The Taj Mahal

         Before I embark on this story, let me just note this. My father is not a sentimental man. A man of few words, of which only a select few refer to human emotion. Feared among the children and idolized. He was the man of steel.

         I could tell it was a clear day even before I opened the curtains. There was something in the air, a certain light quality that helped one breathe easily. Or maybe I was just in a state of such excitement that everything seemed well.
         After rousing my siblings and slipping into some light clothing, I headed downstairs with the rest of my family, our parents having joined us from their adjacent room. We walked lightly into the dining room and were faced with a buffet piled high with exotic fruits and curries. My sister groaned as the heavy smells hit us. Her young stomach was not used to the rich Indian cuisine, so instead she selected a couple of naan breads.
         We ate slowly and quietly; the apprehension was taught among us. I knew that for my parents, the monument we would later visit was an experience they had been dreaming about some 20 years. To me, it seemed only a far off dream, so I wasn't quite as excited.
         Our meal was interrupted by the approach of a burly Indian man.
         "Your car is ready," he stated, addressing only my father. His accent was thick and strong, and I could tell my father was not quite sure as to what had just been said. However the rest of my family kept silent. His pride was known to get the better of him, and proving any weakness, however insignificant was treading on dangerous territories.
         The Indian repeated his statement and with the light of recognition my father understood. "Well, to the car it is," he said.
         We all rose and followed him out of the dining hall and into the lobby and then out of the large double doors. The outside Indian air hit me like a pillow as soon as I stepped out. Though it was merely ten, it was already sufficiently warm enough to cause me to break into a light sweat. Fanning myself, I followed my father submissively over to the car that was being pointed out by the burly Indian man.
         In sharp contrast, the inside of the car was heavily air conditioned, much like the lobby of the hotel. It was if I had been immersed in cold water, then into scalding, and then plunged back into the icy liquid. Shivering, I lowered myself in the seat next to my brother.
         It was a mere thirty minute drive, but from looking out the window as we went, I felt I had seen the whole of India pass by. There were people and cows and children and beggars and chickens and people and cars and people and old men and priests and mopeds and taxis... There was so much to look at. By this stage I was wondering whether it was necessary to go visit yet another historical monument. I had done enough looking.
         After thirty minutes, the car began to slow. In front of us was a long green sign that extended across the road. I squinted to see what was written on it only to find the unfamiliar Indian text inscribed there.
         The stringy Indian driver turned, and addressing only my father, stated, "You need take eco-car up the hill. Is sacred ground, no cars allowed to pass."
         My father nodded and we once again clambered out into the hot Indian air. Once out, the driver motioned to a small rickshaw-like contraption that was parked near the car. A toothy Indian man hopped out of its front seat and beckoned us to sit down in the back. After we had all made ourselves as comfortable as was possible, the toothy Indian man jumped back into the front seat, and steering out past the green sign, began to pedal us up the hill.
         The hot Indian air was now able to rush freely over us and with it was brought the scent of India, which I describe as containing undertones of curry, fires, and human excrement. My mother had taken her handkerchief and was covering her nose with it.
         Somehow that toothy Indian man was able to finally pedal us, a family of five, up a fairly steep hill. He stopped in front of a large ornamental gate, and turned to face my father.
         "Pay," he said, with a large grin to finish off the charm.
         We all clambered out of the rickshaw as my father paid the toothy Indian man. We then wandered over to the ticket booth. However our tour guide, who had taken a separate eco-car up the hill stopped us. He told my father how they asked for extortionate prices if one appeared to be a tourist. So instead, our tour guide went off to purchase the tickets.
         We all gazed up in awe at the front gate as we waited. I finally started to realize just why my parents had been harboring dreams of coming here.
         After our tour guide had returned with the tickets, and been tipped into happiness by my father, we entered through the gate. At first all I saw was a courtyard. There were a couple fairly intimidating trees but other than those, it was empty of all beautiful monuments. I looked up at my father, bewildered. But if he was doubting his face did not show it.
         "Dis way," said our tour guide and it was then that I realized there was another gate. The great bulk of tourists seemed to be milling towards it, so I decided that the monument must be on the other side of this gate. We drifted slowly towards it, the sheer mass of tourists hindering any fast progress. Once underneath it, I was even more impressed than I had been by the first gate, it was also very menacing. It gave the impression of strength, and made anyone standing underneath it feel insignificant and unnecessary.
         Tearing my eyes away from the gate I just below it's peak and off into the distance. And there was the most beautiful construction of human kind that I have ever seen in my life. All awe for the gates was wiped away and replaced by wonder in the bright white palace I saw before me.
         I gasped
         My sister gasped.
         My brother gasped.
         My mother gasped.
         My father was silent.
         I turned to look up into what I assumed would be a stony face, the stony face I was accustomed through all throughout my childhood. And it was still there. But this time, his eyes gave him away.
They were brimmed with tears.