Agra

Agra sits on the banks of the Yamuna, 200 km south of Delhi, like a love letter written in marble and red sandstone that never got posted. Everyone knows the Taj Mahal, but Agra is more than one postcard. It’s the city where an emperor cried for twenty-two years and built the world’s most beautiful tomb so his wife could keep watching sunrises. 
It’s where you wake up at 5 a.m., slip through the gates while the sky is still pink, and suddenly the Taj is floating in front of you, so perfect it feels photoshopped by God. 
Then you turn around and there’s Agra Fort staring back, massive and grumpy, reminding you that empires were born and lost in these streets. At night the same stones glow under floodlights while street kids sell five-rupee chai and old men play cards under 400-year-old arches. You smell kebabs, hear azaan mixing with temple bells, and realise this city never sleeps; it just dreams louder. 
Come for the Taj, stay because Agra grabs your heart and refuses to give it back. One weekend here and you’ll be telling strangers “you haven’t seen love until you’ve seen that marble change colour at dawn.”