I have two wonderful memories of my overnight stay in Agra. The first was the Taj Mahal. Yes, the monument itself was as pretty as in all the pictures – although be warned, if you want to get the classic photo of the Taj Mahal’s reflection in the water you have to lie absolutely flat on the ground within sniffing distance of everyone else’s hot dirty feet… But by far the best thing was an encounter with the locals.
After we’d walked through the monument to the other side of the building we found the steps packed with a group of Indian people from a remote village up north, come to pay their own respects at the shrine. None of them spoke English, most of the women were heavily tattooed on their arms and necks (the real thing, not just henna) and the whole group of about 60 people had about 10 teeth between them.
While we were waiting for the rest of our group we ‘mimed’ to these visitors that we’d like to take a photo with them. They welcomed us into their ranks and we assumed the position waiting for our guide to press the button. However, the locals had other ideas – within seconds the ladies had whisked off their headscarves and were draping us girls and the gents were busily wrapping up the heads of our male colleagues into expert turbans. They were all smiling and laughing and everyone within reach had an arm on our shoulders or were holding our hands.
It was beautiful. We were as strange to them as they were to us. They didn’t want a ‘tip’ for posing in our photos, they were just happy to have met someone different and enjoy the moment. As were we.
The second thing took place as I was sitting on my balcony at the hotel in the late afternoon. I’d positioned my feet on the railing and was admiring the view of the Taj Mahal dead centre between my dusty toes – every single room at the hotel has this view – (although admittedly most don’t have my dirty feet in them which would improve the view somewhat……).
Suddenly my attention was diverted to a small family of goats in the near distance that were happily trotting along the wall of the hotel gardens. They made such a pretty picture against the immaculately manicured lawns that I grabbed my camera but at that moment one of the littlest goats simply fell off the wall and into the hotel grounds. (I didn’t actually think that was possible – aren’t they supposed to be really, really surefooted?)
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The goats still on the wall were running up and down its length anxiously, the little goat on the grass couldn’t figure out how to get back up, all of them were bleating at the top of their voices. It was heartbreaking. This went on for a few minutes (It was better than telly and I was glued to the action, would the little goat make it back to its family, tune in next episode etc etc)
Then (and this is when a scary soundtrack would have been perfect) two hotel employees appeared from around the corner of the hotel, brandishing big sticks and running towards the little goat. The rest of the goats took one look and legged it, leaving little goat alone and defenseless.
The men chased the little goat across the lawn, around a tree a couple of times and then out of sight into a wooded ditch (Perhaps the music would need to change to a Benny Hill soundtrack at this point). All that could be heard was the pitiful bleating of the goat and the occasional shout of one of the men.
I’ll never know if the men were just trying to herd the goat back to where it could rejoin its family or if they were up to something more sinister. However, I will say that we ate in the hotel restaurant that night and I chose the vegetarian option…………
There's a Group in my Suitcase! 