Gujarati, Bengali, Bihari, Punjabi, Tamilian - everyone comes to see India's favourite entrance arch. I caught the building on a suddenly stormy evening last week. The pigeons had smartly tucked their wings and sheltered under the Taj. They weren't about to risk the breeze.
The sky was overcast, and in the strange light, the Gateway was a shining pale cream-yellow, instead of its usual duller colour.
But I was more interested in cataloguing what the women wore. Deep pink, bright green, several shades of orange, blue and maroon...sarees draped, tucked and pinned, pallus flowing over shoulders, every colour in the world fluttering in the quadrangle.
What makes us so colour-crazy? Is it the sun, driving us mad? Or a stray gene perhaps, that nudges us in saree shops, saying "Go get that electric blue, girl!"
What a difference from my two weeks in London, where everyone wore black and grey and pastels. It must be the sun. Or maybe - hmm - maybe it's the food. Now there's a thought.
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