The Guide(SUDESHNA MAJUMDAR) In the early 80's, it was common practice to enlist college students as tourist guides. Invariably, students of history were chosen for these assignments.

Those who did not study the subject resented this unfair discrimination. What could monuments have to do with history? However, they soon learnt that anyone who could keep a straight face through the words, "I am a tourist guide" would be able to spend a remunerative week-end showing some camera-toting visitors around Delhi.

In January 1989, we and our family friend walked into a travel agency and introduced ourselves. We told the person in charge that we needed a guide. The person provided us with a guide - tall, handsome and somewhat middle aged. He hired a taxi and took us to Agra late in the evening.

We reached Agra and wanted to see Taj Mahal by moonlight. As we entered its precincts, I was totally lost for words. The Taj by moonlight is awe-inspiring. But our guide's silence also had to do with his ignorance of the subject. Being a guide he was expected to say something. So he began with the coming of the Mughals and traversed the entire period from Babar to Shahjahan within minute. His dates, I am sure, were all wrong.

Then he started with the story of Shahjahan and his immortal love, whom he first named Anarkali. Suddenly, the name Mumtaz Mahal occured to him and he executed a neat switch.

History was invented as he went along. He put Shahjahan away for 14 years- in the Red Fort in Delhi from where he would stare at his beloved Mumtaz's tomb (100 miles away).

We wanted to make another trip to the same place at dawn. So next day, in that freezing hour we again headed for the monument to eternal love. This time our friends armed themselves with a tape recorder. They thrust it towards him and asked him to repeat the previous evening's narration. Seeing and hearing this my brother gave a taunting smile towards the guide. With his mischievous eyes he stared at him. Anyway, our guide never expected this thing from us. He was stumped. He did not remember what he had told us earlier. So he started hesitatingly but soon realized that he did not remember either. The narration picked up. After that there was no stopping. A new version of Mughal history poured forth. It was all recorded.

The following weekend we made our second and final attempt at tourist guiding. This time we had to take a boy, probably somewhat around 21 years. We had to go to Rajghat. We reached around noon. We took off our shoes and walked to the Samadhi. All the while, he talked, in the past tense, of Gandhiji's life and his assassination. My brother nodded vigorously, showing deep understanding.

As we returned to the entrance, the boy turned to us with a look that seemed to indicate an abiding interest in the subject, and said, "This man Gandhi, is he dead?"

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