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.