SHAME SHAME

A family trip to Delhi and whereabouts is just what I need to boost my sense of national pride, I remember thinking. After all, what could be better than looking at those marvelous pieces of architecture built by the ancient kings to make you proud of being an Indian? What better place than the streets of a city where history has been made? Which other place can give you goosebumps than the Taj Mahal? Which other city can take you back to Mughal times than Fatehpur Sikri? Just listening to my father describe all these places sent shivers up my spine. His enthusiasm was infectious. I could hardly wait for the day to come when I would see the marvels of my countrymen in all their glory, for the day I would see our own wonder of the world. Boy, I was raring to go…

I sit here infront of the computer, punctured. The balloon that initially filled me at first sight of these places had deflated long ago. The strongest thing I feel now as I look back is a sense of shame and embarrassment. I’m not talking of the monuments, those are marvelous as always. I’m talking of the people.

The Taj Mahal requires people to remove their footwear before ascending onto the monument proper. Today however, there are alternatives for those who do not wish to leave their expensive footwear for the tour guides to steal. A disposable wrapper of some sort is provided which they can tie around their shoes and sandals, after which they can freely explore the monument. This seemed a pretty good idea until I got onto the monument. The sight was horrendous, those wrappers were everywhere. People were walking around with unprotected footwear all over the beautiful white marble, taking selfies, completely unconcerned about what they were doing to the monument. It could hardly get worse, I thought shaking my head, when I saw a group taking off those wrappers as soon as they came up. It was not even accidental, it was deliberate! Every step that these shoes took on the white marble broke my heart. A marvel of architecture which had no parallel anywhere in the world, and never would was being desecrated in plain daylight by people who had no interest in anything other than to take pictures of themselves infront of it so that they could show it to their friends.

But I haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet. The most shameful moment of the day was yet to come. I was walking around trying to ignore the insensitive buffoons around me with their smartphones taking photos of themselves and checking in on Facebook, when I saw a child being reprimanded by his mother, for trying to take off those wrappers like everyone else. They were clearly foreign, talking in an English accent. She was telling him how sacred this place was and how one should respect the great monument of the past, not to mention those inside it. A foreign tourist knows how to respect a piece of someone else’s history, while the people who should were soiling the whole place. I had never felt so ashamed at my own people before. How could I enjoy the beauty of the place anymore? My first visit to the Taj Mahal was completely spoilt.

This was not the only incident of the sort that happened. It was simply the one that shook me the most. Although the other places were not that bad,(with the exception of Fatehpur Sikr, but let’s not go into that) it was more or less the same, if not in so brute a fashion. Very few people did I see who were actually admiring the monuments, genuinely glad to be there. The rest were busy looking at the buildings through the screens of their phones or through their camera lenses.

How can we hope to move forward if we can’t even respect the past? How can we hope to build a new and better country when we are the ones dancing in its ashes? How can we hope to lead the race of the nations while we are too busy posing for photos with our best duck faces on?

It doesn’t look too bright to me.