“IT’S UP TO YOU…NEW DEL…NEW DELLLL – ee”

Okay, enough of that.  Here’s a picture of the Most Beautiful Building in the World. 

As you’ll recall (and I’m sure you all do) I’d written in an earlier post that when the Taj Mahal was declared the Most Beautiful Building in the World, it must have bummed out the previous title holder. “More on that another time.” sez I.  Well, it’s another time.

As everyone knows who just looked it up, The Taj Mahal was built by grieving Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan for his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Humayun’s Tomb was built by the grieving Mughal Empress Bega Begum for her favorite husband, Emperor Humayun. Both were built to be the Most Beautiful Building in the World. Surprisingly, both succeeded.

But the Taj was built in 1649. Humayun’s Tomb was built 100 years earlier. So for a century, Humayun’s Tomb was the only Most Beautiful Building in the World. Now it’s called, “The Red Taj.” (Still the largest red sandstone structure ever built.) 

Emperor Shah “Copycat” Jahan probably took Mumtaz Mahal there on their honeymoon. We can picture them, sitting in a cafe, watching the sunset turn the minarets fiery red.

M MAHAL: “Could there be anything more beautiful than this tomb?”  Then, “Poopsie, what’s that you’re scribbling on your cocktail napkin? Something for me?”  

S JAHAN: (QUICKLY COVERING IT UP) “Nothing Mumtaz, my little pumpkin flower.”

After visiting the tomb, I dropped some friends off at their apartment and there on the wall was a momma monkey and baby chimp. Of course, I couldn’t just take their picture – oh no. I had to be in it. That expression is me realizing my grip on my pricey, stylishly slim smartphone is slipping.

Some random moments:

You’ve probably all seen a Morris Minor. Well, back in the 1930’s, there was something called a Morris Major. I walked by one every day at an auto restoration shop owned by a fellow named Revin and his father. 

It took them weeks to restore it and when it was finished, they surprised me by giving me a ride. The Morris was twice the size of anything on the road with a three-tone horn that caused all the two-cylinder traffic to spring out of our way.

During the months I was in Delhi, I stayed with a happy little family and became good friends with Dilip the dad – a video producer. It seemed like Bollywood was knocking out one exciting blockbuster a week that summer. We always wanted to see one together but could never find the time. 

Sometimes we’d go out for ice cream on his motorcycle. We’d weave between cars and trucks whose side mirrors were almost touching (and yes, that’s his three-year-old daughter sitting on the gas tank). 

Wanting to bring home something nice for the ladies in America, I was taken to a little import/export shop by my friend Indi and introduced to his Kashmiri friend, Sajan. While we sipped tea and chatted, Sajan’s staff laid out rows of pashmina scarves for my perusal. An unhurried, civilized way to shop.

Among his many talents, Indi is an artist with highly refined taste – which is a big help when you’re choosing from an infinite variety of scarves. By way of conversation, Sajan casually mentioned that Israel’s long-awaited Messiah had returned.

“Really? Where?” 

“Just down the street.” 

My eyebrows went up. Noting my interest, he called an assistant to show me the way. I grabbed my camera.

When we arrived, the guard downstairs let us know that the Messiah was not receiving visitors, at least not Gentile ones. Through my interpreter/guide, I asked what the Messiah was doing and he said, if I understood correctly, that he was just messing around upstairs. 

We stood around awkwardly for a minute then went back to Sajan’s.