Authors: Katy Colins
Rigmarole (n.) Confused or meaningless talk
Everyone was still half asleep owing to the fact that we were sardined in a stuffy minibus on the long drive to Agra to spend the day at the Taj Mahal, and all before the sun had completely risen. The navy sky was just beginning to be lit up with wisps of hazy golden sunlight but even at this godforsaken hour the roads were ridiculously jam-packed, full of people setting up their stalls and shops for the day, men in suits racing to get to the office and children scampering across the street picking up plastic water bottles. Nihal had arrived as promised, on time and dressed in smart, clean clothes, looking a lot fresher than when I’d last seen him. He had also remembered all the guests’ names and even handed out small bottles of orange juice and pastries as we tumbled into the minibus half asleep.
See, this is going to be fine. The start of the tour was just a blip but we are getting back on track. Ben will get a helpful temp in and get a hold of things back home and as soon as these fantastic reviews start flooding in from the guests here then this will have all been worth it.
I smiled proudly at the clean-shaven Nihal before nestling into my seat, trying to catch some more shut-eye on the lumpy bumpy roads. Ollie and Chris were already
in the land of nod, Liz and Flic were leaning against the window using bunched-up scarfs as makeshift pillows and Bex’s head kept lolling forward, startling her awake for long enough to wipe the dribble of spit from her mouth before she drifted off again.
Everyone had been too dozy to question where I’d been yesterday. As we waited to board the bus Liz had stifled a yawn while asking me if I felt any better, and in my still fuggy sleepy state it had taken me a few seconds to remember that was the lie I had to follow. My mumbled and delayed response hadn’t raised any alarm bells as she’d gone on to tell me in a croaky morning voice that they’d spent the day sightseeing but I hadn’t missed much as the old market smelt of urine and cabbages as some old dude persistently trailed after them trying to sell his mouldy veg. I vowed to myself that this tour was going to get the excitement and wow factor it needed.
A few hours and unusual sleeping positions later we pulled up to Agra, a much smaller city than Delhi and shrouded in rich history. Cows leisurely trundled past red brick shops that had faded hand-painted adverts on their crumbling walls, unfazed by the many motorbikes that had whole families piled haphazardly on top and that nipped around them leaving a cloud of soot in their wake. Children were cradled in the arms of relaxed-looking mothers who had huddled up next to their husbands, some even sitting side-saddle on skinny bikes. I was so engrossed with looking out of the window I was only half listening to Nihal who had turned round to face the other passengers who were all just waking up.
‘OK, when we pull up to the Taj Mahal, it is going to be very, very busy, guys. So please take care of your bags and keep an eye out for each other. I will go and get your tickets so you don’t have to join the queues and will meet
you back here in fifteen minutes,’ he yelled before jumping out and racing off.
‘What’s up with him?’ Bex yawned widely, revealing a couple of silver fillings.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked nervously, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
‘Well it’s like he’s had a shot of energy or something. I’m not complaining, like; it’s just a bit weird isn’t it?’
‘Maybe he was just having a bad day the other day?’ I suggested, feeling my cheeks flush with the half lie.
Bex shrugged, looking more interested in what was going on outside of her window than our conversation.
Once our patient driver had found a parking space and pulled open the heavy door to the van we all piled out, relieved to be able to stretch our legs. Despite it still being relatively early the heat was already stifling and swarms of people had started patiently queuing to be let in to see this wonder of the world.
‘Whoa, this place is crazy!’ Ollie looked around in awe. ‘Are we in the right place though ‘cause I can’t see the Taj?’
Flic tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘You have to go inside before you see it.’
‘You been here before then?’ Ollie replied.
‘No, but I already know it’s my spiritual home,’ Flic said, her voice as floaty as the strange, bright purple dress she was wearing. ‘Although, it’s such a con that we’re totally ripped off just to enter. Did you know that Indian residents can go inside for, like, pennies?’ She huffed and folded her arms. ‘So unfair.’
‘But it’s through tourism that sites like this are preserved and not left to crumble away to nothing,’ Chris added before taking a large gulp of water, ignoring Flic’s scowl for disagreeing with her that everyone on this planet should be equal.
‘Has everyone put on sun cream?’ I said changing the subject and realising that as Nihal was getting our tickets I needed to step in as tour guide. ‘I also read that women need to dress conservatively.’ I nodded to Bex’s blotchy pink shoulders that were on show in her tank top. ‘Did you bring a scarf or something?’
‘Crap! I left it at the hotel.’
‘I’ve got one you can borrow,’ Liz piped up and rummaged in her small backpack before pulling out a baby-pink, chiffon shawl and handing it to a grimacing Bex.
‘Cheers … I think.’ She held the fabric in her hands as if it was a sack of steaming cow poo before sighing. ‘My mam will
never
believe I’m wearing pink.’
‘You look gorgeous,’ Flic said, blowing an air kiss that Bex shrugged away.
‘I’ve also got some sun cream,’ Liz said quietly and passed a bottle of factor 50 to Ollie who had the fairest skin of us all. She almost dropped it when their hands touched.
‘Oh, erm, thanks,’ he stuttered looking up at her under his long lashes.
‘Guys! Over here!’ Nihal shouted out, breaking off this moment of affection between Liz and Ollie. We walked over to him, dodging leering men who were offering camel rides to take us right to the front door; I noticed Chris jump when a long, blackened tongue slipped out too close to his face.
‘Think you’ve found a friend there.’ I smiled.
Chris grimaced and strode on ahead.
‘OK, guys, so here we are at the famous gates to the Taj Mahal.’ Nihal handed out our entrance tickets and made sure there was enough water for everyone. ‘Now, follow me, stay close together and let’s go through to see the wonder that is the Taj Mahal.’ He grinned excitedly and
gave me a small wink. I noticed Chris give me a look as I shrugged it off and started to try and push through the hordes of people slowly dawdling in front.
I could feel the heat bouncing off the caramel-coloured stone as we inched forward into an open-air courtyard. The atmosphere was electric. Everyone around me from all walks of life seemed to be pulled by some invisible magnet through the heavy, dark brown gates opposite.
‘Wow, I can’t believe that I’m here, about to see the Taj Mahal with my own eyes,’ Bex said pretending to wipe away a tear with the edge of Liz’s scarf.
‘I know, me too!’ I replied in a hushed whisper. I felt a frisson of excitement course through me, and was immediately taken back to that stressed-out girl waiting in the dreary visa office in Manchester and seeing the large poster of the creamy, domed site tacked onto the wall. Now I was just inches away from seeing it in real life; I felt like someone should pinch me.
Then suddenly someone did pinch me.
‘Oww!’ I called out.
I turned around, difficult to do with this many hot bodies pressed up against each other, to face my attacker. A warm-faced Indian woman with large hooped earrings and bright pink lipstick smiled at me.
‘Sorry! I was just hoping we could take a photo of you and your friend?’
‘Oh, right, erm, yeah, OK,’ I said, nudging Bex to turn round and smile. This was odd. ‘I think she thinks we’re celebs!’ I whispered.
As the woman smiled gratefully and rummaged around her bag for her phone, Bex nodded sagely. ‘Ah, I’ve read about this. Apparently it’s, like,
the thing
for locals to want to get photos with westerners. It’d be like us if Jeremy Kyle wandered past – I would be on a selfie-taking mission.’ She
shrugged. ‘Wait, let me take my scarf off first; there ain’t no way anyone’s taking a photo of me wearing this girly thing,’ she said, tugging at the delicate fabric.
I stopped her. ‘You can’t, remember. It’s really rude to be exposing yourself, especially in a sacred place like this.’ Bex tutted and left the scarf where it was. ‘Anyway, it really suits you.’
‘Here we go!’ The Indian woman smiled at us and held up her phone. ‘OK, say cheese.’
‘Chee … What the …?’
Suddenly everyone around us huddled closer and turned round, flashing big, toothy grins at the camera; a small baby was placed in my arms and a little girl with curly black hair was hoisted up for Bex to hold. The baby I was awkwardly cradling had started wailing and a few men who were proudly stood to my right were doing the peace sign. Bex and I looked at each other and burst into a fit of giggles. I watched Bex uncomfortably hold up this toddler who was more interested in poking her eyeballs than smiling for the camera.
‘So much for that serene entrance.’ I laughed, carefully handing the baby back.
‘Oh God, it’s this scarf, isn’t it?’ Bex moaned as the little girl finally let go of a clump of hair she was gripping and went back to her parents. ‘I told you pink was a bad colour; it gives people ideas.’
We were still laughing about the impromptu photo shoot and the thought that Bex and I would be in photo frames in houses all over India as the crowd started to slowly inch forward. The doors were flung open and there it was. The Taj Mahal, just metres away from us.
Our laughter stopped, the crowd grew silent and everyone shared this moment of respect and adoration for the stunning structure that seemed to glisten in the sunlight.
We slowly tiptoed forward, gazing up at the building that shimmered at the end of the impeccable, rectangular lakes. Opulent and elegant, it was a thousand times more impressive than I had ever imagined it to be.
‘Fuck me, that’s beautiful and I don’t even like
Grand Designs
,’ Bex breathed.
I nodded, unable to speak. I suddenly had this sense of calm settle around me. Marie had once dragged me to a yoga class at her gym but that state of relaxation was nothing compared to the peace I felt here. It was as if the rest of the world had been turned to mute and all that mattered in this very moment was me and this true labour-of-love building.
‘You OK, Louise? You’re freaking me out with your spaced-out face.’
‘Yeah fine, no, better than fine. I mean, you hear people go on about these places you need to visit before you die but, whoa, I never expected a reaction like this at one of them.’
‘Come on, you daft sod, let’s go and try and find the others.’ Bex laughed and led the way down a set of crumbling steps, ducking past selfie sticks and iPads thrust in the air as everyone tried to get a photo, admittedly breaking the magic spell instantly.
We wandered down a gravel path lined with lush green grass, neatly tended shrubs and exotic, flowering bushes to where Nihal had gathered the troops and was in full tour-guide mode.
‘Hey, guys! Thought we’d lost you for a minute then.’ He smiled at us. ‘Pretty impressive huh? I never get bored of looking at it.’ He gazed at the milky white domes, ducking his head in a sign of respect, and turned to face us. ‘As I was saying, the Taj Mahal is the perfect balance of symmetry and design. If you look you can see the four
white minarets on each corner that are designed to lean outwards in case of an earthquake, to save falling and crushing the Taj. I think we can all agree that love seeps from the building that was created by the emperor Shah Jahan in adoration of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal …’ Nihal trailed off.
He was too busy gawping at an Indian woman with jet-black, glossy hair and shining emerald eyes who was leading a small group of tourists behind her to finish his sentence. She had one slim, bangled arm raised high in the air as if giving the group behind her some sort of marker to follow. Wait, were they wearing matching T-shirts with a picture of a broken heart on them?
‘Erm, so as I was saying …’ Nihal tried to pull his attention back to us but stalled again. The beautiful Indian woman had walked over and stood directly next to our group.
The other tour goers started glancing at each other wondering why our guide had momentarily lost the power of speech. I shrugged along with them hoping to catch Nihal’s eye that was instead trained on this beautiful woman and her crowd in matching tops. As the glamorous new guide glanced over at Nihal under thick black lashes and flicked her hair back, I felt a chill rise up my spine.
No. This couldn’t be …
‘A-Ameera?’ Nihal stuttered.
Scupper (v.) To defeat or put an end to
Shit. This stunner was Ameera? She hadn’t quit the travel agent’s to have some duvet days; she’d quit to become a tour guide! Obviously anything her ex could do she could do better.
Nihal had gone really pale and was trembling slightly. I noticed Flic and Bex pass a look between them trying to work out what was going on. Ameera gave Nihal a loaded smile, flashing pearly white, straight teeth, and continued talking to her group. She was obviously lapping up the effect she was having on him.
‘The Taj Mahal is one of the most recognisable buildings in the world. It took twenty-two years to build and was commissioned to house the tomb of the emperor’s wife, who tragically died during childbirth. Who would have thought the act of a grief-stricken man could create such beauty?’ She paused as we all listened to her soft, Indian lilt that had sent Nihal mute. ‘Most men don’t even act like they appreciate their girlfriends, let alone build something so grand to celebrate their love,’ she added cattily.
Hearing this it was as if something twigged and Nihal cleared his throat. He seemed to pull himself up straighter and turned back to face us, avoiding making eye contact with me.
‘So, where was I? Ah yes, people have believed for years that this is the greatest love story in India; however, it was not all romance and happiness. The emperor ordered the hands of the artists who had helped design the tomb to be cut off so they would never recreate something so magnificent again.’ He half spat on the pebbles at his feet.
Ameera raised her voice even louder, competing with Nihal. ‘You should never listen to these folklore tales though. I mean people tell you lies all the time. It can be very difficult to decide whether what people tell you is the truth or complete rubbish.’
Bex and Ollie turned round to face me. I tried to look as confused as they did rather than actually wanting the ground to swallow me up. This could not be happening. The only one who looked like he was enjoying this tour-guide-off was Chris. He had taken his camera phone out and shoved it in Nihal’s face.
By now Ameera’s tour group, which consisted of three men and a woman, had caught on that there was
something
going on but they didn’t have the faintest idea why their pretty Indian tour guide was explaining the history of the Taj Mahal in such an unusual manner. An overweight Chinese man in Ameera’s group put his hand up to ask a question but was cut off by Nihal clearing his throat to speak.
‘I personally think it’s unfair that throughout history people have always sided with the women, agreeing that it’s so wonderful for a man to put on such a large display of affection. But some would say that it’s actually completely over the top, showing off, if you will. The sort of women who expect such excessive declarations of affection are probably the sort of women to be avoided. Aren’t I right, men?’ Nihal nodded to Ollie and Chris. The Chinese man started clapping in agreement but stopped when Ameera glared at him.
Ollie scrunched up his face under his Ray-Bans; bless him, he looked like he didn’t have the foggiest what was going on. ‘Err, yeah, I guess?’
That only caused Flic to huff loudly and mutter that she knew he was a macho tool all along.
Ameera ignored her and increased in volume. ‘The beautiful and heartfelt gift of the Taj Mahal is seen by many as one of the Seven Wonders of the World, due to its grace, beauty and symmetrical form. Emperor Shah Jahan obviously loved his wife so much that he put his heart and soul into the structure to show her what she meant to him. I know not
all
women expect huge declarations of love like this but actually if men showed women
how
they felt rather than expecting women to
know
then women would probably understand a lot better.’ Ameera paused and glared at Nihal. ‘Actions speak louder than words.’
‘When are we going inside?’ a lanky man with a heavy German accent piped up from Ameera’s group, snapping her back from this competitive tour-off she was having with Nihal.
‘Oh, right,’ Ameera blustered and shook her cascade of hair from her face that had turned pink with the emotion. ‘Well you now have some free time to explore the grounds and then meet back here in around thirty minutes so we can all go inside and see the wonderful mausoleum.’ Her group looked relieved and wandered off, muttering that she was a bit strange.
Nihal watched Ameera walk off and quickly called out to our group. ‘OK, guys, quick break. Meet us back here in thirty minutes.’
I shrugged at the others as if I hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on and then moved to grab Nihal before he raced off behind Ameera.
‘What the hell was that?’ I asked through gritted teeth. ‘What is
she
doing here?’
Nihal looked flustered; his eyes were flicking across the emerald lawns and trying to find Ameera through the crowds. ‘I don’t know! Although didn’t you say you thought she could join us and become a tour guide too?’
‘That was just an idea, a suggestion of how I could help you through your break-up. She can’t just become a tour guide overnight!’
I knew I was half screeching but I was so confused. I’d tried to get Nihal back on his feet, and having his ex-girlfriend ruin it all for us with her own broken-hearted tour group complete with snazzy matching T-shirts simply wasn’t an option.
‘OK.’ I pressed my fingers against the bridge of my nose. ‘OK, so here is what we do. You go and find her, apologise for whatever it is you’ve done. Get back together, tell her we can find a job for her with you – maybe we could make you a double act?’ I suggested before debating whether our guests would even want to be surrounded by a couple or not.
He shook his head and growled, ‘No.’
‘What do you mean no?!’
‘I mean I haven’t heard from her in ages, since our fight. I was so worried about her but actually she doesn’t seem at all bothered about me. She’s come here today
knowing
that I would be here working. She’s come purposely to try and sabotage my job to get back at me somehow. She doesn’t want to make up; she wants to get revenge!’ He looked like he might burst in anger; a purple vein was suddenly very prominent on the right side of his temple. I noticed that his fists were balled up at his sides. So long Mr Heartbroken and enter Mr Taking No Shit.
‘Nihal, we need to fix this!’ I screeched, still not able to believe what I’d seen with my own eyes. Although maybe we should get matching T-shirts, or hats, or both? They did look kind of cool. ‘If you’re not going to fix this like adults
then at least make the effort to give our tour group the best day out they’ve ever had. I want them to leave here buzzing with adrenalin, not feeling depressed and reminded about their problems back home by being surrounded with bickering couples. They have paid good money to get away from all of that!’
‘Oh my God, it all makes sense!’ Nihal slapped his hand to his forehead; he’d obviously not listened to a word I’d just said.
‘What? What makes sense?’
‘We’d been bickering for a while, always over my job and then, about a month or so ago, I came back from a really good tour full of excitement at how it went. The strange thing was though, instead of ignoring me when I spoke about what I’d been up to, she seemed really interested. Asking questions, even writing things down, I think.’ He scrunched up his nose as if trying to remember, and then his face dropped.
‘Nihal?’
He visibly gulped and inhaled sharply. ‘You know that bad review you showed me about one of my tours?’
I nodded.
‘I reread it yesterday after you left and something didn’t add up. There were details in there that were slightly off. I put it down to my memory but now I think I know who may have written it.’
He didn’t have to say her name for me to know whom he was referring to. It was now my turn to morph into the incredible hulk.
That business-wrecking bitch!
‘Really! You think Ameera wrote it? But why?’ I gasped.
Nihal nodded slowly. ‘I think she wanted to show me that anything I could do she could do better.’
‘Oh my God!’ So it had all been lies. The tour wasn’t going tits up; everything was fine apart from some psycho ex-girlfriend wanting to get revenge.
‘I’m serious, Georgia. She’s lost any chance of ever getting back with me by playing this dirty trick.’ Nihal spat on the gravel before stomping off and leaving me alone.
I threw my head heavenwards, giving the Taj Mahal the evil eye.
I thought you were supposed to be all about love, not sabotage?
I turned to try and find the others, nervous to hear what their interpretation of this drama would be when I walked slap bang into someone.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said in shock, looking up to see Chris standing there.
How long had he been there? He had his phone out, but instead of snapping shots of the Taj Mahal I swear it was pointed in our direction. He must have heard everything.
‘You OK, Chris?’ I said brightly. He almost dropped his phone.
‘Yeah, it’s something else here, isn’t it,’ he said quickly. ‘Very, erm, interesting.’
I mumbled a response and plastered a smile on my face, trying to spot Bex and her pink scarf or Ollie’s ginger locks amongst all the people milling around.
‘Oh, there they are!’ I waved and hot-footed it away from Chris who I was sure was smirking at me as I left.
‘Hey, so you should hear Flic’s theory,’ Ollie said with a laugh as I walked over to them.
‘Oh yeah, what’s that then?’ I asked, wanting some light relief as my brain computed everything I’d just learnt in the last five minutes.
Flic rolled her eyes, throwing a look to Ollie for landing her in it. ‘I was just saying to the group that I’ve worked out why Nihal is so strange.’
‘Strange?’ I squeaked.
‘Yeah, you know, moody and distant then over-the-top helpful and informative but with very limited attention skills …’ Flic said building the tension. I took a deep
breath, wondering whether I should just come clean with what had gone on, when she continued. ‘He’s on drugs,’ she finished, proudly crossing her arms as Liz gasped.
‘What? No …’ I said, laughing weakly.
‘Come on, Louise, think about it. Highs and lows, mixed emotions. I’m telling you he’s a crack head,’ Flic added.
‘That’s ridiculous. He’s not a crack head.’ I lowered my voice, noticing a group of Swedish tourists staring at us. Oh God, I couldn’t let the tour group believe Nihal was a druggie. Imagine their reviews. ‘He’s … he’s …’ I stalled not knowing what to say. If I told them about Ameera they would wonder how I knew, but if I stayed quiet they would believe Flic and her zany ideas.
‘He’s diabetic,’ Chris said matter-of-factly as he walked up to the group. ‘Quite common in Indian men of his age, meaning his mood depends on his insulin levels.’
‘He is?’ I gawped. ‘Oh, I mean, yes, he is. He told us earlier.’
‘Aww poor guy. I could never imagine shoving a needle in my arm every single day,’ Bex sympathised and tutted at Flic. Ollie rolled his eyes and Liz let out a deep breath she’d been holding.
‘Oh, right,’ Flic mumbled. ‘Well the signs were there that he
could
have been a druggie.’
‘Yeah, but he’s not,’ Chris said before walking off to take a photo of Princess Diana’s bench. I had to stop myself from shaking my head in disbelief as I watched him leave. He had got me out of a hole just then; maybe he wasn’t such a weirdo after all.
‘Well that solves that then!’ I said brightly, hoping my heart wasn’t hammering loudly enough for them to hear.
I’d been preoccupied looking around for Ameera and her tour group amongst the crowds rather than looking around the marble mausoleum. I was fired up to find this cow and
have it out with her for writing that fake travel review but she was nowhere to be seen. As we snaked our way past sweet-smelling plants lining the perfectly still pools, the white domes reflected in the tranquil blue waters, I forced myself to calm down and breathed a sigh of relief that finally things were going to get easier. Surely. We would all go and have some lunch and everything would be OK.
‘Here, this looks all right,’ Nihal said when we arrived at a nearby snack bar away from the tourist site.
A few taxi drivers were sat on plastic chairs in the shade of tamarind trees drinking masala chai tea next to large, gurning camels that were loosely tied up to tree trunks and whose mouths were dripping long strands of spit on the dusty ground as they ate. My stomach audibly grumbled as Nihal placed our order. I needed to eat something soon, if only to stop the gnawing feeling in my empty tummy that Nihal was obviously working through the stages of a break-up, starting with denial that would eventually lead to anger, which could mean him making some rash decisions. So far he seemed to be coping by jutting out his lower lip and taking control of the group. I just hoped it would last.
‘Right, I’ve got a mixture of things,’ he said, passing over full plastic bags, paper serviettes and plastic cutlery.
‘Did you go for the mild curry?’ I asked nervously.
He nodded. ‘Got a fiery one for me but everything else is bland, sorry, mild.’ He winked. ‘Here you go, guys, tuck in.’ He passed out foil dishes to the group who hungrily grabbed the food and got stuck in.
‘It’s bloody awesome here,’ Bex said, peeling the lid off what looked like lentil curry.
Liz agreed with her. ‘What a romantic husband.’
‘My ex never did anything like this for me,’ Flic said grumpily, poking a fork around her foil dish.
‘Yeah, well, I doubt most men would,’ added Ollie. ‘You know, those of us who aren’t shahs sat on millions of rupees who can afford to do something as grand as this.’ He laughed.
Flic pursed her lips. ‘No, but you men could think outside of the box when it comes to romance a little more. Netflix and chill is not the way to a woman’s heart, trust me.’
Liz blushed. ‘I agree that this is a little excessive but it would still be nice if men, I mean if my ex, had at least tried to make some sort of gesture.’ She paused. ‘He forgot my birthday last year.’
This elicited matching gasps from the women in the group, me included.