard of not to greet Alberto, next door, Giovanni, the postman, Liugi, who ran the Bar, Stephano who owned the computer shop, etc.

The morning rickshaw ride along Old Padra Road, known locally as 'O.P. Road', is one of those little morning pleasures, as one can observe, in the relative safety of the rickshaw, life on the street waking up and preparing for a new day.  It's an opportunity to reflect on things.  Everywhere new buildings are being constructed in various stages of completion.  Other buildings, older by a few years, are already showing signs of wear and tear, because of the harshness of the climate.  Paintwork turns from white to black, dust coats windows, glass panes break.  Things are left to rot and decay - how unkempt it looks - as if nobody cares any more.  Piles of litter vie for a place on the street, alongside the man putting out his fruit barrow, for the morning's business.  Everything is in a constant state of flux - of rebirth and decay.  Nothing is preserved.  After the initial energy of creation, it is left to mature and rot - they live in the present.  Nothing is fixed.  This flexibility of the Eastern mind is difficult to understand - so different to the Western love of order, planning, care and preservation.  Does our love of the physical world, prevent us from seeing beyond it ?  And yet I think not....the quality of a moment is defined by love and surely care is an aspect of that ?...."Hey this is where I want to get off ....   Ha...yes...stop - here's your 25 rupees"

ROOM WITH A VIEW

Wrought iron balconies in Florence are robustly curved, like this one, often bearing the heraldic emblem of the ancient family who owned the palazzo.  Some of these palaces are still owned by the same family and the same emblem would decorate the nearby parish church, to which the family had donated money, or inlaid in marble on the pavement below - the family logo would dominate that part of the town.  The view might be of olive groves with their grey green leaves and tall slim cypresses punctuating the curve of a hill in rhythmic order.

The wrought iron Indian balustrade, created curved geometric arabesques in black, separating the interior space of the room from the scene outside, two floors up.  It looked out onto a "jungle" of greenery which stretched towards a distant building.  A tall palm tree had struggled above everything else for supremacy and next to it a teak tree with sturdy branches.  "Whoooop, whoop", suddenly the branches were weighed down by a tribe of monkeys.  You couldn't see them, but the heavily waving branches gave them away, as they played in the early morning freshness.  Later they could be seen on the top of a nearby building, lying stretched out lazily on a narrow ledge, turning first one flank to the early sunshine and then the other.  Another lay on its stomach, spreadeagled on the edge, while its tail was turned inelegantly upwards, so that its mate could inspect the underside and carry out morning ablutions.  Small monkeys raced around doing gymnastics while their parents yawned.

GARBAR DANCING IN GUJARAT

The sight of 20 000 people dancing in rhythm, barefoot, on the dusty ground, dresses and curtas sparkling with mirrors and sequins, is awe-inspiring.  The season of the 9 nights of dancing is religious in origin but the crowd looked like a huge disco party having a good time.  Men wore a variety of costumes in bright colours, some with turbans and the girls were dressed in garba skirts, blouses and dupattas.  In all the crowd, not one outfit was the same.  Helen had come over specially from Germany for the season - "I get home at 1 a.m."  she said  "and even with my long skirt, I am covered in dust - it takes me 45 minutes to remove all the jewelry and wash off the dust"  So what is the attraction ?  "It's fun" she said !

The event takes place in every corner of the town - each with its own particular style.  In Alkapuri, the arena is small and grassed and the whole family is involved, from little children to grandmothers.  The dance starts sedately, but after half an hour, the pace quickens and the dance becames more complicated - women, normally housebound, shine with perspiration, as they gyrate in time to the music.  Little children sparkling in their special dresses run in and out of the crowd, trying out the steps, as they go.  Some women bravely carry heavy household shrines on their heads, hoping for extra blessings from the Goddess Durga, around whom the dance is performed.

The conversation at the International Women's Club lunch, was all about who had been brave enough to dress up and participate and who had got into the newspaper !