I Had A Dream And I Followed It

 
When I was six, my grandmother gave me a bookmark with a picture of the magnificent but mysterious Taj Mahal. On the other side of the bookmark was a description …The Taj Mahal is an ivory-white marble mausoleum in the Indian city of Agra. It was built in 1632 by the emperor, Shah Jahan, to house the tomb of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Maha.
 
I used that bookmark for many years and it was the last thing I used before I went to sleep at night. Many nights I dreamed about handsome Indian emperors and their beautiful wives. I longed to visit the Taj, not only when I was a child but throughout my life. It was a lifelong dream.
 
In 1998, when I was 58, I followed my dream. My husband and I joined group of six other Albertans on a tour of India and Nepal that took us to some of the cultural treasures of those two countries.
 
As our flight from Singapore descended towards the airport in Delhi we could see thousands of fireworks going off on the ground and the Air India flight attendants told us that it was the beginning of Divali, the Festival of Lights, a month long celebration that is the most important of all the many Hindu festivals.
 
Landing in Dehli was a tremendous culture shock for us all. It was dark when we arrived and there were very few streetlights in this teeming city of more than 20 million. Our group was ushered onto our private white bus and we headed for the hotel. As we got close to the airport’s exit we could see that it was protected by a high wire fence on which hung hundreds of men, like monkeys, just staring at the crowds arriving and leaving the airport. It was very intimidating.
As our bus wove through the dark streets it was engulfed in a maelstrom of cars, trucks, tuk-tuks, bicycles, camels and elephants. Cows, sacred to Hindus, strolled and defecated on the sidewalks, in the alleys and among the traffic. Because it was late at night, thousands and thousands of people were bedding down on the sidewalks simply because they had nowhere else to sleep. The smells of diesel, gasoline, burning garbage and human waste were overwhelming and our luxurious hotel was a welcome island in a sea of poverty and mystery.
 
We spent a few days in New Delhi, learning some of its 5,000 yearlong history and visiting the Red Fort, Humayun’s Tomb, India Gate and other important sights. Then we were off to the city of Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.
 
Shakti, our local guide in Agra, was knowledgeable and interesting and, on our first afternoon, took us to Agra Fort. It is the former imperial residence of the Mughal Dynasty and a UNESCO World Heritage site and Shakti held our group spellbound as he described the history, art and architecture of the fort. But I was getting closer and closer to the end of my patience. I knew that my first sight of my beloved Taj Mahal, after over fifty years of waiting was an hour, then thirty minutes and then a few steps away and I found it excruciating to wait patiently. Then, through a window in the rock walls of the fort I saw it glowing in the afternoon sun about a mile away across the River Yamuna.
 
The tears ran down my cheeks and I sobbed and sobbed with the joy of achieving this lifelong dream. Soon, my husband, the other six Albertans and even, Shakti, were caught up in the emotion of my moment and had tears in their eyes and on their cheeks. It was a breathtaking and beautiful moment.
 
Next morning we were up and on the bus an hour before dawn so that we could travel to see the sun rise on the Taj Mahal…but that’s another story.
 
 
My book, “Everlasting Lies”, tells the story of my maternal grandparents from the time they met and married in England in 1910 to the time they settled in India in 1920. My bookmark came home to England with them.