The Midway Point--Thoughts and Impressions

To all of my American friends: You simply MUST come to India. You MUST come! All of the pictures and comments and writings cannot accurately describe the wonders that are here. Certainly, the landmarks, monuments, and temples are without comparison, but my optimum experience has been with the "aam aadmi"--a Hindi term for the REAL people of India.

Walking the streets around Janpath is my favorite activity. Everyone on the street has time to stop and make conversation. I've had a thousand conversations with real people--shopkeepers, mothers, young college students and all are eager to share who they are and ask questions about me as well. It was my pleasure to meet two college students recently who shared my exploration of Connaught Place, only because they wished to practice their English. It was delightful!

So many LITTLE things have meant so much to me. Every morning I hear the rapid stream of Hindi from the workers below on the ground and the loud honking of the early traffic. It's like a symphony! I can hear the melodic sounds of the early call to Salatu-l-Fajr(morning prayers) from the tiny mosque around the corner just as morning light appears. I love the brash, aggressive tuk-tuk drivers who insist I go with them to their "cousin's shop" and my favorite "tuk-line" is "I have been waiting JUST for you!"

I had a very powerful experience when I visited the Hanuman Temple. As I was walking around snapping pictures, I almost stepped on a baby, covered by a blanket in the middle of the walkway. I was invited by the grandmother, a beautiful woman with silver hair, swathed in a lavender and pink sari, to sit with her on her rug near the temple entrance. Without words, I sat and watched the avid temple-goers queued, barefoot, food in hand, as they entered the temple. Not a typical tourist experience! And all the more reason I loved it...

While at the Jama Masjid, I met a father and son team who manned the entrance to the Mosque. The Mosque itself was very moving, but my lengthy conversation with the gentleman and his son was equally moving. His son shared facts about his education and the pride in his fluent English was evident. The handsome boy hugged me three times before I left.

There are hundreds more experiences and people stories to share. Everyday here is filled with powerful occurences.

My journey to India is at its midpoint today and I'm very melancholy, realizing my trip half over. I know I should be an optimist and say "I have still another week", but it makes me very sad to think about leaving next Sunday morning.

When I leave, I will be leaving half of my heart in India.

Day One--Part One

The Imperial is FABULOUS! It's like staying in a museum. It was dedicated in 1936 and it was the only place that Indian leaders, the British Raj and other diplomats could actually meet. Every place in the hotel is very grand and the staff is wonderful! The Pathway of the Palms is mentioned frequently in my book and it's just like I imagined it would be.

A Short Word on Preparation...

To get ready to make my trip, I had to start early. Immunizations were started in December. There were so many I can't even name them all. Plane fares to India are actually quite reasonable. Again, I began searching early and decided to fly KLM, Dutch Airlines. I'm very glad I took the southern route from Houston. All other routes included O'Hare and Newark and I knew that February might be a weather problem and I was right!
There was never any question about where I would stay. Because Edwina Kleberg lived in the Imperial Hotel for two years, it was the only place for me! I was right--it is like staying in a museum. As I sit here on the computer looking out over the grounds of this beautiful hotel, I get a strong feeling for how it was for Edwina to write, while looking out of the window of this very same place.

Why India?

So many people have asked me why I’ve written a book about India. I’ve never been there. I don’t have family there.

My fascination with India began many years ago as a child and the “India thread” has run consistently throughout my life, emerging briefly, running under the fabric, and emerging again.

My mother had a wonderful friend with whom she frequently had coffee. Going to the McMillan’s house was a treat for me. The house was ancient, a craftsman style home with a large front porch, pink with gingerbread trim. It sported a carriage house where there were chinchillas, a fish pond, but most of all, there were books—many many books and magazines of all kinds from many years back—Life, Look, Saturday Evening Post--stacked on tables, stacked in the hallways—they were everywhere. I was an early reader, so these books and magazines were my treasure chest as a four year old. There was an ancient overweight Pekinese named Penny who used to sit with me while I pored over these printed treasures. It was heaven.

I couldn’t have been older than four when I saw it…the fakir on the bed of nails in Life magazine. I was fascinated. I read with interest about Republic Day and India’s new Constitution, Nehru and Gandhi. Margaret Bourke-White’s photography of India in 1940’s and 1950’s intensified my interest in this faraway place.
My fascination with India continued into my teenage years with the Beatles making India a second home and their association with the Maharishi. I must have driven my parents crazy during my high school years when I listened to Ravi Shankar’s sitar music loudly and passionately.

Mother Teresa was my idol, but most of all--Gandhi. It always seemed that India was calling me.

As I grew older, I always dreamed of going to India, not just as a tourist, but to actually “do” something. I even remarked to professional colleagues about my compulsion to go to India and “do something”.

The creative flash that became Of Tapestry, Time and Tears appeared one day while taking my dog for a walk. From that moment it grew and grew, almost as if it had a life of its own. In just eight short months, the story became an alternate universe of 1200 pages. There was never a day I had writer’s block and never a day that I suffered from a loss for words—it was almost effortless.

So few Americans know the details of the 1947 Partition of India. The events leading up to this horrible event were sandwiched between so many world crises—World War 1, the Depression, the growing Nazi storm, Pearl Harbor, World War 2—that they went almost unnoticed by the rest of world. But, India’s story of division is an important lesson.

Because of the book, I’m acting on that compulsion I developed so many years ago. And now I’m here.