Word: mahal
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...while his aides looked on aghast, seized a thick, six-foot-long python in his strong hands and draped it over his shoulders. Making a ten-day tour of India, the commander of the Russian navy was acting like the traditional sailor on shore leave. He viewed the Taj Mahal by moonlight, visited the Nehru Museum and the site where Mahatma Gandhi's body was cremated, and shopped for souvenirs. But Admiral Sergei Georgievich Gorshkov's trip to India had an entirely serious purpose, as do all his trips these days. He is trying to line up a worldwide system...
Zubin's father, Mehli Mehta, was Bombay's leading musician, a violinist who played dinner music at the Taj Mahal Hotel, in his spare time served as conductor of the Bombay Symphony. Little wonder, then, that Zubin says he was "brainwashed with classical music from the cradle." He had his own record player when he was two years old, later crouched wide-eyed in the corner during his father's lessons and chamber-music rehearsals. With his retentive memory and faultless ear, he was soon whistling Paganini caprices in the original key while riding his bike...
...Letter Writer Helena Franklin's objections to your pictures of starved cattle and people in India [March 24]: I think this is dandy logic. On the strength of it we could all forevermore be spared having to look at pictures of that old shack the Taj Mahal. After all, it gives such a distorted idea of everyday life in India. Or have I missed somebody's meaning...
...ranch, began commuting 65 miles daily by JetStar to Austin. There he worked for the first time in memory in the ten-room office suite built for him two years ago atop Austin's new federal building-a layout which the G.O.P. branded his Texas Taj Mahal. For all his exertions-or was it because of them?-Johnson looked in fine fettle. His only complaint was a sty on his left eyelid, which aides ascribed to too much Texas wind and dust...
...mysterious code of the mysteriously well-connected, the shabby, fly-infested Hotel Tahiti in Saint-Tropez on the French Riviera is the place one goes to if one is too rich to bother with the Taj Mahal. Last week, amid the wandering beer barons and compliant courtesans, a newcomer dashed in and out in a bright succession of tight slacks and V-necked blouses, occasionally pausing to effulge a visitor with her smile, occasionally cutting out of the creepy joint in her baby-blue Ferrari...