The smile of India

The most extraordinary thing about India is its smile. Not its renowned filth or squalor; not its splendid palaces and temples; not its poverty and social idiosyncrasies; not its exquisite craftsmanship and artistry but, undoubtedly, its all-embracing smile.

I wondered what it would be like to visit Rajasthan, Agra and Delhi for the second time. I loved it even more than I did the last time. I could appreciate it more and my wish to get to know it better is even greater.

One drifts through towns and villages that time has barely touched for a thousand years; places where white skinned foreigners like us are rare birds. One is met by scores of children smiling genuinely and charmingly all shouting "Hello, Hello!" Smiles and waves are the norm here and as I sit in the Business Centre of New Delhi's grandiose Imperial Hotel composing this epitaph nearly at the end of my unforgettable stay I realise that what the Western world has lost is its smile! Have we forgotten how to smile?

The kindness and hospitality one finds in the streets, in shops and in restaurants are overwhelming. No purchase, however small, is complete without a glass of steaming chai masala to seal it!

The graceful beauty of the people is also indelible. Tall and fine-boned they are blessed with dazzling teeth and large black eyes which make their smiles that much more alluring and irresistible. Set against a red desert, the electric colours of Rajasthani saris are spellbinding while the endless variation of turbans and curling moustachios is a total delight!

We started our trip in the fairytale city of Udaipur; in the unreal Lake Palace Hotel set in the middle of Lake Pichola, surrounded by lush hills and the city itself; a riot of pavilions and balconies rather like an Indian version of Chambord but far more elaborate.

From there we moved on to the little charming village of Rawla Narlai and on to Jodhpur; the Blue City dominated by its mighty fortress Menangargh with its exquisite collection of palanquins. Fabulous Jaisalmer set in the middle of the Thar Desert was next. A never-ending fantasy in sandstone filigree that earned it the name of the Golden City and, after a few overnight stops at Samode, Khimsar and Kuchaman, we were in the capitals of Rajasthan, the Pink City, Jaipur with its wonderful Palace of the Winds and Amber Fort. All this set in an eccentric scenario of ruminating cows meditating patiently on traffic islands and hog-like pigs wallowing in dustheaps!

After Jaipur and a mercifully short attack of Delhi Belly we arrived in Agra to see the mist shrouded Taj Mahal, which lost none of its mystery and beauty since I saw it a year ago. I am now in Delhi about to explore the nightlife and then on to the Red Fort and the Majsid Mosque.

This sounds like any Travelogue; I know. It is very difficult to actually express one's human experiences without doing so. Interacting with the people of Rajasthan is very easy. Like us they have a long British heritage that has rendered English, with weird variations, the lingua franca of the country. In consequence, even in the remotest village like Rawla, there was no problem communicating. Incredibly since last year there has been a noticeable attempt to spruce the place up and India is realising that it is still a relatively undiscovered tourist destination and is plugging the fact for all it is worth. The beggars and hawkers were actually far less persistent than they were last year!

The wonderful countryside full of hills and scrub one minute and palm trees the next flew past the curtained windows of our coach in mesmerising succession. Hilltop temples to Shiva and little castles set on impossible crags are a recurrent feature of Rajasthan. Wherever one stops, however deserted it may look, as soon as we emerge from our second home - our bus, we are surrounded by curious children who seem to materialise out of thin air.

A few months ago when in France our group was asked to dinner to Luc and Beatrice D'Arfeiulle who own the exquisite Chateau La Serre in St Emilion. Quite by chance I had grabbed a red pashmina shawl, as the evening had turned chilly. As soon as Beatrice saw it she simply exclaimed " Jaisalmer?" and that was it. We did not stop talking about India for the rest of the evening! She called it Mal d'Indie which is as inevitable as Delhi Belly, only more long lasting and more romantic!

Delhi is indeed a marvellous place; incredibly chaotic with cows, camels, rickshaws, elephants, buses and taktaks negotiating the torturously narrow lanes of Old Delhi and rushing like swarms of mad ants across the Lutyens avenues of New Delhi. Still the millions who have settled in this relatively new capital city have lost none of the charm of the relatively rural Rajasthanis.

It was still possible to find a charming companion who went out of his way to help us out when we were completely lost and who was so agreeable as to spend time with us chatting on the lawns of the Imperial afterwards. Where in the busy self-centred West can one find such hospitality?

We Maltese have a lot to learn from the Indians in so far as professional hospitality is concerned. We somehow seem to be content with the fact that many, many years ago, in the Acts of the Apostles, whoever wrote them was impressed by our hospitality. Ever since, I seriously believe that we have merely sat on our laurels! We must watch out! Incredible India is on the move!