It’s impossible to arrive at the Taj Mahal, on the first occasion or the hundredth, without an appropriate sense of awe. We’ve been schooled to approach it with reverence, this mausoleum which is also a monument to the love of Emperor Shah Jahan for his bride, Mumtaz Mahal. Its prodigiously beautiful architecture makes it, perhaps, the most photographed building in the world.

Depending on the time of day and season of the year, the Taj Mahal is ivory or golden or pink or grey and many other variations and combinations of colors and tones. It’s almost never the white-wedding-cake building of countless mediocre postcards and travel posters. The decorative designs on its surface are not the work of a gifted painter, but of experts in the difficult art of pietra dura, semi-precious stone inlaid in the marble. Despite the thousands of pictures one has seen before arriving at the Taj, the sight of it is breathtaking.

I found it difficult to follow my own advice to resist photographing until I had allowed my other senses to absorb my surroundings. I listened to the polyglot voices, smelled the morning air, and sat on the marble in the entrance, running my fingers over the exquisitely embossed floral designs. Only then did I allow myself to examine the building, in whole and in detail, and unpack my camera.

Great art should excite the imagination and induce more art. Where better in the world to do this than in the exquisite presence and proportions, the play of light, than at the Taj? It’s the perfect place to let one’s mind move from what is to what one might imagine, and to play.

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