Visiting the Taj Mahal? Don’t Jump
How I Almost Got Arrested in India
It all started with two rules: No jumping. And definitely no yoga.
The catch is that it wasn’t me doing the jumping, and I wasn’t even doing yoga.
I was attending a month-long study abroad creative writing class, and our month was drawing to an end. Our assignments had been completed, and the last stop before our goodbyes at the New Delhi airport was in Agra, for our much anticipated Taj Mahal visit.
The ivory-white mausoleum is every bit as resplendent and marvelous as you might imagine. I was particularly charmed by the love story that initiated its history: the Taj Mahal was commissioned in the early 1600s by a Mughal Emperor to be the resting place for his favorite wife. Aw!
What did our class of a dozen eighteen-through-twenty-two-year-olds do as soon as our private tour was over? We took more pictures than even the entire iCloud network could possibly hope to store. One of them included convincing a passerby to take a snapshot of us in mid-air, High-School-Musical-style, with the Taj Mahal as the backdrop.
It was as soon as our feet hit the ground post-High-School-Musical-jump that things started to get a bit iffy.
We’d already noted the presence of many heavily armed men patrolling the area—but this felt normal. I’d never been this close to guns quite this big, but I would want extra security around such an important monument, too. I was understanding.
I became less understanding, however, when one of the said guards approached us, waving his weapon around, shouting: “NO JUMPS.”
Why in the world we weren’t allowed to jump for a picture was beyond me. But I at least had the sense to not challenge a guard with a big gun.
“NO JUMPS,” he repeated, “AND NO YOGA,” he added for good measure. I glanced around to see if any of my classmates had been caught in the middle of a Sun Salutation, but everyone was solidly planted on two feet.
“Ok. Sorry,” we all chorused. Satisfied, the guard walked away, and so did we, heading towards the mausoleum itself. Before reaching the front steps, however, one of my classmates asked me to take a couple more pictures of her.
For the sake of this story, we’ll call her Maddie.
I readily agreed, eager to ask the same in return, and kneeled on the sizzling hot sidewalk to get the right perspective to make it seem like she was pinching the pointed top of the Taj Mahal.
She snuck in a little jump, and I shot her a warning glance before looking around nervously to make sure no one had seen us.
I snapped some more shots, and it was only when I stood to hand her back her phone that I spotted the same angry looking, weapon-carrying guard crossing the gardens towards us with big, imposing strides.
Oh shit, I clearly remember thinking. He started shouting before he’d even reached us.
“I SAID NO JUMPING!” he thundered. “AND I SAID NO YOGA!” he clearly felt the need to add.
“We’re sorry,” we immediately started repeating, though I very much wanted to say, It wasn’t me! I stopped jumping!
The guard was impervious to our apologies.
“You,” he pointed at me. “I told you no jump. Come with me.”
I stared at him, uncomprehending. I had not jumped a second time. Why was he singling me out?
I glanced at Maddie, also frozen at my side. My stomach dropped when I realized that she and I were dressed very similarly: breezy white tops to combat the heat, and long flowing skirts we’d both bought from a market a couple of weeks ago.
The guard probably couldn’t tell the difference between us. For all he knew, I’d been the one to jump a second time.
Oh shit, I thought again.
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If there was one thing my parents had repeated to me throughout my childhood, my teachers had continued to preach during fieldtrips, and our creative writing professor had lectured on extensively during our acclimation training, it was: don’t go anywhere with a stranger.
If you’ve read my previously published article, Don’t Get Into a Car With a Stranger: But This is What Happened When I Did, you know it’s a rule I eventually break. But that happened three years after my visit to India, in a country whose language I spoke very well, and with a small woman who probably wasn’t strong enough to even lift the ginormous weapon this man rested easily on his shoulder.
“You have to come with me,” he repeated. “My boss wants to speak with you.”
Maddie said nothing. Some of our classmates had spotted the debacle and huddled nervously a short distance away. One of the boys headed towards us, trying to look menacing and protective, but faltered in his rescue mission four yards away. I don’t think the guard even noticed him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I finally said with more confidence than I was feeling. I’d also been taught to respect the authorities, but I was pretty convinced that this could be an exception.
“You are in trouble,” the guard iterated. “You need to come with me. Now.”
Though my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in the roof of my mouth, I tried to calm myself. About a dozen people were watching us now. He couldn’t just seize me.
My inner dialogue started to panic. Could he? Was this really happening?
I’m American. The Marines would come for me.
…right?!
“You have to come with me,” he repeated.
“I’m part of a tour group,” I stuttered. “I can’t leave them. Where is your boss?”
The guard pointed a massive finger towards a line of bushes in the landscaping closest to us.
“Behind those.”
It took me a moment to realize that I hadn’t misunderstood him. He was very clearly saying that his boss awaited me behind a bush. The situation was turning so ridiculous that I almost laughed.
“Tell your boss he can come to me.”
Maddie still hadn’t said a word. Why did you have to jump?
And where on earth was our professor?
A bigger crowd had begun to gather in the distance, around our classmates. Other tourists watched the scene nervously.
The guard glared at us. I avoided eye contact. He waved his arm in the direction of the bush. Shockingly, a second man emerged from the greenery. The first guard hadn’t been lying.
The odds of not getting arrested were getting pretty grim, and I was starting to feel faint. I couldn’t believe that I, of all the people in this world renowned UNESCO heritage site, was about to get arrested.
Me: the rule-follower, the teacher’s-pet, the ultimate goodie-two-shoes.
The second guard crossed the distance quickly and suddenly loomed before us, even bigger than the first guard. The veins in his neck bulged, his cap was lowered so that we couldn’t see his eyes, and don’t even get me started on the gun strapped to his back.
“You Americans think you can come here and do whatever you want,” he growled.
“We’re sorry,” our chorus started again. “We’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry we’re sorry — ”
“If I see you break a rule one more time, we’re kicking you out.”
The thought of wandering the streets of Agra beyond the walls of the Taj Mahal on my own was sincerely even more terrifying than the idea of getting arrested by these giants.
“We won’t cause any more problems. We promise.”
The second guard gave a little nod, and that was all we needed to turn on our heels and flee. Our instinct was to run, but I grabbed Maddie’s arm and slowed us to a frantic fast walk. For all we knew, no running could very well be the third rule after no jumping and no yoga.
Our classmates surrounded us as soon as we reached them.
“What the heck was that all about?”
“What did they want?”
“That was terrifying.”
“Whatever they told you is bullshit,” two other tourists volunteered quietly. “They make up rules so they can harass visitors. Don’t take it personally.”
I turned to look at Maddie, who was still as pale as a ghost despite the raging heat.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re fake rules. Don’t. Jump.”
