Have you ever visited a very old building, a monument perhaps, and felt that it belonged to you or you to it ? I have heard a lot of people talk about a strange nostalgia in such places. I felt that too. Not only do I feel that I belong to the place but also that I own it, or did, at some point of time, in a past life (yes, I am a believer). If the nostalgia in question was a disease, I would describe mine as stage four, incurable, laden with infections like mistaken identity disorder and 'chronological outrage'. But, science or medicine can neither pollute nor begin to fathom my feelings of belonging-ness in them.
My hometown is Agra (yes, Taj Mahal and all that). The earliest visit that I can remember to not only the 'Taj' but to all other Mughal monuments in Agra and the latest explorations of Mughal architectural sublimity in the Capital, were all embellished by the same recurring feeling of belonging to them. I am incapable of imagining the forts without the many army men that must have guarded the place back in the 1500's and later until the domino like downfall of the Mughal Empire. Although, I feel more attached to the times of Akbar. In fact, as complicated as it gets, I feel like home in the monuments associated with him. Take any that he has laid his glorious feet on and I feel it's mine too. Living exactly 100 meters away from his tomb, Sikandra, in Agra, could have etched an everlasting mark on my heart but that is only a factual justification for something so deep that I can only partially describe, unless I write a book about it.
Everytime I am about to enter a seraglio, I look up only to find a Dasi (help-maid) showering flowers on my head from the little Jharokha (An arched window to let light in) to celebrate my homecoming. Eventually, on entering I see the hallways adorned with the best quality red, velvet curtains and the floors carpeted with gold-embroidered carpets, the announcers announcing the gracious arrival of Shehzaadi "So and so", while, I walk through the passages owning the whole 'Royal Palace'. Every moment I spend inside, takes me deeper and deeper into the abyss of my belief that the place still belongs to me and I to the time when it was in it's full flourish. I never see the roofs with their present cobwebs and faded colours but in the way they must have looked when they were just built and exhibited to the King for the first time, when performances and 'Mushairas' were held under them and when torches and jewels were used to light the quarters. I always visit the 'Meena Bazaar' of the Agra Fort like Jodha would have, with the excitement of a little girl on looking at the decorated shops and the discretion of a grown woman to bury it inside (yes, I am always in character!).
I don't simply visit these monuments but each time I go, I do myself a favor by living them. The visit is a treat to myself in times of crisis, happiness and otherwise. Needless to say,that I make sure I pay them a visit when there are hardly any other visitors, which is, very early in the mornings. That helps me imagine (read hallucinate) better. The premises are empty, un-populated, unadulterated and peaceful at that time and I can easily quench my thirst for tranquility in the harmonious, home-like atmosphere. Each time I leave, I find a part of me left behind reclining on the pillars on the terrace or the arched corridors, looking at the crowd coming in to turn my home into a tourist spot. You might think that technically I am a tourist too, but no, I am not a tourist. I am a traveler and in this case, a time traveler.
P.S. : Of course, all this happens in my head, but why on Earth should it mean , it's not real ? ( Harry Potter to the rescue, ALWAYS)
