ISAW the Taj Mahal for the first time: white alabaster, the dome like a huge onion from heaven, the slim towers, and symmetry. This beauty might be impressive, but it doesn't thrill. There is something cold about this mausoleum. Cold like marble, cold like a sterile room, cold like space that is anti-time; an absolute neatness that does not want to be touched by the Agra dust, doesn't want to be involved with what moves, with commotion.

I ask