joan khurody

Fifty six years ago, when ordinary people rarely travelled, when far flung countries did not glide through everyone’s sitting rooms in HD, when there were no cheap communications technologies to draw people closer and the world seemed much vaster and more remote, a young English girl married an Indian and went to live in a small North Indian town.

Alone, in the middle of a huge, unknown, perhaps unknowable country which until then had been a mere triangle on a map, she sat on the steps of an unpromising new home and wondered how she would get through the days ahead. She had left a family, a hoped for career and all her familiar ways. This was a daunting undertaking and most of her relatives and friends were certain that it would end in failure.

This mini-memoir recreates the beginning of an inter-racial marriage against a kaleidoscopic background of crumbling buildings, bustling bazaars, colonial style bungalows and peaceful oriental gardens. It evokes a vibrant cacophony of humans, animals and vehicles on crowded roads and weaves a tapestry of colourful characters from different religions and traditions, all managing to rub along happily together.