Despite everything that has happened the past few days. Phone stolen, meeting the rudest people I have ever met in my life and wanting to scream every time I left my hotel room. Everyday in New Delhi felt like Wal mart on a Saturday in Flagstaff; heaps of people everywhere staring at you and feeling as though there is no end in sight. I felt like I was drowning in a swarm of people and no one could understand the words coming out of my mouth.
However if there is one thing I’m glad I made a stop in New Delhi for; in all it’s glory and loveliness, I was able to see the Taj Mahal on a day trip to Agra.
If there’s one thing I couldn’t be happier about that I have done for myself before entering the real world and all of its responsibilities (i.e. marriage, relationship, dog, bills, college loans, etc.) was going to the Taj Mahal by myself.
Maybe this is “older Amber” (I’m getting to that age) talking or the fact that I am finally able to face adulthood when I return to the states but I am so happy my trip lead me there.
Before this trip I never intended on going to India let alone find myself standing in front of the Taj Mahal. To be honest I had no idea where the Taj Mahal even was. All I had on my mind was Thailand and Nepal. My mission had indeed left me blinded in India.
After I did the typical tourist pictures, the clouds came waltzing in and it started to rain. I stood in the palace for half and hr waiting for the rain to stop. But I could’ve waited a hundred days for the skies to clear and stand and stare up at the ceiling of the articulate works that were painted just for Emperor Shah Jahan’s adoration for his third wife Mumtaz Mahal.
Once the rain stopped, the feeling of walking on the wet marble floor and to feel the cool puddles beneath my feet, cleansing them with each step was a feeling of gaze, a gaze to be somewhere beyond anywhere I imagined.  Which indeed was definitely a delightful surprise.

♥Anoushka Shankar- Unsaid♥


With my Nepali Shawl aka my security blanket
Taj Mahal Mosque
Inside the Taj Mahal Mosque


After I paid the man 50 rupees
“every girl goes through a photography phase. You know like horses… taking pictures of your feet”
Looking all kinds of Indigenous in the Taj Mahal




Published by asdzaabeat

Amber McCrary is a Diné zinester, feminist and writer. She was born in Tuba City, Arizona (Diné Bikeyah) and raised in the Reservation bordertown of Flagstaff, Arizona. In the small town of Flagstaff is where she discovered her love for Punk Rock and the Do it Yourself Culture. She received her Bachelor of Arts in Political Science with a minor in American Indian Studies from Arizona State University. She is currently an MFA candidate in the Creative Writing Program at Mils College. She enjoys many things in life such as tea, traveling, writing, reading, sulking, gardening, eating, smashing the patriarchy and learning about cultures and her own (Navajo/Diné). She currently lives in Oakland, California. Her work has appeared in Yellow Medicine Review, Bluestockings Magazine, Cloudthroat magazine, 580 split, Warship Zine and the Introduction to Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies: Interdisciplinary and Intersectional Approaches 1st Edition.

3 thoughts on “Agra.

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