‘Drifting on the Ganges, we ate lunch’
We asked you to inspire us with your stories about India – and you did. Here are the best of many poignant memories
Our Delhi hotel out-smarted Park Lane, and this was not what we had come to India to experience, so my husband and I walked a couple of miles along the local lanes. We heard an excited crowd ahead and saw a stately figure, dressed in white, on a beautiful horse, watching below him a group of musicians, men dancing and women chatting.
We walked on and, when the men saw us, they surrounded my husband and drew him into the dance. Not being a shrinking violet, he threw himself into it in the manner of Michael Gove in an Aberdeen nightclub. The women found this hilarious and warmly included me in their laughter. Then some of the men decided that I should dance too… Susan Ratliff, Newcastle upon Tyne
SPIRITUAL JOURNEY
The driver hit the brakes hard and we stopped. Our Ambassador taxi had been travelling at a stately pace in the fast lane of the NH44 “motorway” but now screeched to a halt.
“Sir,” said Ragu, our driver. “You have asked a very important question which we must take time to discuss.”
And so we did, there and then, stationary in the outside lane. Cows swung ponderously past; monks on mopeds flashed by, red-orange robes flowing in the wind; buses tooted, laden with beautiful women in bright sarongs.
So, what was the burning question? Could a white man, a retired surgeon from Basildon and lapsed Church of England member, convert to Hinduism? Rosie Kefford, Kent
A PINT POT
About 20 years ago my husband, a friend and I travelled to India on a tour of the “Golden Triangle”. After visiting New Delhi we set off on a coach to Agra, the city most famous for the astonishing Taj Mahal. On the way we stopped at a roadside restaurant for refreshments.
My husband asked for a beer, but the charming waiter told us that they weren’t allowed to serve alcoholic drinks. He brought a tray with two cold drinks and a teapot, cup and saucer, which he placed in front of my husband. As he doesn’t drink tea, he was about to send it back but the waiter poured out a nice cup of very cold beer! It was very much enjoyed on such a hot day. It’s the story we tell first when we reminisce. Sue Dykes, Greater Manchester
Sacred city: a trip down the Ganges to colourful Varanasi proved magical
ACCESS ALL AREAS
In February 1974, newly married, we bought a Mini Moke and drove overland to India. You couldn’t do it now. We journeyed through Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, through the Kyber Pass to India, Nepal and – by ship – Sri Lanka. It took six months and we covered 16,000 miles. Our daily budget was £3.50 for fuel, food and accommodation.
There were no mobile phones, no Airbnb, computers or bank cards, only travellers’ cheques. We received mail at poste restante post-office boxes.
We visited Round Table clubs en route, to meet local people and businesses and better understand the challenges they faced. Things have changed in India since 1974 – and will continue to change. Go now, while you can. We did. Richard Ward, Surrey
HOME FROM HOME
We watched entranced as two men in ceremonial dress emerged from the forest and performed a complex ritualistic dance. They were regarded by the villagers as soothsayers and this was the culmination of a secluded two-week fast by the men. Large pots of curry bubbled away to be consumed later by the villagers as they celebrated. They also waited patiently to hear from the two men what their futures held.
We were taken to watch by the family we were staying with in Kerala. As the only non-villagers, we felt privileged to have this rare glimpse into their lives. En route we had helped fishermen haul in their catch. We had spent a day in a school comparing their education system with ours and talking to pupils.
What memories – and we cannot recommend highly enough staying with a family to experience true life in India. Jenny Davie, Nottingham
THE PERSONAL TOUCH
It is 4.30am in Goa and the taxi driver is lost. We don’t know exactly where we are staying. We had arranged to lodge at Annie’s house (she runs the laundry) but I rang her before our flight and was told we couldn’t have the house but could stay with her friend Gina.
Eventually our driver found the village and dropped us off. It was pitch black and very quiet. Out of nowhere came a voice: “Are you looking for Gina?” Yes! “Gina will come…”
And indeed Gina did come and took us to our spacious apartment. It was perfect. We spent two weeks cycling to secluded beaches, jumping the waves in the Arabian Sea and enjoying fabulous food in magic gardens.
But it was time to go home now, and our flight was at 7am, meaning a 4.30am start. Gina’s brother-in-law was taking us in his taxi. I hoped he knew the way.