Day 17. Good Intentions

In a previous post I wrote about how much I loved India.  That trip has left an indelible impression on me for many, many reasons.  First, the extremes:

The vastness of the country and the staggering number of people who live there.  The over-the-top opulence and the abject poverty.   The sight of some people driving BMWs, while others are riding camels, on the same street.  Sophisticated cities like Mumbai, with its glass and steel towers, compared to the backward villages in Rajasthan, where the tools and implements residents use every day look like they’ve come from an archaeological dig.

The overwhelming noise — an absolute cacophony of different sounds.  Horns, voices, vendors hawking their wares, music, traffic, screaming, laughing, dogs barking.  The mind blowing colour, everywhere you turn.  Prints, stripes, checks, plaids in combinations you cannot believe.  Bolts of fabric, saris, flowers, painted buildings, displays of every kind, stacked floor to ceiling.  The smell of curry, mingling with the scent of flowers, mingling with the odour of cooking food, mingling with the stench of dung.

What most impressed me, though, what I will never forget, are the people.  Whether they are wealthy or live in tents on the street, they are kind, generous, compassionate, sincere, warm, grateful, welcoming, inquisitive, understanding, wise, calm, well intentioned and very, very spiritual.

I was there for a month.  We spent part of an afternoon (completely by chance) and then had drinks with two brothers, princes, whose family not only owned the heritage palace hotel where we were staying, but most of the town.  They made us feel as if we were old family friends, they were so pleased to see.  The wealthy owners of a company that manufactures carpets and pashminas and clothing for export all over the world, and who also have a store where we shopped, invited us to their family home for dinner.  There must have been twenty-five or thirty members of their family there — the Continue reading

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Day 4. Flower Power

It’s a dull day here, today.  Grey and overcast, with a threat of thunderstorms.  I woke up to the sound of rain rat-tat-tatting against my windows; and it’s been on again, off again ever since.  God knows we need some rain.  We’ve had an exceptionally hot, humid and dry summer, in Toronto.  But still, it’s dingy out there.

Which has, for some inexplicable reason, made me think of flowers.  Probably because the sight of even a single bloom can brighten any day; and any mood.  No matter how dark.  I love all flowers.  From the simplest daisies to masses of brightly-coloured bougainvillea, trailing willy-nilly over fences and walls.  From tulips that droop gently over the side of a vase, to window boxes crammed full of cascading geraniums and petunias.  Unassuming garden variety posies.  More exotic varieties, like orchids and calla lilies.  I even like buttercups.

Sometimes all it takes to make me happy are a couple of sunflowers, cheering me on.  Sometimes I crave something much more over the top — like  dozens of the palest of blush-coloured roses, informally ‘plopped’ into an old cut glass bowl my grandmother gave me.  And sometimes I want to play, mixing all kinds of different flowers together, in colours that range from fuchsia to scarlet to burgundy to almost black — shoving the whole bunch of them into a shocking, deep turquoise pottery pitcher.  It all depends on my mood.

But all this talk about flowers has sparked a memory, of a glorious month-long trip I took to India a few years ago.  Talk about flowers!

I could write dozens of stories about that trip (and perhaps I will), but this time I’m confining myself to an experience I had on our last day there.  We were in the Continue reading