If you are an MBTI ISTJ, or a 1 or 6 in Enneagram, or just your run-of-the-mill type A personality, driving in India will send you screaming into the night. Sure, there is the expected chaotic daily commute, but that is understandable in a city of 18 million. What I’m talking about runs deeper into the Indian experience, dare I say culture. I call it Night Terror on the road to the Taj Mahal.
Today we drove from Delhi to Agra (City of the Taj Mahal) where we spent the day. We then continued, by car, on to Jaipur to complete the Golden Triangle.
It was on this beautiful stretch of freshly blacktopped highway I discovered something disturbing. There wasn’t one single stripe denoting a lane. Our driver, along with every other, simply created their own staggered space. Nerve-wracking at best, terror evoking at worst. Then, as if heaven heard my prayer, five lanes appeared. However, this only made it worse because now I could see that no one actually cared about these neatly placed stripes. Instead, they straddled them, drove on and off the shoulder, and squeezed two at a time while passing a third with only inches to spare, all while trying to avoid bikes, people, and the occasional stray dog.
No wait, I’m not done. The last leg was at night with the added challenge of large vehicles and farm equipment with no tail lights, and cows, oh yeah, lots of cows blending in with the blacktop like some covert sacred bovine operative laying in wait. There came a point when I simply stopped gripping the seat with my butt cheeks and decided that “this guy got it,” chilled, and focused on the fact that in this infant-size vehicle my knees were in my chest and everything was cramping severely. What a relief.
Given the glorious references to the Taj Mahal, including Michael Franks’ song “The Chemistry of Love,” I came to believe it to be a grand mansion. The phrase “What? Do you think you live in the Taj Mahal?” often echoes, suggesting grandiosity. Witnessing the Taj Mahal’s white marble gleaming in the morning sun, poised at the end of a vast 42-acre garden, was like approaching the ultimate mansion. Yet, despite its external beauty, the Taj Mahal is filled with emptiness. Erected in 1643, this ivory-white marble edifice is a mausoleum, conceived by Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan in 1531 as a final resting place for his wife and himself. Despite my initial disappointment, the majestic exterior and engineering marvel left me in awe.
The Taj Mahal led me to reflect on the nature of beauty—externally captivating yet internally empty. It’s a poignant reminder of our own journey towards inner beauty, a lifelong endeavor to cultivate substance beyond the surface.
by David Kelton Starks
In these pages, you’ll encounter the raw and unfiltered emotions of a journey marked by resilience and triumph.
In these pages, you’ll encounter the raw and unfiltered emotions of a journey marked by resilience and triumph.
