Skip to main content

The Taj Mahal and Sir Isaac Newton

My wife and the Taj - Romance in 2011

“The Taj Mahal rises above the banks of the river like a solitary tear suspended on the cheek of time,” wrote Rabindranath Tagore.  The amazing monument has stirred the imagination of many poets, novelists as well as simple travellers like me.  The very image of the Taj conjures up a melange of feelings and fantasies in me.  I have visited it twice and would love to visit many more times if people like Sangeet Som don’t bring it down before I go down. 

I have no great regard for Shahjahan.  He appears as a villain in one of my stories.  His wife, Mumtaz Mahal, for whom the white marble monument was constructed, was not monumentally great either.  But the Taj Mahal – that’s a marvel, a poem, a romance, a dream, a fantasy.  No, Sangeet Som, I can’t agree an iota with you.  You are a rioter and hence cannot appreciate poetry and romance.  Your heart is filled with black hatred. I feel sorry for you.

Around the time the Taj was constructed on the bank of the Yamuna, Sir Christopher Wren created a similar wonder on Ludgate Hill in London: St Paul’s Cathedral.  I don’t think I will ever be rich enough to visit that architectural marvel, much as I would love to.  It is not any religious impulse that draws me to St Paul’s.  The Cathedral has other charms for me like the Taj Mahal.  It is a symbol of sophistication, an affluence of an elevated sort that I would love to feel and admire. 

When Shahjahan and Christopher Wren were presiding over the construction of their respective architectural marvels, another genius was writing a monumental work which would revolutionise science soon: Isaac Newton’s Principia Mathematica.  [This too became a subject of one of my short stories: Halley’s Fishes.]  While Christopher Wren found a match in India in the person of Shahjahan, Isaac Newton failed to do so. 

Years have passed.  Shahjahan and Mumtaz merged into the dust of the earth.  But the Taj stands reminding us about the immortality of romance.  If people like Sangeet Som succeed in razing it to dust, it will be because Sir Isaac Newton failed to find his counterpart in India. 

How long will the Yamuna continue to carry the shadow of the Taj?



Comments

  1. Tomichan ji...Perhaps Shajahan in you compelled you to write it.Politics temporary.Beauty endures.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Indeed, Murthy ji, there is a romantic in me that has survived all the travails of life. :)

      Delete
  2. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Taj Mahal in Agra in such imposing and elegant structure full of complexities that one must borrow Gargantua’s mouth to describe About Taj Mahal salient features.About Taj MahalThis epitome of Mughal architecture is a world Heritage site and considered as one among the new 7 wonders of the World. Set amidst the sprawling lush green gardens it has been the fountain sprit for other architectural marvels.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Everything is Politics

Politics begins to contaminate everything like an epidemic when ideology dies. Death of ideology is the most glaring fault line on the rock of present Indian democracy. Before the present regime took charge of the country, political parties were driven by certain underlying ideologies though corruption was on the rise from Indira Gandhi’s time onwards. Mahatma Gandhi’s ideology was rooted in nonviolence. Nothing could shake the Mahatma’s faith in that ideal. Nehru was a staunch secularist who longed to make India a nation of rational people who will reap the abundant benefits proffered by science and technology. Even the violent left parties had the ideal of socialism to guide them. The most heartless political theory of globalisation was driven by the ideology of wealth-creation for all. When there is no ideology whatever, politics of the foulest kind begins to corrode the very soul of the nation. And that is precisely what is happening to present India. Everything is politics

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart

Kochareekal’s dead springs

“These rubber trees have sucked the land dry,” the old woman lamented. Maggie and I were standing on the veranda of her house which exuded an air of wellbeing if not affluence. A younger woman, who must have been the daughter-in-law of the house, had invited us there to have some drinking water. We were at a place called Kochareekal, about 20 km from our home. The distances from Kochi and Kottayam are 40 and 50 kilometres respectively. It is supposed to be a tourist attraction, according to Google Map. There are days when I get up with an impulse to go for a drive. Then I type out ‘tourist places near me’ on Google Map and select one of the places presented. This time I opted for one that’s not too far because the temperature outside was threatening to cross 40 degrees Celsius. Kochareekal Caves was the choice this time. A few caves and a small waterfall. Plenty of trees around to give us shade. Maggie nodded her assent. We had visited Areekal, just 3 km from Kochareekal [Kocha