It was the last day of my MSc final year examination at the St John's college ,Agra.Even as my friends started preparations for the next day's journey back to their homes, I suddenly and mysteriously fell into some sort of melancholy. I thought. I will not be attending the classes of Gosh Sir and Ram Sir any more. I will not be sprawling idle on the lush green lawns of Haileybury House (my hostel) enjoying the morning sun during another winter. I will miss the Burfy, Samosa and hot tea of Chaubeji's canteen. This Chuabeji smiled a lot but never talked a word as his mouth always contained loads of Pan. Then I thought. I won't anymore see R.K Lakshman's cartoons as The Times of India was not available in Kerala those days. This list of all that I was going to miss was endless. Then it suddenly occurred to me, I will go to the Taj Mahal. Who knows when I get another chance to see it. I went there alone. I hired a Tonga (horse cart) though it was a little expensive. When the Tonga reached the Raja-ki-Mandi junction, I had this funny yet romantic thought. Emperor Shahjahan might have ridden his chariot along this street in all majestic splendour, a chariot pulled by seven white horses. And here I am. A boy in his early twenties sitting as much majestically in the back seat of a Tonga eager to see Shahjahan's poetry in white marble for one last time. Finally when I reached there I heard some inner voice telling me, "This is a very divine place. This is the shrine of love. A place where one should not dare to tread". And finally when I was in, I could not believe. I was experiencing new things. The Taj was revealing to me all that I had missed during my earlier visits. It's beauty defied all description by the greatest poet. The Taj is not just a huge structure in white marble. It is the culmination of the visual expression of all the romantic beauty of the entire universe. I had this inexplicable feeling every time I was inside the Taj. I just see it and hear no sound. This is in contrast to my feelings when I am inside any other moghul wonder, for instance the nearby Agra Fort. While inside the Agra Fort, I go back in time through centuries and feel like being in Akbar's court. I hear the court musicians singing. Mostly I hear the flowing music of Sarod and Sarangi unaccompanied by Tabla. I cannot explain this that defies all reason. I went to the back of Taj and stood there looking into the Jamuna. Oh God, how much water might have flown since the Taj had "occured" on its banks? As always there were any number of visitors from India and abroad and some of them had hired tourist-guides. Even as the guides were waxing eloquent I stood there with my eyes glued to the Jamuna. And then a thunderous shout rocked me and brought me back to reality. I saw an old man standing on the banks of Jamuna down there. He had long hair and beard. He looked like a mad man. A weirdie. I could not believe when he spoke excellent fluent English. He was ridiculing the guides saying that they knew nothing about the Taj. He asked us to come down and promised us to "teach" the history of Taj. Most people laughed off the invitation and turned away. But I was struck by the sincerity and authority of his words. I remained there listening to his uninterrupted discourse on Taj. I felt like sitting in a history class. On any other day I would have gone down to "Jamuna Kinare", talked to him and quenched my curiosity.
Back in Kerala, one day I was casually going through the pages of "Manorajyam" weekly and a photograph caught my attention. Yes, it was that of the very same man I saw on the banks of Jamuna. I was taken aback reading the description of the man. Hold your breath. He was the history professor of a reputed university in India. One day he came to Taj with his wife and daughters. They spent a day joyfully there. But at the end of the day the professor gave his family members the greatest shock of their lives. He told them that they should go back and that he has decided to stay back and spend the rest of his life at the Taj. Unbelievable? I have narrated this story to so many people who heard it in disbelief. But Hari (and only Hari)told me;
"Quite possible Sir".
Back in Kerala, one day I was casually going through the pages of "Manorajyam" weekly and a photograph caught my attention. Yes, it was that of the very same man I saw on the banks of Jamuna. I was taken aback reading the description of the man. Hold your breath. He was the history professor of a reputed university in India. One day he came to Taj with his wife and daughters. They spent a day joyfully there. But at the end of the day the professor gave his family members the greatest shock of their lives. He told them that they should go back and that he has decided to stay back and spend the rest of his life at the Taj. Unbelievable? I have narrated this story to so many people who heard it in disbelief. But Hari (and only Hari)told me;
"Quite possible Sir".
