Mumtaz’s Way
Near the bank of the river Yamuna, Agra, Utta Pradesh, India
Late November, 2011
I set off for Agra to see the Taj Mahal. The lively train ride from New Delhi was made memorable by a gentleman on his first train trip, who shared captivating stories and explained how he learned English from American news programs.
Outside the window, monkeys were fighting and scavenging for food alongside street dogs, a scene straight out of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. A shocking sight—a monkey electrocuted on the tracks—served as a stark reminder of the realities beneath the vibrant chaos.
Inside the train, a rich tapestry of languages—Hindi, Punjabi, Bengali, and many more—filled the air, and passengers often struggled to communicate, each speaking different languages. Tall Sikh men, adorned with immaculate turbans and curled mustaches, engaged in serious discussions with a trans woman, their expressions a mix of shock and seriousness, as if someone were about to be arrested.
As the train rolled on, I felt the curious stares of locals, blending wonder and connection. Many passengers wrapped themselves in rags and blankets, creating cozy shields against the chill. I dozed off, gently rocked by the train, only to be awakened by a soft tap on my shoulder—we had arrived.
It was early the next morning in Agra that I finally set out for the Taj Mahal. As I walked through the brief darkness of the gate arch, I suddenly froze. There it was—right in front of me, the Taj Mahal—towering majestically above the heads of the jam-packed crowd.
The stunning ivory mausoleum, built by Shah Jahan in memory of his beloved Mumtaz Mahal, symbolized eternal love. Imprisoned by his son Aurangzeb, Shah Jahan could only gaze at the Taj Mahal through a small window, yearning for his lost love. After his death, he was finally reunited with her in their eternal resting place. In that moment, I could almost feel the weight of his longing and sorrow, as if I were witnessing the heartache of history unfold before me. The Taj Mahal became a profound symbol of lasting love, reminding me that the threads of love and loss are intricately interwoven in our lives.
Divine Delusions: Lessons in the Current
On a train ride to Agra, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a gentleman on his very first journey by train. He entertained me with captivating stories, and one tale he shared resonated with me.
He recounted the story of a devoted man who dedicated his life to serving God. One day, a torrential rainstorm hit his town, flooding the streets and sending everyone into a panic. As the man struggled to stay afloat, a boat approached, and a frantic sailor shouted, “Jump in! Save yourself!”
But the devoted man shook his head. “No, no! Save others! My God will save me!”
Not long after, a massive log floated by, with several desperate souls clinging to it. “Grab hold! You’ll drown!” they yelled. Yet, he insisted, “No! Save yourselves! My God will save me!”
As the waters raged and exhaustion set in, a rope suddenly descended from the sky. A crowd began to reach for it, calling out, “Quick! Grab on! You’ll be safe!” But he still refused, saying, “No! Help others first! My God will save me!”
Ultimately, he became too tired to fight the current and tragically drowned. When he opened his eyes in heaven, confusion and frustration filled him. Determined to confront God, he sought the Almighty.
Finally, he stood before God and exclaimed, “How could you let this happen? I devoted my life to you! Why did you let me drown?”
God smiled gently and beckoned him closer. “Come here, my child,” He said, leaning in to whisper, “You, my friend, were given three chances.”
In that moment, the man realized that life often presents us with opportunities, and it’s up to us to recognize them—even when they don’t appear as expected.
As I listened to this story, I admired how this gentleman had learned English by watching American news programs. It was a delightful reminder that every journey—like his first train ride—brings new stories and unexpected lessons.