Luke walked beside me, one hand curled around my arm, the other tapping a gentle rhythm with his white cane. We were crossing the Taj Mahal’s grounds just after sunrise, the air already balmy and faintly perfumed. From the scattered murmur of tourists, Luke said he could sense a grand, open space around us. I described the Persian-style gardens — reflecting pools, clipped shrubs, stone walkways in perfect symmetry. Then I read aloud a sign: “Don’t make direct eye contact with monkeys.” Near the mausoleum’s entrance, the ground changed — rough sandstone yielding to cool marble, smooth beneath our feet. I guided Luke’s hands to the white facade … As his fingers roamed, Luke recalled the photographs he’d seen as a child, before retinitis pigmentosa, a hereditary eye disease, gradually narrowed his vision and then, at 18, took it away. “I get the impression of something opulent and magnificent,” he told me. Inside, we joined the flow of tourists circling the tombs of Shah Jahan and his beloved, Mumtaz Mahal. Their voices echoed beneath the …