Letter from India 1975

Sitting in front of Taj Mahal in Agra

 

Having found my passport, had all the jabs and travel cheques, my brother drove us to Heathrow airport to catch our flight to New Delhi with Afghan airline. Yes, in those good old days, Afghanistan cheap, unreliable flights were available from London. I remember, the plane stopped at Kabul airport and all the passengers were asked to wait in a small room for hours. To our surprise the waiting room was full of armed soldiers and women wearing black full length burkas, a bit scary sight, indeed. The problem in Afghanistan was probably brewing up in the seventies, yet I was oblivious of all the politics and the sad history Afghanistan had under went and was to go through in the years to come.

Our journey took us to streets of New Delhi, dusty, crowded, full of colour and smell of burning wood where we visited all the Sikh temples for the sake of my religious mother. Next came Shimla, where there were still remains of the British empire most in ruins. Then off to Chandigarh, a clean city, proud that it had the hand of famous architect, Le Corbusier in planning it. Off to Jullundur, the city with no real roads, but dusty alleyways where my father's family lived. Next, to Amritsar, the holy city for the Sikhs, where at sun rise I had my holy dip in the water which surrounded the Golden temple; it was the most peaceful experience of my time in India.Then off to little idyllic village of Bajawara, where my aunt lived . My final destination was to Agra to see Taj  Mahal, getting there at a crack of dawn was important to take in the true experience of  one of the wonders of the world; I did not miss my opportunity to get there in time for the magical sight of the great marble monument built simply to show love for a wife.

I must have spent about 3 weeks away, in the country where my parents grew up and I loved it all. The hot dusty roads to travel on, the hot chilly food to eat by the road sides, lots of mangos to make me sick and sugar cane juice to kill my thirst, the hospitality of the relatives who simply found me a novelty and made me into a  spoilt little brat for 3 whole weeks. However,  coming back to cold, foggy, yes the fog was still around in the seventies, England, was not breaking my heart, I missed the green grass of home.

In my excitement, travelling for the first time, I failed  to understand the time difference associated with travelling long distance, certainly, no lessons were given on this subject by  my geography teacher? I managed to get the timing of our return journey all wrong and my brother was no where to be seen at Heathrow on our arrival. We had to get home some how and in state of panic, catching a taxi home was the only option; yes we got The Black Taxi from Heathrow to Coventry for a princely sum of £30 !!!