1.  When you arrive in India, it “assaults” a Western traveler with total sensory overload.  The smells, sounds, colors, and tastes are so different and intense.  For instance, I come from Minnesota—the “Land of Beige.”  The women (and many men) dress like beautiful birds.  The range of colors in their clothing is astounding.  I never knew some of those shades even existed!  They also often wear silk so the colors shine even more brilliantly.  India helped me as a writer because it challenged the way I experienced the world.  That’s important because what makes a story interesting is the writer’s ability to reveal the world in a new and different way to the reader.
2. India helped me as a writer because of the mixing of people there.  It has over eight major religions, the second largest population in the world, and dozens of culturally different groups.  There are problems, of course, but Indians get along pretty well.  India helped me as a writer because of these differences.  We have diversity in the U.S. but nothing as complex as in India.  India helped me as a writer to see the complexities and be able to translate some of them into my characters and how they work together with other characters in my stories.
3. India helped me as a writer because of the fact their religious practices are so different from the Western experience.  I learned from this.  The Hindu religion is tied so closely with the culture.  For instance, Hindus believe in reincarnation.  That means whatever your present situation in life is now, by doing good works you can come back in a new, better life.  This creates a passive response to life’s difficulties—“it’s just fate.  There’s nothing I can do,” people say.  India helped me as a writer to learn what motivates people and what they fear/hope about in their lives.  India taught this to me so that I can add to my characters.  Not necessarily to create a character who is a Hindu but to better understand how religion motivates all people.

India helped me as a writer by “shocking” me awake to dozens of new experiences that forced me to see the world in a new perspective.  Even if you’re not a writer, this experience is valuable for anyone’s growth as a human citizen of the world.

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We had traveled across northern India and reached Jaipur, a clean city set on the edge of a lake.  Unlike the rest of India, this city has new, wide streets through the main sections.  It’s a prosperous place with textiles and jewelry the main businesses.  Not far away, are some the largest deserts in India where camels are bred like we breed cattle in the U.S.

We set out from our hotel in the early morning just as the sun was rising like an egg yolk across the lake.  Several camels rose unsteadily to their feet along the lake shore, preparing for their work of the day.  By Jeep, we ventured north into a narrow valley toward the ancient palace of Akbar the Great.  In the 1400s, invaders from the Middle East had conquered India.  They ruled for several hundred years and were called Moguls.  Akbar was a wise and good leader, but he also loved to build palaces for himself!

The road rose into the valley until we drove under a stone arch and turned into a small town  High up on the western mountain, stretching across the entire peak, was Akbar’s palace, restored to its splendor.  We hoped to beat the other tourists by coming early.  There were only a few elephants available for riding.

Smoke from incense wafted across the road.  We stopped to allow a herd of goats to cross before us, their bells tinkling.

Across a small stone bridge over a second lake, we hurried toward the lower gate of the palace.  As we rounded the corner, we found about eight elephants standing in a small courtyard.  They were draped in regal colors of red and purple  Bells hung from these capes and rang as the elephants shifted their weight from one side to the other.

Luckily, we had beaten the tourists!  We climbed up a set of stone stairs to a platform.  The mahoot (driver of the elephant) maneuvered the elephant to the platform and we scrambled onto its back.  We sat in a flat box with a low railing to protect from falling out.  The mahoot wore a red turban and carried a short stick.  With his heels he gently prodded the elephant and we were finally riding an elephant!

You don’t realize how big an elephant is until you get on one.  When they walk, each step is long.  For the rider, it means you sway back and forth.  Up a narrow street, we started to climb for the palace.  The sun crested the hills on the eastern side of the valley, making it look like the mountain had a halo.  A flock of bright green parrots flashed up from the lake in front of us.

In a half hour, the sun had risen to warm us, the elephant trundled the last few steps, and we turned under a huge arch to enter the main courtyard of the palace of Akbar the Great.  A few trees dotted the space and flags rippled in the strong wind at the top of the mountain.  I felt like Akbar himself!

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It’s really a mausoleum, built by an Islamic king from a group of rulers called the Moguls, who ruled India for a few hundred years in the 1500’s.  His young wife died and at her deathbed, it’s said, she made him promise to keep her memory alive.  He agreed.

Traveling in India is difficult for Americans—we’re not used to the level of noise, dirt, and crowding.  I worried the Taj Mahal would disappoint me.  We came into the city of Agra at midnight after taking a long train ride.  That should have tipped us off that things would be different than in the U.S.  The train was late and filthy.  Even though we all had assigned seats, the locals pushed their way into the train for some reason.  At the station in Agra, we hurried off to reach our bus.  Smog covered the ground to the height of the bus.  Yellow and stinky with a chemical smell, the pollution lay across all the streets all the way to our hotel.

The next morning on our way out, the smog looked more like fog until we smelled it—-the same chemical stink.

We drove to the entrance of a large park that’s been built around the Taj Mahal.  Low, dirty buildings crowded around us.  Our bus battled through the streets, competing with trucks, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, bikes, cows, monkeys, and camels pulling wooden carts.  The noise was incessant.  Honking horns, people shouting, camels braying, and the squeal of brakes.  Dust rose from the traffic and covered everything with a tan coating.

At the entrance, we all boarded a cart pulled by a camel.  It was dressed in brilliant colors and chewed its morning breakfast before moving.  When we finally left, monkeys flanked us and threatened to grab whatever we carried in our hands.

The sun rose over the tree tops and lit up the park around us.  Most of the buildings were broken or abandoned to the monkeys.  The chemical stink persisted and some people covered their mouths with masks.  At a spacious courtyard, we got off the cart and walked into the green, grassy oasis.  High stone walls surrounded us and over the top in the fog, we could spot the dome of the Taj Mahal, shrouded in mist.

We walked under an imposing arch, turned, and there, looming out of the morning fog/smog, was the Taj Mahal.  Bigger than I imagined.  The sun had risen just enough to make the white marble dome glisten while the base still hid in the mist.  It looked like the whole thing was floating.

After all the dirt and filth I’d seen/gone through to get there, the sight of the monument was even more beautiful as a result.  An ancient poet commented that “the Taj Mahal is the tear on the cheek of eternity.”

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