With a feeling of loneliness that confused me to no end, I escaped from Delhi to Agra, petrified in anticipation of the train trip, which turned out to be about as dangerous as shitting in a Swedish toilet (i.e. it was just fine). The nice rickshaw driver happily drives me to a hotel, which affords me the best view of the Taj Mahal. He wants to show the city and…… Starting the next morning, I get up at 5.30 (when the hell did I do something like that the last time…?)
The word for Taj Mahal is AMAZING!
A photographer quickly comes up to me and wants to takes photos in front of one of the Great Wonders of the World. Sure; one picture is always good to have. The manic photographer follows me ever step I take, and after running myself so sweaty and repeatedly saying NO to more photos, I manage to escape, jump right into the building, and all of a sudden a “guide” appears, just waiting for me. Hmm….smoked a cigarette (like kids do in high school toilets), and then the merry-go-round got going. Before I even got his name, he asked for some money, and wanted me to pay for the guided tour, and even showed me his so-called “Guide’s License”.
“Look Mister, is that an elephant?” is all I say, and meanwhile, as he turns around, I take a running start and jump right out of the building and leap two steps out of this Wonder of the World, and scorch my feet on the burning marble, yet I manage to get myself to the entrance. And just guess who’s waiting, with an evil smile …… the photographer!
One photo turned out to be 26, which should have cost me about Rs 2600 (approximately 450 Swedish crowns). After half an hour of heated discussion, cursing vividly, mostly in Swedish, I decide to buy ten of the pictures……. Oh, whatever!
My happy taxi driver, Ali, drives me around the city and shows me all the sites, while not asking for any money, gives me a fresh perspective on Indian people. He calls me “Mr. Bollywood Son” and promises me that he will arrange the train trip the following day to Jaipur, where his friends would pick me up at the train station.
And yes, he did it all, bought my ticket, arranging it so that I would be free of problems regarding annoying rickshaw drivers who just want to rip you off upon arrival. Two REALLY drunk rickshaw drivers pick me up at the train station in the middle of the night where I’m surrounded by rickshaw drivers that are basically ogling me and I don’t know how to get rid of them. Got myself to the hotel; Ali had promised me that when I arrived, there would be two cold beers waiting for me, and there they were. The people that I met so far are just so friendly and polite and my perspective of Indians changes from something bad to something good, which really surprises me, in a very positive way. The drunk Indians buy me more beer, and somehow the drunkenness goes way beyond what it should be, and I’m trying to say good night, but they only answer me in Hindi, and all I can do laugh about the whole situation and put myself in the place where I belong at this moment …. in bed!
(Intro: Sade; “Smooth Operator”)
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