Heidi: A trip back to childhood

I first read Heidi, the widely popular story of a little girl and her grandfather in the Swiss Alps, in Bengali translation. I was eight, of the same age as Heidi. And I really,  really, loved the book. The translation was excellent and had aptly brought out the beauty and serenity of the mountains, the sense of exhileration the girl felt among nature and her loneliness in a big city mansion where she was taken away. I did not read it in English later, as I did with some other novels.

But yesterday, at a screening of a movie based on it (organized by the Swiss Embassy at Oxford Bookstore), I could remember every dialogue and was feeling as happy as my eight-year-old self. It is just another children's book. So why do so many people like it so much? Probably many of us have a Heidi hiding inside us. We are stuck in a stifling situation, made of social obligations, rules and "system", and all we want is to break free and seek another life, somewhere else. Anyway, sorry for philosophizing and thanks to the friends who told me about the screening and went with me for it. (Pic: grandpa's cottage)

Roam Alone: Begumpur mosque and Chor Minar

Delhi is a city of visible contradictions. If you cross the road from the Glitzy Select Citywalk Mall in Saket, you will find a different world altogether – a congested urban village called Khirki Gaon. The village is historically significant for heritage enthusiasts, for this area once was a part of Jahanpanah, the fourth city of Delhi, established by Muhammad Bin Tughlaq. Just a few minutes’ walk, and you come face to face with the imposing Khirki Masjid, or the mosque of the windows.

It has the distinction of being one of the first covered mosques of Delhi and was built by Khan-i-Jahan Junan/Juna Shah Tilangani, the prime minister of Sultan Feroz Shah Tughlaq. It is said that Tilangani (also spelt Telangani) constructed seven such mosques in the city. There are some disputing views among historians, but most of them agree that five of these mosques are Khirki, Kalan Masjid near Turkman Gate, Kalan Masjid in Nizamuddin, Begumpur Mosque and Jami Masjid in Firoz Shah Kotla. I have visited four of them during heritage walks organized by various groups, but the Begumpur mosque was not covered. So, one fine Sunday morning, I thought of finding it out.

I walked for around 15 minutes from Hauz Khas metro station -- keeping my focus on the GPS coordinates. The thoroughfare was busy and crowded as the monument nears, so I did not feel unsafe, though there were some curious stares, including from some in the group of local elders who were sitting on a “chatai” near its entrance and starting a game of cards. However, no one raised any objection, so I went in.

The mosque has a large rectangle-shaped courtyard and compartments all around it. There were numerous domes, just as Kalan Masjid and Khirki mosques. All of these structures are distinctive -- having those domes which look like half a globe and an entry gate a few metres above the ground level which can be accessed by a set of steps. I clicked a few pics and was looking at the huge courtyard which once also had witnessed a whole village coming up inside before the authorities removed them in 1921. I had read that there was a ladies' mosque in the compound but was not sure about its location.

Like Begumpur mosque, Chor Minar, or the Tower of Thieves, is also situated inside a residential area, in a park near Aurobindo Marg in upscale Hauz Khas locality. Built during the rein of Alauddin Khilji, the 13^th century minar has 225 holes and the legend has it that heads of thieves were hung from them. Must be a scary sight, if it is true! I expected a tall structure when I read the word "minar" but this one resembles a short and stoutly built person. It is placed on an elevated arched platform. The lawns are well-maintained and the overall ambience does not emanate an eerie feeling, despite the gory and dark stories associated with it. It is definitely worth visiting once.

Post-script: While going out towards the main road, I saw a signboard proclaiming Shri Gaudiya Math. I remembered that this is a Bengal-based Vaishnavite organization and I have visited their stall in Calcutta Book Fair. Parochialism jag utha! I went in and found a beautiful Radha Krishna idol. I struck a conversation in Bengali with the priest. He gave me a Bengal-style coconut laddoo 'prasad' and asked me to visit again. That was a "sweet end" to the trip.

Rath-er Mela

When I was a child, there was no TV at home and no live telecast of Rathyatra of Puri. We used to buy small wooden chariots from market, decorate them with colourful paper chains and marble paper (this part mostly done by maa) and install little clay idols of Jagannath-Balaram- Subhadra inside, before taking the raths out and pulling them through streets in the locality. Kids used to compete with each other over whose rath is looking more beautiful. This is still quite prevalent in Bengal, albeit on a much smaller scale as children are too busy nowadays.

The other major attraction was going to "rath-er mela" or fairs organized on the occasion. Today, an impromptu visit to Jagannath Mandir area in Hauz Khas brought back those memories. Hundreds of people attired in their festive best, standing in long queues with children who are having the time of their lives blowing "bhopu" in full gusto, toy and balloon sellers at every nook and corner, the usual rush for collecting prasad, eateries and ice-cream wallas doing brisk business and the general atmosphere of chaotic happiness that is traditionally associated with "rath-er mela". The only new element was the selfie-seekers. And yeah, a media gallery.

(July 2018)

At a glance -Bantony Estate

I was on a quick one-hour visit to Shimla along with my sister and looking for the Kalibari when we came across this beautiful house on Mall Road.

Google says it is Bantony Castle, the erstwhile estate of the Maharaja of Sirmaur (Nahan, H.P.)  The state government has acquired the heritage building which once housed the DGP office and it may be converted into a museum. I am sure many people have seen it and know about it already but can’t resist sharing the pics.

The last photo shows a cottage which is also a part of the estate. Internet blogs are describing the architecture as mock-Tudor style.

Photo Essay - Visahakhapatnam and Araku

It was an impromptu decision by me and my ex-roommate (now studying in Hyderabad) for a weekend trip to Visakhapatnam.However, we luckily got a room in the APTDC resort near Rushikonda each. The view from the balcony was superb.

A toy train ride atop Kailasagiri. At first you will only see some shrubs and start thinking if paying Rs 75 was a mistake, when the view of the city and the sea will unfold slowly.

We climbed the steep stairs (and a ladder) of the Dolphin's Nose lighthouse accompanied by a boisterous group of Bengali tourists who, however, was quietened down by the sight of the vast expanse of the sea. My phone only recorded a part of it.

Vizag is the HQ of Eastern Naval Command and houses a museum developed inside a de-inducted Tupolev Tu-142 aircraft. Inside, a Navy veteran explained things in detail.

The harbour from where fish lovers in several states of the country get their fill

Gold Rush

The next morning, we boarded the 2S coach of Visakhapatnam-Kirandul passenger train to visit Araku valley. I had heard a lot about this route and the train journey proved to be as breathtaking and enchanting as described by travellers before us.There are about 60 tunnels en route. Pic by my friend. I tried and tried but failed to catch the right moment

How green was my valley?

We took the APTDC road package which included lunch at Haritha Hill Resort and a Dhimsa tribal dance performance

The musicians said the bigger drum is called tudumu (I forgot the name of the other) and the flute is known as Jodukommulu. (I hope the spellings are correct)

Borra Caves, the main attraction of Araku, are said to be 150 million years old. There is a labyrinth of stairs and Stalactites and stalagmites everywhere inside.

The multi-coloured digital lights are quite popular with the tourists but I would have preferred dim yellow bulbs and a play of light and shadow 

Our last stop in the Vizag-Araku tour was Shri Varaha Lakshmi Narasimha temple at Simhachalam Hills, which has beautiful carvings and sculptures. No phone allowed inside, so, no photo. But that's ok. 

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Exploring Mehrauli-II -- Tracing the route of Phoolwalon-Ki-Sair and listening to stories of miracle

“Pata hai, 10-15 din pehle wahan ek chamatkar hua tha,” the white bandana-wearing auto-rickshaw guy told me on the way to Hauz-i-Shamsi, a Sultanate-era reservoir I was visiting on the second day of my solo exploration of Mehrauli village and nearby areas.

As I was researching on internet to know more about the heritage spots of Mehrauli, I realised that there are too many of them and it is not possible to cover all if I am not going with a walk group. There are quite a few old mosques, tombs and monuments. Notable among them are the Qila Rai Pithora of Prithviraj Chauhan; the octagonal tomb of Adham Khan (that foster brother of Akbar who was thrown off a fort for murdering another noble); a place called Hijron ka Khanqah (meaning, a spiritual retreat of the transgender) with a graveyard for them, and a “Mughal period Jharna”, a pleasure garden which had a waterfall and a pavilion. However, quite a few of the monuments

in Mehrauli are hidden in by-lanes or facing encroachment.

I zeroed in on two of the spots associated with Phoolwalon-Ki-Sair - Jahaz Mahal, from where, it is said, the Mughal emperor’s family watched the procession or joined it, and the adjoining Hauz-i-Shamsi or Shamsi talav. I had to go somewhere else afterwards, and that’s why I took an auto from Chhattarpur metro station to save time, but the two places are well within walking distance from the metro station. The reservoir was built by Slave dynasty king Shams-ud-Din Iltutmish who apparently had a dream of the Prophet in his winged horse Buraq. The Sultan is believed to have found a print on the soil where Buraq struck a hoof in his dream, built a pavilion around a stone slab with the imprint of the hoof and dug a pond around the pavilion. Now a domed structure stands on one corner of the talav but I didn’t see any slab.

The stories of miracle still do the rounds, though. As the autowalla told me, “10-15 din pehle wahan ek chamatkar hua tha, pani mein Allah ka Naam likha hua dikhai de raha tha, sabne dekha.” I asked, “aapne khud dekha?” He said, “haan maine bhi dekha”. I said, “aap toh lucky ho phir”. This made him really happy and he started telling me about the many monuments of Mehrauli and actually took great care to circle the auto around the pond, stopping it at 2-3 vantage spots so that I can take pictures. (I told him I am doing a history project; aise hi dekhne ayee hoon bolti to pata nahi kya sochta).

The gorgeous Jahaz Mahal is situated just beside the pond and named thus because apparently its reflection looked like that of a ship in the water. The Mahal can be approached from the main road instead of the side of the resorvoir. The structure has beautiful chhatris with some of the glazed blue tiles still visible. It was said to have been built as a pleasure resort though some historians opine that it was a sarai (inn) for pilgrims arriving from central Asia to visit Islamic shrines in Delhi. During Phoolwalon-Ki-Sair, cultural programmes are held in Jahaz Mahal. There is one Jahaz Mahal in Mandu, Madhya Pradesh, as well.

While returning to the metro station, I saw a part of the Mughal-era Jama Masjid-Sohn Burj. There are quite a few old mosques in Mehrauli; Madhi Masjid and Mughal Masjid are well-known, but in Google map, there is also one named “Pankhay Wali Masjid”. No idea about the origin of the name.

Although it is not a heritage site as yet, but I thought of going to the Chhattarpur temple (which is on the opposite direction from the metro station) to end the trip because I have seen it from outside quite a few times but was never there. The temple complex is huge and the architecture, design and marble carvings are really magnificent. And thankfully, phones are allowed. It was the day of Shivaratri and

there was a serpentine queue of at least 300 people, but the line was moving quickly. A lot of youngsters were taking selfies. Two boys even tried to click the photo of the idol of the presiding deity (Devi Katyayani) before being ticked off by the priests. The lady in the queue in front of me started talking to me just like that, telling me that by standing in the queue of a temple or by making a long journey to a pilgrimage spot, we can actually earn more blessings. “Uske upar yeh pracheen mandir hai”, she said. I was about to tell her that it was founded only in 1974 but stopped myself. After all, if this gives her some feeling of positivity, there’s no harm as such.

Trivia: About the tomb of Adham Khan, also known as Bhool bhulaiya, it is said that Queen Roopmati cursed him for attacking Mandu and said no woman would ever visit his tomb.

I didn’t, either.

(For gathering information, I took help from several websites, including the blogs of Mayank Austen Soofi, Anuradha Goyal, Rangan Dutta, Kanika Singh and Vikarmjit Singh Rooprai.)

(March 2018)

Exploring Mehrauli-Part 1: Google Map and tracing the route of Phoolwalon-ki-Sair

A few weeks back, I went to Mehrauli Archaeological Park with Delhi Heritage Walks. The park is magnificent and the stories about the monuments were quite interesting, to say the least. I especially liked two of them. One was about a gentleman named Sir Thomas Metcalfe who was Resident in the then Mughal emperor’s court for 40 years from 1813 and who landscaped some parts of the area where the park stands today. He built several follies (a folly is a structure meant for decoration, serving no practical purpose), the most well-known of which is situated near a Lodi-era tank that was turned by him into a boathouse. He also refurbished a Mughal tomb, made it his

summer retreat and named it “Dilkhusha”! The other story was about the four-layered Rajon ki Baoli. Built during Sikander Lodi’s time, it is said to have got its name from a group of masons who used it for some time. The walk leader mentioned that not very far from there is Gandhak Ki Baoli. Its water contains sulphur and many people believe that it has curative properties. It was built by Sultan Iltutmish (1296–1316) for Sufi saint Hazarat Qutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, to whom the Qutb Minar is dedicated (I always thought it was named after Qutb-ud-din Aibak!). The dargah and the Yogmaya temple are the two important stops of the annual “Phoolwalon Ki Sair”, the festival/procession that was started in 1812 by the Queen of Akbar Shah II (one of those unknown powerless Mughal kings; Bahadur Shah Zafar’s pitaji) in thanksgiving after the return of her exiled son Mirza Jahangir.

Curious to see more, I decided to further explore Mehrauli on my own. On my next off-day, I started my walk (armed with Google maps) from the main gate of Yogmaya temple. It is an Adishakti Peeth dedicated to Devi Jogmaya (the story here refers to the girl child who was kept in place of Lord Krishna, was thrown into the wall by Kansa and who vanished after predicting his death). It was said to have been destroyed by Mahmood of Ghazni and has been reconstructed several times. The temple is regarded as one of five “Pandav Kalin” temples of Delhi. “Yeh 5000 saal purana hai beta,” said the elderly man selling “puja samagri” in a cart near the entrance. He also helpfully offered me a matchbox (“diya jalakar wapas le ana”). 

The present temple is a modern marbled one, with intricate carvings on the outer wall. There was a string of beautiful brass bells near ‘garbh griha’ but I refrained from clicking a picture as I was not sure if that was allowed. During Phoolwalon Ki Sair, floral ‘pankha’ (fans) are offered in this temple as well as at the nearby dargah of Bakhtiyar Kaki, a tradition that was started by Akbar Shah II himself.

From the temple gateway (opposite the Qutb Minar complex), it takes around 10 minutes to reach the dargah. The narrow pathway near its entrance has the usual ensemble of chadar and flower sellers, souvenir shops, and a number of alms seekers. A group of three ladies kept on asking me to treat them to tea. I went into the main courtyard of the dargah which was teeming with devotees. A group of qawwals were singing amidst the din. Ladies are not allowed near the main tomb and I took a photo from behind a “jali”. Here, a server himself said photography is allowed, so I didn’t hesitate.

The dargah once shared its boundary with “Zafar Mahal”, the last palace built by the Mughals. It was started by Akbar II and completed by the last Mughal Bahadur Shah Zafar, who, it is said, wanted to be buried there and even kept a place reserved, but that did not happen as he was deported to Rangoon by the British after the 1857 mutiny, to suffer a lonely death. Google map was failing as too many shops and buildings have come up in between the dargah and the palace. I asked a shopkeeper who said he never heard the name Zafar Mahal. A lady flower seller (Many of the stalls outside the premises are being run by women) said “arre usko sheesh mahal kehte hai” and

showed me the way. 

I braved a narrow sloping lane full of cramped houses, tailoring and grocery shops with god-knows-what-kind-of-water overflowing into the path and walked on -- and suddenly, the imposing “haathi gate” of the palace sprang up before me. I looked at the huge closed doorway of the red-and-cream-coloured structure and took a few pictures, earning amused glances from some passers-by. There was a small opening in the gate but I decided against going in, thinking of safety aspects. There are ruins of the palace, a few graves and a white mosque inside – the second Moti Masjid in Delhi after the one at Red Fort. Those interested to know further can refer to Mayank Austen Soofi's blog.

I returned to the lane leading to the dargah. The three ladies were still there. One shouted, “arre aab toh chaye pila de”. I really wanted to treat a fellow tea-lover but wasn’t sure how that will turn out, and made a quick exit towards Gandhak ki Baoli. The water in the stepwell appeared stagnant but people say it looks completely different during the rainy season.

My last stop for the day was Dadabari Jain temple. Said to be 800 years old, the temple is around one km from the dargah but I took an autorickshaw because I was not sure of the safety of the route. However, I found out that the road is quite okay. Next time, I can walk.

The Dadabari temple is very beautiful, with excellent marble and coloured glass work on the outer surface and inner shrine, respectively. It is built on the cremation ground of Jain Saint Manidhari Dada Shri Jinchandra Suri. The complex is considerably large, though not all of it is visible from the road (Devpurji Ashram Marg). There was a steady stream of visitors but it was quiet and peaceful. Dadabari is a common name for some Jain temples dedicated to saints revered as Dada Guru Dev. I searched for Jain Dadabari Temple, Kolkata and yes! There is one at the famous Parshwanath temple complex in our very own Manicktala.

Speaking of Bengal connection, did you know that Rabindranath Tagore wrote a long poem called “Bandi Bir” on the valiant Baba Banda Singh Bahadur, the respected Sikh warrior? His “shaheedi asthan” is also nearby. (For information I took help from several websites, including the blogs of Soofi, Anuradha Goyal, Rangan Dutta and Vikarmjit Singh Rooprai.)

<February 2018; Next: Exploring Mehrauli Part-II>

A Chance Meeting with the Poet

Staying near Nizamuddin for 15 years has its advantages. Even if you are not a strong believer, you cannot but get attracted by the sights and sounds of the famous Sufi dargah and its surroundings. The chaos, colour and character of the area urge the curious visitor to look for more, and over the years, with the help of a few friends, I not only explored the shrine and nearby places but also discovered well-decorated restaurants tucked inside shabby lanes and quaint tea shops serving “chai” with extra “malai”. 
But I never went to the tomb of Mirza Ghalib. 

Now, that’s a bit odd for a poetry enthusiast (I don’t claim to be proficient in Urdu but Ghalib is beyond any language barrier). The problem is that Mazar-e-Mirza Ghalib is very easy to miss. There’s this pharmacy in the corner of Karim’s lane, the shop selling newspapers and books, the flower and ‘chadar’ sellers screaming “juta yahan rakhiye, juta yahan rakhiye” and then the Ghalib Academy gate. In between, there is a small slice of a path leading to the gate of Urs Mahal, cultural events are held there during the Urs of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya and other such special days. This also serves as the entry point to the tomb of the man who wrote “hazaron ḳhwahishen aisi...”

On one Sunday, after taking part in a heritage walk in Humayun’s Tomb just across the Mathura Road, I and a friend decided to visit Ghalib’s grave. I actually missed the entry again and had to ask a shopkeeper. The Urs Mahal compound was empty, barring a few children who were playing cricket. We noticed a large white marbled structure on the right side, but it did not look like Ghalib’s tomb as I had seen in internet. “I don’t think this one is Ghalib’s,” I said.

At that moment, a security guard, wearing a fluorescent green jacket, walked up to us. “Yeh Chausanth Khamba hai. Aapko mazar-e-Ghalib dekhna hai? Aiye main dono dikha deta hoon”.
The guard-turned-guide then took us to Chausanth Khamba, a tomb built for himself by Mughal nobleman Mirza Aziz Koka/Kokaltash. The guard described him as Akbar ka “satela bhai” though Google search shows that he was actually the foster brother of the emperor and son of his minister Atgah Khan. Chausanth Khamba is called thus because 64 pillars are said to be supporting its roof (though Mayank Austen Soofi of famous “Delhi Walla” blog says one can count only up to 36). 

Chausanth Khamba is the larger building in the complex and Ghalib’s tomb, a beautiful but small structure also made of white marble, is kind of hidden behind it. As one enters the courtyard (renovated in 2009 by Agha Khan Trust), the first thing anyone will notice is how quiet it is. The hustle and bustle of Nizamuddin Basti suddenly seems to be a mile away. As if the poet wanted a peaceful abode and it has been granted to him. Or maybe I imagined all that, I don’t know. Maybe reading a Ghalib couplet inscribed on a plaque in the soft glow of twilight makes one’s imagination run too far.
“na tha kuchh to ḳhuda tha kuchh na hota to ḳhuda hota
Duboya mujh ko hone ne na hota main to kya hota”. 

“Aapne time mein sirf India nahi, Asia ka best poet the.” said Mr Singh, our guide, while sharing snippets of information on Ghalib’s life and work. I was busy taking pictures of the tombstone, where a few lines were written in Urdu. (Later found out that it is the same couplet as cited above). As we crossed the gate of the Urs Mahal and returned to the busy crowd of devotees, shopkeepers, beggars and tramps, it felt like we had just been to another world.

P.S.: From poetic to the mundane: While returning, discovered a bakery selling excellent “dilwala feni” (French Palmier cookie) and “nan khatai”.

Trivia: (Not on Ghalib). Atgah Khan was murdered by Adham Khan, son of Akbar’s chief nurse and advisor Maham Anga. Adham Khan is the same guy whom we have seen in “Jodha Akbar”, being thrown off Agra Fort twice as punishment for the same crime.

(February 2018)

A Trek to Lakes

I had the good fortune of enjoying the breathtaking view of blue-eyed Pangong Tso in Ladakh and Nainital-Bhimtal-Sattal in Uttarakhand. I plan to visit Damdama Lake in Gurugram someday, despite being warned about overcrowding. My fascination with lakes is such that I often look at DTC bus 310 which goes to “Jheel” and think of travelling till its last stoppage.

So, when I came across a Facebook post by DelhiByFoot inviting adventure enthusiasts to explore the “secret lakes of Delhi” near Asola Bhatti wildlife sanctuary, I thought of grabbing the opportunity. After all, you can visit some places in and around Delhi (such as Asola or Najafgarh marshlands or Tughlakabad) only in a group. There was one strong reason not to go; it will involve walking around 8 km and I was not sure whether I can manage that. A few years back, I had walked 13 km up the hills from Katra to Vaishno Devi but my health condition has changed since then.

Finally, I registered for it with a chalo-jo-hoga-dekha-jayega attitude. The meeting place was Anangpur village in Faridabad (a few of us got a lift from a kind-hearted co-walker) from where the fairly large group started after having a cup of leathery and very sweet tea. Google baba informed that Anangpur is named after Tomar king Anangpal, who also built a dam nearby (that still exists, said our walk leader). Just two km away is the more famous Suraj Kund, said to have been built by king Surajpal of the same dynasty.

The lakes of Asola, nestled in the Aravali ranges, however, are not natural. In fact, they are a result of unchecked human consumption. Deep pits were dug during unregulated mining activities in the area, which have turned into large lakes. The Supreme Court in 2002 banned mining in the ecologically sensitive Aravalis. The lakes offer no hint about their dark past. They are beautiful, with clear green-blue water, surrounded by saffron rocks, not tourist-riddled barring a few cyclists (therefore litter-free) and they can transport you to another world despite being so near to the madding crowd of Delhi. There are quite a few lakes in that zone but we saw only three. The local villager who was guiding us said their depth is 200 feet or more. Swimming is prohibited and should not be attempted, he said. 

The jungle trail is not easy either. The woods are not lovely, dark and deep but thorny, rugged, stony and steep. The thorns are capable of even pricking through your denim or cargo trousers. My beloved pair of jeans once saved me from the bite of one of the patriarchal dogs in my society (I call them so because they appear unhappy with women like me who sometimes come home after 9 pm) but it is of

not much use in the sea of thorns. There are only the “kante” and hardly any “phool” in the jungle. I got a few scratches and like a true-blue Bengali, took out my Boroline tube. Some others also shared it. I was feeling proud of Shri Gourmohan Dutta.

Our journey ended at someone’s outhouse in the village with a brunch of makki ki roti, white butter, dal and sabji, being cooked by two widely smiling local ladies. After hours of walking, I started admiring even the vegetarian dishes (quite unlike me). In the morning, I thought of visiting the Surajkund Mela (it was the last day of the fair) after the trip but dropped the plan because 1) I was tired and 2) who wants to see hundreds of people pushing and jostling each other after you have seen those lakes?

Statutory warning: If anyone wants to visit, summers are not a good time and you must go with one of the walking groups. It is not a picnic spot and a couple or family visit may turn unsafe. Without local guidance, it is fairly easy to lose your way. And yes, mobile phones may show “no network”.

(February 2018; Next: Exploring Mehrauli – 1st part)

Agra ka Amrood

Hey Sunandita, look here! You won’t get a better quality than this.”

It was the month of December, 2002. I was standing in front the majestic principal entrance of the Agra Fort, looking in admiration at the huge structure, trying to soak in the air of history and old-world charm when the sound of my name jerked me back to reality.

My friend-cum-colleague-cum-roommate-cum tour companion S must also have found the 70-ft high red sandstone fort as impressive as I have, I thought. But what does she mean by “quality”? I must have heard her wrong. I turned back, only to be in for a surprise!

She has gone opposite the road and completely ignoring the fort, is immersed in admiring the “beauty” of some yellowish-green guavas being sold on a “thela”.

“Hahahahahaha...hohohohoho.. I mean, I know all about your craze for guavas, but come on! You are in front of the Agra Fort and all you can see is this?”

“Don’t be stupid!” she snapped. “Where has it been written that you cannot buy fruits in front of this fort?”

And we both broke into peals of laughter, evoking reproachful glances from some elderly members of our tour party, who must be wondering what these two young girls are up to, coming for an Agra-Mathura-Vrindavan trip from Delhi without any guardian or male companion.

It’s been 16 years since we went into that tour, our maiden “ladies’-day-out” adventure, which was followed by a fair few in the next few years but none of them was as thrilling because the Agra visit was our first taste of freedom. And for some reason, the first thing I remember is the “Amrood episode”!

But there were plenty of other things to remember too. How we planned for days, finally managed to secure our weekly-offs on the same day, booked a trip with one of the lesser-known travel agencies because the famous ones were too costly, how we ran to catch the bus from Eros cinema hall near our rented flat at 6 am in an winter morning, amid thick fog, myself clad in my new jacket bought from CP (Feeling foolishly happy that I now earn enough to spend 900 bucks on a item of clothing) and how the elderly conductor-cum-guide took special care of us all through the journey as we two were “alone”.

The journey was smooth, the aloo parathas consumed in the midway dhaba delicious and the feeling that I am soon going to have the first glimpse of Taj Mahal made me giddy with excitement.


Though, I hope nobody sues for saying this, later I found that Agra Fort, which was our second stop in the journey, is much more interesting.

Don’t get me wrong! I mean, the Taj was unimaginably enormous, still pearly-white despite the talk of “yellowing”, vast in expanse and full of amazingly intricate designs. You cannot but feel dwarfed standing in front of the monument which you have seen so many times in books and television. However, I also felt a certain chill, a feeling of aloofness in the air, probably because, all said and done, it is a mausoleum. On the other hand, the Agra Fort -- with its Jahangiri and Akbari mahals, its stairs and gardens, diwan-e-aam and diwan-e-khaas, sheesh mahal, cell of the old dethroned king who sat there staring at the memorial he built for his wife across the Yamuna -- is much more alive and seeped in history. Or so I had felt.

From Agra, our bus went to the magnificent Krishna Janambhoomi Temple at Mathura, reaching just in time for the evening “aarti”. The idol was very beautiful and the darshan left me feel blessed. However, when we started from there after having a glimpse of the “garbha-griha” where Lord Krishna was said to have been born, it was already too late in the evening and probably that’s why, we were taken to only one temple in Vrindavan. It was small and marbled, bold letters in the wall proclaiming it as a “pracheen mandir”, but to be frank, it did not seem that old. But by then, we were too tired to think much about that.

We were dropped near our home at 1 am and ran inside, amid shivers and chatter of teeth. Next day, we saw in the papers that it was the coldest day of the season in Delhi, with mercury dropping to 2 degree Celsius.

P.S.: We had also bought some ‘Amroods’ from the vendor in front of the Fort.
(The pic is by one of the 2-minute photographers roaming in front of Taj Mahal. I kept S out because she does not like her pic splashed here and there, especially on unknown blog pages.)