Agra’s majestic Mughal mausoleum from all angles.
The Taj Mahal was commissioned in 1631 by the fifth Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, a memorial to his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal who tragically died in childbirth. A wonder of the world, the jewel of India, an architectural masterpiece or a mesmerizing ode to love and loss. Call it what you wish, there is a reason this marble monument attracts over 8 million visitors a year. For reference, that’s equal to the population of London.
The number one piece of advice I was given time and time again was to visit at sunrise, to avoid the crowds. As it happened, I turned up around noon, the peak crowd time, thanks to a night of Delhi belly and the racket of a massive musical celebration in the local Muslim quarter which lasted from dusk till dawn. Needless to say, I wasn’t ready to ‘seize the day’ until afternoon.
Despite what everyone tells me, I am happy to have reached here at peak visitor time, and to have captured not a serene, empty complex but one bustling with human bodies, life and chaos and noise. Because neither this monument, nor India itself, is an empty cold structure, but one bursting to the seams with humanity. The Taj was built by people, for people, as a reminder of human love and longing. And daily it captures the imaginations and inspires the heart of thousands.
I am sure there is a beauty to this mausoleum at sunrise, but I would rather experience it in all its raw, messy, joyful humanity, because to me that’s what India is. I don’t love this country for its monuments and ancient buildings, impressive as they are, but for its humanity. That’s what I’ve tried to share through these photographs, through the faces and expressions, the colours and patterns and positions, the waving threads of an anonymous woman’s shawl.
