I had the best time showing my family around India. Did they love it as much as me? Definitely not. They were ready to leave, it all became a bit much, but they had the best time. They experienced things they never thought possible and jumped into extremes wholeheartedly.

I arrived in India with my blinkers on, casually side stepping the chaotic scenes before me with nothing but a shrug. Due to my previous trips here I’d become somewhat accustomed to the daily assaults on my senses and the unexpected no longer caught me off guard. I’d become used to the regular surprises of India, forgotten that first time myself and Lyvette ventured here four years ago. Fresh off the plane on our travelling adventure where our first stop was Delhi. Scammers spotted our white Mancunian skin a mile off, they smelt our uncertainty and pounced on our English politeness without a second thought. But gradually those feelings, our uncertainties of wandering this country nothing like our own, wore off. This time around I no longer noticed I was the only white person on the street, no longer noticed the stares and no longer came to a halt at the tear-jerking scenes unfolding before me. This time around I thought nothing of ignoring the man determined to send me to the nearest ‘tourist information’ or holding my own in the bustling swarm at the ticket counter because I knew what to expect.

Going to India with my family was one of the best experiences, for many reasons. Firstly, it’s not your average family holiday. Secondly, in India you learn to expect the unexpected and this always lends itself to funny stories that stay with you for years to come. And thirdly, it reminded me of how North India is on that first trip, when you notice every single detail, every single stare, touch, smell and taste. When you are completely overwhelmed by its relentlessness and how you become fatigued to the point where you just want the comfort of your own home. How you have to learn to live with a dodgy stomach, how sanitising your hands becomes an obsessive way of life, how dodging tuk tuks, cows and motorbikes become your main survival skills. How you constantly see things that make your mouth drop open in wonder and how throughout the day you explode into fits of nervous giggles which have the ability to transform into full on belly laughs.

Myself and Lyvette have the best of our travelling stories from India and myself and my family spent two weeks laughing. Laughing at things that almost made us cry, laughing at the scams (after they had happened), laughing at the things we saw and just laughing at how different the holiday was to all others. Laughing at how tired we were, at how our ears rang constantly and at how manic this holiday had been. In fact, they concluded it wasn’t a holiday, definitely not one of those. And I loved it because it took me back to that first India experience and how much you can love it and hate it at the same time. It’s overwhelming, it’s chaotic and it sure as hell blows your mind. Especially Delhi. I took the family to the busiest places and the dirtiest food vendors and they (like everyone else) had no choice but to embrace it. At first they were uncertain, unsure of how to act but as the days unfolded they too bulldozed through like everybody else.

I had the best time showing my family around India. Did they love it as much as me? Definitely not. There were points where they hated it.

When they left they said they didn’t think they’d come back. They were tired and dirty. They craved peace and quiet and the ways of the western world. They craved a settled stomach and roads that had some sort of order on them, they were all ready to leave. They craved the comfort and familiarity of home and of course they craved McDonald’s with actual beef burgers.
As they discussed what they were going to eat when they got home and how they couldn’t wait to drink water out of the tap I sat and wondered when I could next come back to visit India, the place that stole my heart all those years ago. And I sat and smiled to myself, as they all decided they had had a great trip but they weren’t ever coming back to India, it just wasn’t for them. I smiled because deep down I knew. I knew that once the stomachs had settled, hands washed and normality regained there was a small chance that these decisions wouldn’t be so final. That, not unlike myself and Lyvette on that first trip, they would never forget that family holiday in India. They would never forget how they had laughed like never before, how many times they had seen disturbing things only to be overshadowed at the last minute by the colour and the heart of this incredible country. They would never forget the people who tireless tried to scam us juxtaposed by the welcome they received by locals who wanted nothing more than a smile or a photograph.

Now, months later, they talk about their trip to India and they casually slip into conversation that they may venture back, and if they did where would they explore? The mountains? Beaches? Backwaters? And I know, deep down, that if I arranged to go back to India and asked for a show of hands of who wanted to come with me all six of them would take a deep breathe, raise their arms and feel a small surge of excitement.

I had the best time showing my family around India. Did they enjoy it? Absolutely. India will be etched onto their list of memorable experiences forever, the good the bad and the ugly. The laughter, the fatigue and the frustration. The chaos, the love and the heart. Did they love it as much as me? Definitely not. But they learned to like it a little bit more every day. And by the end, for better or worse, India had well and truly carved itself a place in their memories and their hearts.

Because that’s the thing about India – love it or hate it you’ll never forget it. Ask the Jacksons’…they can vouch for that.