India: A Love Story

When Robert McGahey spent a Fulbright year traveling and teaching in central India, had he any idea the impact the time would have? If not quite Shakespeare’s seven ages of man, his life was not far off. As a student away from parental home and college, he sowed wild oats as few manage to do. It was the 1970s, the years when Saddhu hippies experimented, enjoyed, and enthused. But then his term there ended and he left, still under the spell of the traditional music, echoes of shared sessions singing and playing classical instruments rarely heard in North America.

Back teaching in the States for ten years, he married a Jewish doctor reluctant to venture to India but soon captivated by both the country and his enthusiasm. They honeymooned across Asian countries, and Judi is captivated, increasingly dedicated to the more spiritual lifestyle.

If this eloquent memoir focused solely on the mysticism and music, on the natural beauty of vast sweeps of the country, the ashrams where they stayed ranging from sparse to enchanting, this story would hold the reader. But over and again, the author’s wicked sense of humor bubbles up as he relishes his experiences from youth to late middle-age. Laugh out loud passages delight as he recognizes eccentricities enmeshed in spellbinding surroundings.

Later, distressed by the turbulence of modern India’s overwhelmed cities, endless commotion, he recognizes both he and his marriage have changed, and confesses his romance with India wavers. ‘I long for the beauty, the quiet of bicycles, and the deep religiosity of my India. The Indian middle class, now legion, has betrayed me and their heritage as well.’