Da Taj Code

I recently read somewhere the following as a brief intro to Taj Mahal, the endangered world wonder of India:

“In Agra, we will witness the world famous Taj Mahal built by the Moghul Emperor Shahjehan in 1630. Legend says the tomb was built for his Queen Mumtaz Mahal, who died giving birth to their fourteenth child. The death of Mumtaz left the emperor so heartbroken that his hair is said to have turned grey overnight. Construction of the Taj began in the same year and was not completed until 1653.”

Even as I was reading this, I knew it was not the complete truth. Can mourning really do that to your hair? I was not convinced… so I had to do some - ahem - research and finally I found the blatant truth. The truth, which was never told before.

So here you go with the real story of Taj Mahal:

Shahejahan was a li’l finicky, correction: in fact a finicky to the core, when it came to being prim n proper. It’s said that he took longer than Mumtaj to take bath, and get dressed everyday. Some people say, the reason behind this was that he had employed pretty women who helped him take bath, then do make-up and get dressed, and in the process he ended up undressed more than getting dressed. anyway, that’s besides the point i was trying to make. sorry for deviating from the subject.

He’s said to have executed many of his makeup women, for slightest of mistakes. Like once, one of his hairdresser gave him the Hitler haircut and moustache. He was happy with the cut until Mumtaj saw him in that avatar and she could not help but ROTFL for few hours. This angered Shahejahan so much that he ordered to hang his hairdresser, when she(the hairdresser) asked for mercy - he told her to grow a similar Hitler moustache within a week, else be killed. As you’d understand being a girl she was not able to grow a mush and she was killed a week later. Sigh! If only they had Kaya skin clinics back then!!!!! After that Shahejahan spent two months in exile, to grow his hair and mush and only then he faced Mumtaj and his junta. (This probably explains why the said hair style is not known as Shahejahan haircut, but is named after Hitler - who, as a matter of fact, was born much later).
 
anyway, so when Mumtaj died while giving birth to his 14th child, he was soooo sad … so sad that he even skipped his appointments with his hairstylist for hair coloring, and when he finally came out of his room after few days of mourning, his hair were all gray. Everyone who knew Shahejahan knew immediately that he was really really really heartbroken. So heartbroken that he forgot to color his hair. This, everyone noticed, was an act of a great lover. No man (a king) had loved a woman (among many of them) like this ever before. He truly loved Mumtaj.
 
Some say, that choice of white marble to construct Taj Mahal is also symbolic of gray hair that Shahejahan wore those days.
 
Thus goes the story of Taj Mahal - the symbol of true love.

Tags: Taj Mahal | India |

A Short Story

“Life is made up of various stories, some long and some short.” He told her in a tone which suggested he knew what exactly he was talking.

They were sitting on a public bench at the city’s one of the busiest shopping complex. It was past midnight, and in the cold weather of January there were hardly any people around. The place looked totally opposite of what it was until few hours before. Mild sounds of ‘Kajra Re‘ were coming from a night club across the market which was still high and vibrant with young couples drinking, dancing, and believing that life was at its best that night. Both of them had entered a lounge that night, he had ordered an exotic drink named Blue Margarita, whereas she had preferred ordering a steamy cup of coffee, and then they had decided to walk out of the cozy comfort of lounge and sip the drinks sitting on the cold bench outside. She looked up at him even as having another sip of coffee, both her hands firmly holding the warm cup. Her eyes had that twinkle in them as always.

Her expression suggested that she was listening, so he continued, “some of the stories are initiated by us, but some stories…. they are initiated by others who are part of our story. We don’t have any control over such stories”.

“You are one imaginative person.” She smiled and added “You are right, but the story belongs to those others as well, since they are also a part of it, probably it’s more of their story, and you are playing a part in it”.

“Probably yes!” He became more direct, “but even such stories can have some effect on your life. I’ll tell you, a wonderful girl entered my life out of no where, and her entry was like a refreshing breeze. From the first day that we started interacting we clicked with each other, you know we had that level of comfort right from the word Go. We shared so many smiles during our endless conversations, and we also had some sensible discussions about other important aspects of life.”

“That sounds great!!! Some people touch your life in a beautiful way. It doesn’t happen with everyone you meet - that you immediately reach that level of comfort with them. Such people are special I guess, and relationships with them should be preserved.” Her eyes became brighter, even as she said this.

“Yeah! Just when I thought I had found another person whom I can call a friend in true sense, something happened and the story that she had started came to an end suddenly, just like it’s beginning was.”

“It was meant to be a short story, I guess” He smiled and continued “but i am glad that this story was made up of only smiles and laughter”.

Her expression changed, “But…. may be it’s not really an end, who knows it might turn out to be just a twist in tale, some suspense before more smiles are shared in the same story.”

He took the last sip of Blue Margarita and got up smiling “So! Who is being imaginative now?”

and they both laughed.

—- 

{ this is my first attempt at story writing, so be nice to me in ur comments :p }