The Grand (Semi-) Finale

Another 13 hour bus ride later...Well, better to start a bit before that. After parting with the Argentinians, I took a short, very bumpy (I have the bruises to show for it) bus ride to Rishikesh where I found a great cheap place to stay with hot water round the clock (how luxurious) and a great balcony view of the Ganges and the mountains rising up behind it. In my short stay there, I attended another puja, went on a nice hike to some waterfalls 5 or 6 hilly km north of Laxman Jhula (the area where I was staying), hung out with an amusing Israeli I'd met briefly in Amritsar and his even more amusing friend, found a used copy of Shantaram (I way too happy about this because it was the first used copy I'd come across and at exactly the right time to pick it up-- lugging a 1000 page book everywhere doesn't appeal and I was days away from having an almost permanent residence--it's the small miracles that count isn't it?), and had a great yoga session with Manoj. Despite having a pleasant stay though, I didn't fall in love with Rishikesh as I'd expected to. Instead of a communal, let's do some yoga, drink some chai and have a chat vibe, I got artificial spirituality marketed and sold in the form of reiki courses, astro readings and hippie clothing. Many of the passers by seemed to be saying something like: 'My hair is dreaded, my nose is pierced and I'm sporting these goofy pants, do I look enlightened?' (NO.) Oh well.

To reach Agra, I'd planned to catch the 4am bus to Haridwar (the Haridwar bus station had told me there was one) to get there in time for the 5:30am to Agra. I was informed by a travel agent in Rishikesh that buses only run to Haridwar 6am-10:30pm so I'd have to go late the night before and stay over there. Fine. I had my bags on my back and was walking out of my guesthouse at 9:15 when the manager informed me that buses to Haridwar stop at 9pm. Now what? After a long and completely ridiculous exchange concerning buses and taxis etc. with the manager, one of his staff and a third man (who I later found out didn't actually work there but just wanted to participate), I agreed to pay the manager to take me and all my luggage to Haridwar on his motorbike. I insisted we leave at 3am because I assumed something would surely go wrong with this plan. At 10 after 3, I wrapped on the office door (which was wide open to the cold night air) and he bolted up from a pile of blankets scaring the daylights out of me. A few minutes later, I'd caught my breath, he'd fetched the bike and I'd climbed on with my backpack on my back and my huge bag balanced on the seat between us. I had to flare my legs out to accommodate it--thank goodness for yoga, and there was little room left for me to sit, but we managed, and one chilly hour later, I'd made it just in time for the 4:30am bus to Agra.

Here now we are back at the 13 hour bus ride (should've been 10). I arrived fatigued and achy and later than I expected, and consequently paid too much for an autorickshaw to rush to see the Agra fort only to find it closed for the day. Then I checked in to my guesthouse where the room I'd reserved was considerably more expensive than as listed in my guidebook. After talking the price down to a reasonable amount, I went to an internet cafe to discover that my flight to Goa for the next day was cancelled, but not to worry, I could expect a full refund. Dandy. The only available flight that fit my schedule left a day later than I'd planned arriving only 2 hours before the yoga teacher training was scheduled to begin. I booked it with bitterness and marched to the guesthouse stressed and upset. Some Australian guys really saved the day and prevented a potentially massive breakdown by inviting me to dine with them, and after a lively chat and a good meal, I was feeling much better about things if a bit thrown by the last minute schedule change.

When my alarm went off before sunrise on Saturday morning, my worries were distant; all I could think about was the Taj Mahal. I felt a tingle in my stomach when I stepped out the door and walked to the East gate just down the road. Entrance Fee--Indians:20 Rupees, Foreigners: 750 Rupees!! This one small irritation met me at the ticket booth, but thankfully, I'd known about this discrepancy before hand and accepted it so it didn't smother my excitement in the least. Was I willing to pay $20 to see the Taj Mahal? Yes. End of griping. (Though it does seem unfair to have to pay nearly 40 times the price as penalty for begin born elsewhere, does it not?) The line to get in eeked forward and by the time I approached the entrance, the knot in my throat was too big to swallow. Then I was through the gate-- I could feel the knot growing, swelling. I rounded the corner and then there it was. Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. Not many. Just a few. But I was suddenly and totally overwhelmed--overwhelmed by the ethereal sight and overwhelmed by feelings of completion. In a rush I watched my travels flash all at once before my eyes, leading me along a windy path to this one moment. The finality this realization carried was heavy, but at the same time a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I'd done it and I'd done it alone. I'd wandered successfully and I'd come to this very spot and there it was--the Taj Mahal. There it was in all it's glory--almost appearing more as a figment of my imagination than it ever was before it sat before my eyes. If any man-made structure skims the surface of nature's radiant creations, this is the one. I won't attempt to describe it. I can't. Words really don't slice it for this one. You can go see it in this life or you can wait and see it after this life. Either way.

Needless to say, the energy and activity around me soon overtook those few moments of grace and I began snapping pictures with everyone else. After an hour of gazing, I left the Taj Mahal behind and had a big big breakfast in a small small shack, mailed a postcard and visited a few more sights with a certain unshakable detachment before catching the train to Delhi. Since my alarm refuses to go off when it's most crucial for me to get up on time, I overslept the next morning and made my flight by a frighteningly narrow margin. Goa, its coconut trees and its sand and sun were waiting for me and so was a month of uninterrupted yoga.