Who can question the beauty of the (Mum)Taj Mahal, the crown of palaces, built in the memory of Shah Jahan‘s wife, Arjumand Banu Begum?
I do not by any means want to belittle the magnificence of this gem of Mughal architecture that took more than twenty years and thousands of workers, artisans and craftsmen to build.
Nor do I doubt the love of the Shah for his Mumtaz who perished at the age of 38, while giving birth for the fourteenth time.
The fact that the king was sequestrated by his own son – and son of Banu Begum – may not tarnish the whiteness of the shining marble, or the beauty of the walls inlaid with semi-precious stones, but it does cast a shadow of sadness over the opulent magnificence of the Taj and its surrounding gardens and satellite buildings.
Every love relationship has its own undecipherable language and codes. The feelings that flourish between lovers are the subject of myth and urban legends. They are as impenetrable as a tomb made of solid marble, destined to stay the eternal secret shared by two loving souls.
It is beyond doubt that love can sweep you off your feet, whether you are a sandwich maker at Subway or the King of Jordan.