The Waiting

(Note:  I recently took an online Creative Writing class through Gale Courses, offered for free via my library's website.  While on "hiatus," I will share with you my final assignment, a 500-word fictional short story.  The main character's name, Tham-boon (pronounced Tom-Boon') , means merit-making.  Feel free to skip this one.)



THE WAITING

by Liz Frances


The waiting is the worst.  He makes his living waiting for people, but this particular moment of waiting will decide his fate for the next two years.  Tham-boon drives foreigners who are on temporary assignment in his native Thailand.  His work swells and recedes like the tides.  Just as he learns the needs, wants, and quirks of one family, their assignment ends.  Now he must start the process all again.  What will his life be like with the next strangers?  Will they be demanding or generous, intolerant or kind?  He examines his dark, thirty-year-old face in the rear-view mirror, running a hand across his newly-cut hair.  He is anxious to make a good impression.  He awaits their initial encounter with trepidation and curiosity.  


Tham-boon remembers his impatience as a boy, wanting to grow up quickly, wanting to be somewhere else.  His life was uncomplicated then; the time he spent in school was simply a test of endurance until he could go to the place he loved best, the water's edge.  Every free moment was spent with the sand between his toes or a fishing pole in his hands, allowing the salty air to restore his spirit.  Sitting with his line in the water was a very different kind of waiting.  The waves spoke to him in ways the teachers could not. The waves taught him to hear the unspoken words, the greater truths of a simple life.  He learned the nature of the tides so well, the neap and spring tides, that their rhythms echoed inside of him.  When the tides swelled, his optimism swelled with them.

He always hoped his mom would have a good day selling her bamboo baskets from her modest stall at the market.   Their fate often depended on the whims of the tourists.  Some stopped to browse, others strode past without a glance.  But he had a hand in their fate as well.  He knew if he listened well to the ocean and learned her language, he could catch the fish they needed for their family meal, and they would not go hungry.  

He loved nothing more than the gentle smile on his mother's face when he came to her stall with a good catch.  They would heat the little gas stove behind the stall and steam the fish with a squeeze of lemon or a splash of coconut milk.  They would sit on their haunches next to the stove and share the fish with a bit of rice, always keeping an ear out for customers.  Their fingers probed the bones of the fish to find the tender flesh, flavored with the pride of his accomplishment. 


Many events and years have taken Thom-boon far from the simple life of his childhood, and shoved him into a busy, adult life in the city.  His fishing pole has been replaced by a steering wheel.  Today he waits to meet the foreigners he will drive for the next two years, becoming an adjunct of their everyday lives in their temporary home.  His hours of driving and waiting will simply be a test of endurance, however, until he can escape the car's confines.  Then he will once again find his way to the water's edge. 

Look Homeward, Angel

Three quick days back in Thailand, then we again packed our bags, this time to head home to Michigan.  I'd been compiling lists of things to bring home and things to get from home to bring back.  No way I was going to remember all this stuff.  This is a new experience for me - leaving home to go home for a visit.

I was able to squeeze in a lunch with some of the Ladies of Ford.  We had a nice get-together at Livv, a nice little restaurant on Khao Talo that is owned by a Scandinavian and has a definite western feel to it.  The food is always fresh and plentiful and they have many healthy and refreshing drinks on the menu.  I enjoyed a delicious carrot juice and a plate of pretty good nachos.  We all shared our plans for the biggest holiday of the year here in Thailand - Songkran, or Thai New Year.  Most of Thailand closes down for the week, including Ford.  Pretty much everybody was getting out of town, as we've heard it's not entirely safe to hang around.  Lots of drunkenness and violence, apparently.  One of the wives told me, "Just wait until you go through customs in the US, and they say 'welcome home.'  It will give you goosebumps."

My last day in Thailand was miserable.  I had had a sore throat our last day in India, and it built to a full-blown head cold by Thursday.  I packed a little, slept a little, packed a little more, slept a little.  I was dreading twenty-four plus hours on a plane the next day.

We left our condo at 3:30 a.m. for a 7 a.m. flight.  I was still fighting that terrible cold, so when we stopped for a coffee for Tim, I slipped over to a 7-11 for some cold medicine, hoping for some relief for the plane.  The clerks knew very little English, and after their sincere efforts to help by showing me the tissues, then the acetaminophen, I just grabbed an orange juice and hoped for the best.  We bid a fond farewell to our driver and headed to the gate.  Luckily, we walked right by a Boots Pharmacy in the airport, where a very helpful "pharmacist" found me exactly what I needed.  I was hopeful the stuff would clear my head up enough that I wouldn't be offensive to my seatmates - didn't want to be "that guy."   After a Super Friday (over thirty hours long!) and twenty-four hours in the air, we finally arrived home in Michigan.  The customs guys disappointingly did not welcome me home, but I was happy just the same.  That blast of cool air as we walked out the doors was just what I'd been waiting for, and my son stepping out of the car was the best medicine indeed.

Here's what was waiting for us when we got home - good ol' Michigan.

the pond behind our house - still frozen.

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Our last full day in India began at 5:15 a.m., as we stumbled down to the lobby to meet Shanoo for a dramatic view of the Taj Mahal at sunrise.  The streets were quite peaceful, with a surprising number of individuals out walking before the sun was up.  They were dressed in normal street clothes, and we learned from Shanoo that they were out getting their daily exercise.  This was unexpected to me, as I knew this as more of a western activity with people in jogging outfits and sneakers with requisite ear buds dangling.  Funny how much importance we put on our "gear."  Shanoo said India has the second-highest incidence of diabetes, so people take their exercise regimen seriously.

It was still dark when the driver pulled down a side road with a few sparse groups of men peering at our intruding vehicle.  We had to get out and walk a little way to the gates of a park which turned out to be closed until sunrise.  So we continued on past questioning looks and stray dogs down to where the road dead-ended at the river's edge.  My senses were on alert like they were when walking in downtown Detroit - not afraid, just cautious.  I trusted that our guide knew what was okay.

A chill in the air accompanied the morning mist, and a vague outline of the Taj Mahal loomed in the space across the Yamuna.  The sounds of the awakening city orchestrated the show that gradually revealed itself:  a cacaphony of birds cawing, train whistles, loud bollywood-type music, and calls to prayer mingled with the growing chatter of locals starting their day and made for a wonderful soundtrack.  A young group of Indian boys joined us at the water's edge, tourists like us, with their cameras ready.  The slow realization of the landscape before us gave us time to revel in its beauty.

As the sun continued it's rise, we walked back up the road and entered the now-open Moonlight Garden, or Mehtab Bagh.  This garden was perfectly aligned with, and designed as an integral part of, the Taj Mahal complex, and as such is the perfect viewing spot across the Yamuna River.  According to Wikipedia, it is a Charbagh:

Charbagh or Chahar Bagh (Persian: چهارباغ, chahār bāgh, "Four Bāghs") is a Persian-style garden layout. The quadrilateral garden is divided by walkways or flowing water into four smaller parts.^[1] In Persian, "Chār" means 'four' and "bāgh" means 'garden'.

The garden was beautifully serene and glistening with morning dew.  Our footsteps left imprints in the dew as we walked quietly across the grassy expanse.  We caught glimpses of birds skittering about in the trees and under bushes, and the dawn's light cast a blanket of gold over it all.  Symmetry ruled as rows of small trees lined our path to the wall facing the Taj.  An Indian strolled noiselessly through the scene with a large bundle on his head.  Laid-back guards casually walked along the wall, trying to look busy, and stray dogs barely acknowledged our presence as we stepped around them.  Birds challenged our attempts to get a good look at them before flitting away.  We lingered for a long time, marveling at the minute-to-minute changes happening before our eyes.  The white marble of the Taj took on new shades of gold and pink, and as the first rays of sunshine hit, we could see the gemstones sparkle.

None of us wanted to break the spell, but we finally pulled ourselves away and headed back to the car.  After the hectic schedule of the last two days, we were ready for a more leisurely pace.  We caught the end of the breakfast buffet, where the staff presented us with survey cards to rate their service, then stood by anxiously as we filled them out.  The service was fine, but selections did not "wow" us, and we said so.  Tim graded them down more than I (he was probably more honest), and the surveys were quickly collected and read as we finished our meal.  The head guy sent the waiter back to our table to question Tim's responses, asking him to say what they should be doing better.  Talk about being put on the spot!  Tim tried to give them some suggestions, and it was a little awkward to say the least.  Then, when we got up from our table and left the dining area, another gentleman stopped us and asked Tim what was wrong with the breakfast.  He tried to assure them that the service was good, but the food choices were lacking.  I'm not sure if they were taking great offense, or if they were really interested in an American's take?  They were quite polite about it; it just seemed a little extreme.

We exchanged some Thai bahts at the front desk when we were checking out.  The woman handling the transaction looked up the exchange rates on her computer, and asked if Taiwan was the same thing.  Common mistake by westerners, but surprising coming from a neighbor.

The original tour plan was to see some more mosques and forts, but we felt like we'd seen all we wanted to see, and so simply took a relaxing drive back to Delhi after one more quick look at the city of Agra.  Watermelon sellers had their melons stacked in waist-high pyramids at busy street corners and barbers were opened for business, their shop nothing more than a chair set up on the sidewalk.  Just another regular day in Agra, it was one I hoped to remember for a long time.

Our final night in Delhi would be spent at the Radisson Blu Delhi, and pulling up to the front doors (after explosives check), we could see this was going to be the best stay of our trip.  The hotel was lovely, and an inexpensive upgrade to a business-class room afforded us some nice perks:  a really comfortable bed (finally!), big shower and bathtub, nice swimming pool, and unlimited drinks and snacks in the business lounge for happy hours.

I was anxious to get some swim time in after being "dry-docked" for four days.  A young staffer came out from a door as I approached the pool and asked if I was going swimming.  I wondered for a second if women were supposed to stay covered, even in the pool.  But he was simply warning me to be careful on the tile, which was indeed very slippery.  He lingered at poolside the entire time I was swimming - I guess he was responsible for guest safety at the pool?  I had the pool to myself, which was quite a bit cooler than our bath-water-warm pool in Thailand, but I took my time.  The tile was super-slick with wet feet, and I had to take baby steps, like walking on ice.  Read a bit at poolside, then headed up to the room.

We were the only ones taking advantage of the happy hour amenities, and the server seemed quite happy to have company.  We got his whole story about how he was in school for hospitality, and how he hoped to get a job in another country (was it Australia?)  He was the youngest of three brothers, and had no trouble chatting up these strangers (sound familiar?)  A cricket match was playing on the big screen TVs, so we got into a long conversation about this game that Indians are so passionate about; although when I asked our guide if he enjoyed cricket, he said it was a ridiculous game for lazy elites who don't do real work.  Our happy-hour "emcee" was only too happy to share his passion for the game, explaining the rules and nuances.  We thoroughly enjoyed our lesson - I wish I had a video of it to share.

The next morning was an early ride to the airport and a six-hour flight back to Bangkok, where our trusty driver waited to take us home.

Note:  Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo is a non-fictional account of life in the slums of Mumbai.  It is a National Book Award winner.

Beneath a Marble Sky II

After leaving the Taj, Shanoo offered to take us to see marble inlay being crafted the same way it was done for the Taj hundreds of years ago.  In fact, these artisans claim to be descendants of the artists who worked on the Taj.  From the Marble Inlay of Uttar Pradesh website:

"The marble tomb of Shaikh Salim Chisti in Fatehpur Sikri was built in 1572 by Emperor Akbar. It is the precursor to an age known as the 'Reign of Marble' for, with the accession of Emperor Jahangir, sand stone gave way to marble, the crafting of which peaked during the reign of Emperor Shah Jahan with the building of the Taj Mahal in Agra ... They used marble to make intricate jaalis (perforate relief) that filtered light and they used it most exquisitely for inlay work or pietra dura.

Here precious and semi-precious stones, jasper, cornelian, topaz, mother of pearl, turquoise, lapis lazuli, coral, jade, agate, and porphyry were shaped and set in shallow chases carved in the marble..."

The artisans' pride in their work was obvious as they described for us the careful steps that must be taken to create this beautiful marble inlay by hand.  We enjoyed listening.  We were then escorted upstairs to their salesroom to peruse their many marble crafts for sale.  Tim was interested in a chess set, and we found a beautiful one with lapis lazuli inlay that will be shipped to our home in the states.  The salesman said these tabletops take over two months to create, and it is not hard to believe.  Once a customer has purchased an item, they have you sign the back of it to prove you are receiving the item you chose.  They also have you take a picture of it for your records.  This will be a perfect keepsake of our day in Agra.

 With no time to waste, we continued on to the Agra Fort, also known as the Red Fort.  This massive red sandstone fort was commissioned by the great Mughal Emperor Akbar in 1565 A.D.  Additions were made by his grandson, Shah Jahan, the father of the Taj Mahal.  It is just over a mile from the Taj, and was the seat of power before the capital was moved by Shah Jahan to Shahjahanabad (now Old Delhi) in 1639.  Shah Jahan was confined under house arrest in Agra Fort when his son, Aurangzeb, succeeded him to the throne.

The fort is a massive silhouette on the Agra landscape, covering 94 acres with walls seventy feet high.  The fort was protected by moat and drawbridge, with two inner gates arranged at such angles and rising elevations that attacking armies would be unable to break through. Inside the gates, a long alley with high walls leads into the main courtyard.  These high walls were designed to carry the sounds of any intruders to those inside, and guides can be seen clapping their hands to demonstrate the echo chamber effect.

Many of the original buildings inside the fort were destroyed by the British when they used it for military barracks, and the Indian military continues to occupy a good portion of the fort today.  The remaining buildings are a mix of Hindu and Islamic architecture.  The Islamic Mughals married Hindu women and incorporated their religious symbols into the designs.  It even includes subtle images of animals, which is forbidden in Islamic religion.

real falcon perched on top

The most impressive structure was the Hall of Public Audience, where Shah Jahan received those who wished an audience with him.  It is an ornate, white marble structure with beautiful arches and columns designed so he could hear and see everything that went on in his presence.  One could just imagine the scenes that must have taken place in this space.

We also saw the buildings that housed Shah Jahan's wives and children.  We learned that the women were actually paid according to their standing, with his favorite wives earning a higher wage.  His beloved Mumtaz Mahal had status far above the other wives.  The residences looked out onto the Yamuna river, and after its construction, the Taj Mahal.

the moat

En route to the Agra Fort, Shanoo asked if we were interested in what I thought he said was "the light show."  I'd read about this light and music show that takes place outside the Agra Fort in the evenings, and I was definitely interested.  So he sent the driver to buy our (expensive) tickets while we toured the fort, and had them ready for us when we finished.  We had a little time before the show, so we decided to get something cold to drink.  Shanoo took us to a cool little garden place called Kesar with which he was clearly familiar, but it felt like the proprietor was a bit uncomfortable serving foreigners.  Only one other table was occupied with locals who seemed as if they could be "talking treason."  No matter. Tim ordered a Seven-Up and I ordered a mango lassi, a common Indian yogurt-based drink I'd read about and wanted to try.  The place was not the cleanest, and I questioned the wisdom of ordering something not in a bottle, but it seemed okay.  It was just barely chilled and had a hint of sourness, but I gamely drank it down.

Back in the car, we realized that we were headed to a "live" show, not a "light" show.  This was an overpriced production clearly designed for the tourists, a "reenactment" of the Taj Mahal story.  "Mohabbat-the-Taj" was presented at the Kalikriti Cultural Center.  We were shown to our seats in the ornate but worn theater and given headsets that were dialed to the English language translation of the show. Tour bus patrons quickly filled the theater.  The show was simplistic and overacted, and the dancing was second-rate.  It felt like the performers knew they didn't have to try very hard.  It was also distracting and unpleasant to have the mawkish translation in our ears.  I will say it was quite colorful with very beautiful costumes and scenery.  The climax of the show was a Taj Mahal replica rising up through the floor of the stage.  Apparently this is an exact replica that took years to create.  Having seen the real one, this was more of an anti-climax for me.  Guests could pay to have their picture taken with the "stars" after the show.  Um, no.

Our day was finished, with our driver waiting for us outside the theater for the short five-minute drive back to our hotel, stopping once again at the hotel entrance for a quick explosives check(!).  This happened at every hotel we stayed at in India.  The car is stopped at a gate, trunk and hood are opened and checked, and a mirror on wheels is rolled under the car for inspection.  Toto, we aren't in Thailand anymore...

Note:  Beneath a Marble Sky is the title of a book I read a few years back by John Shors.  It's a novelization of the Taj Mahal story that I enjoyed immensely, and was really what inspired me to want to visit this Wonder of the Modern World.

Beneath a Marble Sky

Day Two in India began with an early breakfast and check-out.  We were on the road to Agra by eight a.m.  The road between Delhi and Agra is the new, modern Yamuna Expressway, a six-lane highway that just opened in 2012.  It loosely follows the path of the Yamuna River, which is second only to the Ganges in sacredness in India.  The first part of the highway was lined with the construction of ambitious new high-rises, and the seemingly out-of-place Buddh International Motor Race Circuit, the site of the annual Formula One Indian Grand Prix.  Then the construction gives way to plenty of countryside, with locals waiting at bus stops on the highway, and an occasional cow in the road.  The plains and farmland were sometimes reminiscent of rural Indiana, with fields of potatoes, wheat, rice and mustard.

A feature totally unlike Indiana is the towering smokestacks of the brick-making ovens.  They stand out in large fields with dark smoke bellowing from their tapering chimneys.  Some of them had stacks and stacks of red bricks laid out in the sun to bake, having been formed from straw and clay by the workers.  They are often entire families, with the children being trained to continue the work for generations.  We must have passed at least a hundred ovens on our three-hour drive to Agra.

I was reading the India Times that we picked up from the hotel as we traveled, and noticed an article about UP.  I mentioned to the guide that when I saw UP, I thought of the Upper Peninsula in Michigan, not Uttar Pradesh, the northern Indian state where Agra is located.  I told him how we call people from our UP "Yoopers."  He was quite amused by this name and said he would have to share it with the people here.  Wouldn't it be funny if that caught on in India?

Peepal tree

Coming into Agra, we could see that this was a smaller, more relaxed version of Delhi.  Same crazy traffic, albeit dialed down a bit.  The air here is cleaner as they are very protective of the Taj Mahal and try to control anything that might damage it.  Plenty of cows and monkeys can be seen along the roadsides, and the same incessant horn-honking.  With a population just under two million, it is still a large city.  We even passed a golf course, where our guide said only the rich and the military can afford to play.

Our guide pointed out what I thought he said was a "People Tree," another name for the sacred Banyan tree.  (I learned later the term is actually "Peepal Tree.")  This tree is sacred to Buddhists because it is said that Buddha was enlightened while sitting under a Banyan tree.  And Hindus believe the god Vishnu was born under the Banyan tree.  The leaves are used for religious ceremonies, and the leaves, bark, roots and fruit serve many medicinal purposes.

We checked into our hotel - the Radisson Blu Agra - not far from the Taj Mahal.  Our room wasn't ready yet, so we had an overpriced coffee and tea in the cafe while we waited.  We finally checked into our room that looked nice but had a strong mildew smell and a squishy-soft bed again.  Got cleaned up and found Shanoo waiting for us in the lobby.

We stopped for lunch at, where else, the Taj Mahal Restaurant.  This was another eatery popular with the tourists, and for good reason.  We were greeted at the door by a gentleman in traditional dress with an awesome mustache, and we enjoyed a delicious lunch.  I had Aloo Gobhi Masala, a dish of spicy cauliflower and potatoes, and Tim tried the Paneer Tikka, marinated cheese curd roasted in a tandoor.  Some more delicious naan and roti made this a meal we couldn't finish.





Then it was finally time for the main event - the beautiful Taj Mahal.  Our first glimpse of the Taj was across the river, where it seemed more like illusion than reality.  Shanoo warned us that security was very strict, and we couldn't bring electronic devices other than our cell phones.  If you want to bring a camera in (beside the cell phone), you have to pay a camera fee.  Well, we were suddenly at the front of the entrance and had to quickly get out of the car, so we grabbed what we thought was okay.  It was a hot, long walk to the main gate.  We passed rickshaws, horse carts and camel carts that would take you up to the gate for a fee.  Shanoo suggested that we catch a ride back instead.  We were ushered into a short line, with most people in a much longer line, and we wondered what was going on.  We learned that there is even a class system for entry into the Taj, according to how much you pay to get in.  Indians can get in for just twenty rupees but must wait in long lines.  Foreign tourists must pay 750 rupees (about twelve dollars), but are afforded a much easier time with short lines.  Indians must remove their shoes to go inside the Taj, foreign tourists may wear shoe covers, and are referred to as High Value Ticket Holders.

The first line took us to security where we were further divided into lines by gender, "wanded" and frisked, and our bags were scanned and searched.  I passed through with the camera without any problem.  Tim had his backpack and was thoroughly scrutinized, with the security team deciding that his book, The Signal and the Noise, and his crossword puzzles would not be allowed in.  Funny that they should focus on those innocuous items and ignore the Kindle in another pocket!  Our very accommodating guide graciously walked the books back to the entrance while Tim and I waited in the shade.  Next was the line to buy tickets, and again we bypassed the long line of nationals and quickly procured our needed tickets.  We walked through a large courtyard and sat under a tree while Shanoo gave us a primer on the history of the Taj Mahal.

We approached the Great Gate, which keeps the Taj Mahal hidden until you pass under it's ornate arches.  The view just inside the gate is breathtaking in the truest sense.  I was overcome with awe and had to remember to breathe.  It was like being in the presence of the most beautiful gem in the world.  Shah Jahan's desire for symmetry is evident everywhere, with patterned gardens, reflecting pools, and the perfection of the Taj Mahal itself.  To the left is a red sandstone and marble mosque, and to the right it's mirror image.

Hundreds of people were milling around, taking pictures, speaking in many different languages.  Shanoo asked if we wanted a professional to take some pictures for us, and Tim said yes.  So Shanoo called his contact who soon appeared, camera in hand.  We were suddenly in a full-on photo shoot, posing this way and that, sunglasses on and off.  What we thought would be a couple pictures became more than sixty over a span of maybe twenty minutes.  This guy knew all the best vantage points, and made sure people cleared the way to get us the best shots.  It was pretty amusing and fun, if more than a little awkward.  Made for some good souvenirs.

This is my favorite

Money shot, with Taj reflected in glasses

After our whirlwind photo shoot, including time on the "Diana bench," it was time to enter the Taj Mahal.  Again, two lines allowed us to slip on our shoe covers and step right up to the entrance.  Photos are not allowed inside, although many pulled their cell phones out for a furtive shot.  Up close you can admire the simple beauty of the precious and semi-precious stones inlaid in the perfect white marble.  The story goes that Shah Jahan persuaded the artisans to remain in Agra after completion of the Taj, to stop them from duplicating their work for anyone else.  Can't imagine this kind of time-intensive artistry being duplicated today on such a massive scale.

Each color is a different kind of gemstone

The inside was surprisingly small, with a center replica of Mumtaz's tomb and Sha Jahan's tomb off to one side; the real tombs are underground.  The irony is that he was very determined that everything be symmetrical, and his own tomb is the only thing that is not.  A huge chandelier hangs over the tombs, a gift from the British during their occupation of India.  Guards insisted that people keep moving while inside.  Shanoo asked for my mobile phone at one point to sneak this amazing shot of the Great Gate looking out from the Taj Mahal.

Once outside the Taj we were able to linger on the plaza facing the Yamuna, not wanting the experience to end.  We enjoyed pictures of the Taj as well as many faces in the crowd.

Back in the real world, we removed our shoe covers and headed for the exit.  Three young Indian men stopped us and asked if they could take our picture.  Our suspicious selves wondered if this was some kind of trick to pick our pockets or something, but cautiously agreed.  When we asked our guide about this later, he said many of the Indians at the Taj are visiting from more remote parts of the country where they never see white people except in the movies.  It seems we were something of a novelty.

We met back up with Shanoo's photographer who had an entire album of our photos printed and ready for us; they've got this down to a science.  We forewent the animal cart rides and walked the long walk back to the road where our driver was waiting for us.  

More to come...