Long after the palaces we saw have blended into single images of artistry and enormity, and long-after color-dense markets and streets churning with motorcycles and rickshaws blur together, I will remember smiles and kindnesses that lighted my time in India. That transformed a sight-seeing trip into a still deeper love for this place and culture.
Helen, for sure, and Jo with Travel Counselors created the framework for that hospitality and acceptance. Travel Counselors contracts with local individuals in many places around the globe to meet visitors and provide drivers. In the middle of the night at the enormous Delhi airport, I was welcomed with a warm handshake, a marigold garland, answers to my questions, and the car brought as close as possible. Even though I was on a later flight than planned, Jo—my travel agent in the UK—rearranged that arrival accordingly.
Helen–for whom India is her heart’s love–enjoys longstanding friendships with colleagues and drivers and business owners. And she loves to tease and talk with all the Indians she meets. Including the bicycle rickshaw driver who pulled us through Chandni Chowk—Delhi’s historic market. By the end of our 15-minute tour, we knew his children’s names and about his daughter’s upcoming marriage.
On my birthday, our Jaipur driver, A.J. and his father and rickshaw driver, Dinesh/Daddy, greeted me with a bouquet. Three nights later, we were invited to A.J.’s home and enjoyed a stunning meal cooked by A.J.’s wife Divyya. We met A.J. and Divyya’s two sons and Daddy’s wife – and visited with them all. We ended the evening as Divvya wrapped us in her beautiful sari’s.
Business owner Himanshu helped me manage the stairs in his three-story factory. His staff carried chairs up and down to situate us comfortably. And they—like employees and owners wherever we went—brought us cups of chai. And smiles!
Drivers throughout the trip helped us in and out of vehicles. Our tour guides in Jodhpur and Udaipur, let me hang onto their hands and arms as we visited historic temples and palaces with steep stairs and bumpy flagstones. The staff at our last lodging, the Kankarwa Haveli watched to make sure that I was managing the three flights of stairs to the roof for dinner. And brought our breakfast to the first-floor open courtyard rather than in that third-floor restaurant.
As was true a year ago, catching a child’s or a mom’s or a waiter’s or musician’s eye in any setting—market, airport, hotel, restaurant—and smiling brought a smile in return. Shy but clear.
And all of those smile, all those extended hands, all that assistance was offered not just “professionally,” not perfunctorily, but with warmth and caring.
In so many ways, that thoughtful kindness seemed an unusual, an extraordinary gift. India was so shaped, so besieged by Brits—both the East Indian Company and the government. In 1947, at the moment of Indian independence, an almost whimsical but deadly British border decision provoked horrific violence between Hindus and Muslims. And Trump’s tariffs plus his war with Iran have triggered critical shortages and market dislocations throughout India. The U.S. has also made it much harder for Indian students to come here. White skin would seem to be a red flag. And yet, there was that constant grace.
The kindness of Indians will always be surrounded as well, in my memory, by that of Helen and Jenny (to whom you’ll be introduced in the next essay). Who didn’t miss calling out a step or bump—whose arms steadied me time and again. And whose thoughts and words came with unmatched friendship. ©
