Margaret loves trains. So rather than fly to Bombay, now called Mumbai, we took the Rajdhani Express. Her first birthday present was from the delightful ticket clerk at Delhi station who looked quizzically at her age on our ticket forms, 59 on the way out and 60 on the return train. Then the penny dropped, “Ah birthday on our train,” he beamed. “I’ll give her a present from Indian Railways – 30% concession.”

This was not a jaunt for pleasure but a working trip to see rural projects and deliver a workshop. But travelling on Indian Railways is always fun. Afternoon tea, complete with hot samosas, cashew nuts, lovely sandwiches and chocolate bars was served by the smiling staff as soon as we jerked out of Delhi station, right on time. Our bedding was delivered to the compartment as the long shadows of the setting sun spilled over the green fields and agricultural workers led bullocks back to their villages. Set up on little tables with table cloths an evening meal of soup, chicken curry and ice cream arrived about nine.

Gently woken by the steward bringing early morning chai we pulled into teaming Mumbai. Our friend Dillip met us at the door of the carriage and we headed off through the bustling morning rush hour.

Laughter therapy was in full swing when we arrived at the rural charity. To our amazement, there in the circle of laughing children was Nina. She waved delightedly for us to join the group. We had met her in an ashram near Bhopal about a year ago and here she was the director of this charity. Margaret was soon laughing and dancing with the children in the warm sunshine. It was wonderful to see these poor and destitute children, who were also disabled, being so well educated and cared for and obviously enjoying themselves so much. 

Back in Bombay news soon filtered out to the fifty odd delegates at our management workshop that Margaret’s birthday was imminent. Conspiratorial whispers wafted softly along the corridors and Margaret’s addiction to chocolate was discovered. On the last day a procession led by Mrs Tehmi Shroff, the indomitable 80 year old Director, brought in a huge chocolate birthday cake. There was enough for all the delegates, the staff and the people cared for by the institute.

Tehmi suggested that we might just catch the last few races at the Royal West India Turf Club. Her son was a trainer and a couple of his horses were running. Watching the horses thundering past the finish line was a treat for Margaret who loves horse racing. In the fragrant Bombay evening Tehmi invited us for a light supper at the Willingdon Club, something of a colonial institution.

Grand Victorian architecture dominates central Mumbai. Bristling with ornate gothic spires the massive main railway station, once called the Victoria Terminus, pulsates with millions of travelling people. Around the old city modern gleaming office blocks reach for the skies. The impressive new Sea Link bridge connects the outer suburbs with downtown Bombay cutting out the gridlocked streets. Further out, New Bombay, is urgently growing to accommodate the thirty million inhabitants who commute in on overcrowded trains. We spent the whole day marvelling at the city and enjoying the spectacle. That evening, the day before Margaret’s birthday we dined at the Taj Palace Hotel with glorious views of the floodlit Gateway to India.     

On her birthday Margaret opened the family presents secretly brought from Delhi. Birthday greetings flooded in from family, friends in the UK and Indian friends and colleagues to make this a very happy day.  A visit to the house where Ghandi conducted meetings and fasted to stop riots made us ponder the state of modern India with its industrial and economic progress and the still huge divide between rich and poor.

The birthday week almost over she enjoyed a birthday meal of Indian Railways Chicken curry on the overnight express back to Delhi.

More surprises were in store. Next day at a major National Trust conference the Chairperson, sitting next to Margaret on the platform, presented her with a card and a traditional Phad, an Indian narrative textile painting.

Sharing her birthday with so many wonderful friends and well wishers made the occasion one to remember.     

Check out the pictures of Mumbai.

Workshop Pictures and Margaret’s Birthday

Glass shards and plastic fragments exploded in through the open window and left us sitting shaken and bewildered. Glancing at Ketaki, our driver, I could see blood on his hands as he brought the car to a sudden stop on the tree lined road.  A quick glance around confirmed everyone was OK but surprisingly the windscreen and all the windows were intact. 

Then we realised that an overtaking truck going the other way had hit our wing mirror with such force that it disintegrated, spraying us with thousands of projectiles. There were tiny bits of silvered glass everywhere.

After a moment to gather our thoughts Ketaki saw that the truck had stopped further back and a small crowd had gathered.   So he walked back to talk with the other driver.

Driving in India is chaotic at best and downright dangerous most of the time. Here in Assam in the far north east of the country was no exception. The previous day we had squeezed past an accident on a mountain road. A bus overtaking on blind down hill bend had hit a solid old lorry struggling up the other side. Girders from the frame of the lorry cab had smashed through the windscreen of the bus.  The front of the bus was demolished. As passengers and onlookers stood surveying the mayhem, some people sat holding their heads. Lying in the dirt beside the wrecked bus was a blood soaked body, presumably the bus driver. All around the traffic kept moving on the shoulders of the road with motorcycles weaving in and out of gaps as they emerged. 

After a while Ketaki returned carrying a truck jack. He explained that the consensus of the crowd was that the truck driver had overtaken dangerously and so the truck driver admitted liability. Being unable to pay for a replacement wing mirror he forfeited the truck jack which Ketaki could sell. So honour was satisfied and we were on our way again.

Christmas carols wafting through the classrooms and therapy rooms reminded us that Christmas was close. Delegates from all seven of the remote north east Indian states watched tinsel being draped on the courtyard trees as they sipped their sweet Indian tea.  Naturally it was Assam tea as we were in Guwahati the state capital of Assam. Our host was Arman, the talented and generous Director of the Shishu Sarothi Centre for the rehabilitation and training of persons with multiple disabilities.

North of Bangladesh, this beautiful region is tucked away from the rest of India and surrounded by Nepal, Tibet, Bhutan China and Burma. The delightful colleagues we worked with at the workshop were proud of their culture and heritage, many bearing very close resemblances to the people of Burma and our friends in Cambodia.  Despite the stories about the activities of the Maoist separatist movement that appeared regularly in the Delhi newspapers our colleagues reassured us that the region was peaceful and urged us to visit their charities in the surrounding mountainous states.

After the workshop we managed to see some more of Assam. Arman suggested we visit a very old temple in which the priests practice worship that amalgamates elements of Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam. A venerable imam, with smiling eyes, guided us around the temple to chant at alters wreathed in incense and aromatic smoke from lighted tapers and oil lamps. Here we chatted with friendly locals worshipping at the temple. Tolerance, welcoming nods and easy charm seemed come naturally to the Assamese we met, illustrated perhaps by the kids singing Christmas carols in a region where the people have only a glancing awareness of Christianity.