The call came late on a Saturday afternoon from my mate wee Davie - would I like to accompany him to India the following weekend? An unusual request for sure, but not entirely unexpected - he had been trying to persuade me to accompany him on such a trip for a long time. For many years Davie had maintained contact with Indian friends, helping to raise funds for the various voluntary sector projects in which they were involved, and also visiting them on a pretty regular basis. This included Gideon, who manages schools in two states - Gujarat and Rajasthan - for Dalit children ( from the caste formerly known as 'untouchable'), funded entirely from charitable donations. A new school was due to be opened in Linch, a small village north of Ahmedabad in Gujarat. Would we go as guests? I took about 5 seconds to decide - yes!

I had actually booked annual leave from work, without making any plans - synchronicity or what! Vaccinations were hastily arranged, then a dash through to Edinburgh to get a visa from the Indian Consulate. I sat for hours in a sweat-box basement room, eventually getting my hands on the vital document. Leaving the place drenched in perspiration and several pounds lighter, I guessed that the Indian government was shrewdly preparing Scottish visitors for the heat and humidity of the subcontinent!

Within five days we were on a British Airways flight to Mumbai. We arrived in the middle of the night in monsoon rain. A connecting flight to Ahmedabad with a small Indian airline (served by the most solicitous and attentive cabin crew I had ever come across!) and we were at our destination. A cup of chai at a roadside shack, then we headed for our accommodation. The first shock for me was the experience of Indian traffic, which is not for the faint-hearted. There seem to be no rules - lane discipline does not exist, as there are rarely lanes. Horns are blasted constantly and vehicles hurtle at speed into any available space, stopping at the last possible moment. Families on mopeds weave through the traffic - invariably dad in the driving seat, mum in her sari sitting side-saddle, and any number of children clinging on. Crash hats are rarely worn. My impression was that Indian traffic would be a health and safety officer's worst nightmare.

The new school at Linch was a joy to visit and there was a tremendous buzz in the air; the work of laying concrete, painting walls and tidying the ground went on until sundown the day before the opening. Education is highly prized and for children at the bottom of the social, cultural and economic pile to receive good quality schooling, particularly in English, and at a very reasonable, minimal price is viewed as a godsend.

At the opening ceremony we were welcomed with garlands of flowers as visiting guests. The event lasted for hours; not all the speakers knew the local language, so both Hindi and English had to be translated into Gujarati by our multi-lingual friend. However, everyone enjoyed the occasion and the establishment of the school is regarded as a major achievement. The practice of providing education without discrimination on the grounds of gender, religion or caste is radical and welcome. Conditions are basic and facilities are few. Transport is rudimentary too; kids tend to either travel on the family moped or else they are shoehorned into overcrowded auto-rickshaws - a common sight in India. Despite the lack of comfort, the place seems to be valued by the youngsters and families alike. They smile easily.

We left our friends at Linch behind, then caught the overnight train to the coastal town of Porbandar, birthplace of Gandhi, where we were going to visit another school. Travelling by train is an essential part of the Indian experience. Second-class travel in an air-conditioned carriage is comfortable enough, and cheap. The chai wallah made regular visits with some of the best tea I tasted on my trip. At 5 rupees a cup (about 7 pence) it's great value too! We were greeted at the station by a steaming pile of cow dung, which obviously nobody had thought to clear up. In Hindu culture the cow is sacred, and normally roams free, even in busy city centres.

We then set off for our visit to the second school, where we were once again welcomed with garlands by the pupils and staff there. They lustily sang the national anthem before heading for lessons ( India is a very patriotic country). The school is a cramped building in a side-street located in an area on the edge of a town, which seems not to have many foreign visitors. As Westerners we seemed to be a curiosity; people often stared, but were also polite and friendly.

We visited Gandhi's childhood home in the town centre, an extensive and well-preserved property. I took a picture of a sleepy street dog which seemed to be guarding the gate. Bizarrely, the spot in the house where the Mahatma was born is marked with a swastika (an ancient Hindu symbol which the Nazis appropriated). We also went to the shore and ate ice cream, watching the breakers roll in off the Arabian Sea. We dined on excellent fish curry, then all too soon had to head back to our base in Ahmedabad. There we visited Gandhi's ashram, a green and peaceful oasis by the river in a hot and dusty city.

Before heading home we spent a day in Mumbai ( known as Bombay in the days of the Raj) - a huge steaming metropolis,with a population of over 19 million, one of the world's mega-cities and the largest in India. Slumdog Millionaire for real. From the air you can see vast slum areas of shacks covering every square inch of ground, as well as all the high-rise development of the country's economic hub, including Bollywood! On leaving the airport, we passed a funeral procession, with the body being carried along the street on a bier on open view, another reminder of how different this culture is to ours.

The YMCA was a welcome haven of air-conditioned cool, to which we regularly returned in between forays into the centre of the city. Mumbai is funky, with a glorious mixture of old India and modern commerce. We viewed the Gate of India, enjoyed beers in the Leopold Cafe, and looked round the magnificent Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. (Some four months after our visit, the two latter places would witness the horrors of terrorist attack). Finally, a stomach-churning taxi ride to the airport and home.

India has basically three seasons - hot, monsoon and cool. Most visitors go in the cool season - between November and February. We went at the start of monsoon, when fiery, dry heat gives way to fiery, steamy heat! It is a bit cheaper to visit at that time of the year, but the climate can be energy-sapping. Going to India was a long-term ambition for me. The fascination with that culture was there since childhood, for reasons which I've always found hard to explain. As a Beatles fan, an admirer of George Harrison and a kind of child of 60's hippiedom, I guess I was influenced by the culture in which I grew up - spiritually seeking, curious about exotic cultures and looking for experiences in new places, notably the East. Most of the hippies are long gone, and the harsh realities of the present day are unavoidable. The extremes of wealth and poverty in India are as wide as anywhere. The caste system is officially illegal, but in effect continues in the culture. My impression was that Indians seem a spiritual, tolerant and uncomplaining people, who often have to endure hardship, and do so with good grace ; yet when communal strife erupts it can be violent and savage.

To summarise: I found a country utterly unlike ours in many ways. It was no disappointment, and like so many other visitors, I was hooked! It is probably an old cliche, but still true : no-one visits India and returns unchanged. I expect that, if I am able, I will return again and again.

Paul Baird.
September, 2009.