Three trips to India – and an invitation…

by Jacqui Lofthouse

One morning, in the spring of 1984 – when I was working at my Saturday job in a sweet-shop – something happened that changed my life. I was eighteen years old and about to take my A Levels. My ambition, at the time, was to become an actor, and I was a member of the local Youth Theatre which met every Sunday evening in the cosy studio of the Towngate Theatre in Basildon.

I was busy in the shop, stacking sticky crates of R Whites Lemonade and Cream Soda, when a woman – a customer – approached me unexpectedly and said:

‘I hear you’re going to India.’

I remember the strange shock of that gossipy statement. The words caused a fizz in my stomach. But they were not true and I knew I had to crush them. I didn’t know who she was or why she was teasing me.

‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh,’ she replied. ‘Sorry – haven’t they told you yet?’

‘Who?’

‘Gordon. He’s getting a cast together and you’ve been chosen. He’s going to call your Dad, I think.’

I don’t remember the identity of the woman or how she knew Gordon, nor do I know how she found out about this before me. But Gordon ran our youth theatre and when she said his name, I knew this might be true.

In the following days, the story unfolded. Gordon had been approached by an Indian entrepreneur who wanted to take a troupe of English actors to India to tour the south of the country. The play would be J.B. Priestley’s ‘An Inspector Calls’ and he cast it, without auditions, from the professional actors that he knew. I was not a professional actor, but all the same, he cast me in the role of Sheila. And so, a new possible career opened up for me…

But here’s the thing. I was young. I was incredibly naive. This gift that I had been offered – a trip of a lifetime – was so strange and unlikely that it seemed to me to have a meaning. At the time, I took it to mean that I somehow had a charmed life, I was blessed. I took it to mean that good things would always happen to me. And of course, there are worse philosophies to have.

That was the beginning of my first trip to India. In the following weeks, I met the rest of the cast, we rehearsed the play and before I knew it, we were travelling the country in a number of rickety planes, encountering the kind of turbulence that made me feel we were going to fall out of the sky. Our tour took in Bangalore, Madras, Cochin, Mumbai (then Bombay), Hyderabad and Goa. Everybody I mention this to tells me about the film Shakespeare Wallah and bizarrely I have not seen it to this day.

It was, without doubt, a strange and privileged way to see India. We stayed in fancy hotels, we moved from theatre to theatre. It was forty years ago now, but certain memories stick in my head. I particularly remember being told, by the manager of one theatre, ‘if there’s a power cut in the middle of the show, don’t worry, we have a generator – just pause and wait – and you can carry on when the power kicks back in.’ And that is exactly what happened. Mid-way through a show, we were plunged into deepest blackness. So we sat and waited. The audience sat and waited. And when eventually the lights came back on, the show went on…

One peculiar aspect of the response to our performances was this: Indian audiences seemed to find each revelation in the play – which is about an entire family’s involvement in the downfall of the young girl they had collectively ruined – rather funny. Each time there was a new revelation, there would be laughter. However we played it, that was how it was received. Not exactly how JB Priestley intended it. Nonetheless, after a while, we caved in and quite possibly hammed it up a little…

I remember: the sari shops of Bangalore; the theatre built in the shape of a violin; the brilliant green geckos on the dressing room walls; getting drunk on Southern Comfort; the stunning white beaches of Goa; the silhouettes of the huge Chinese fishing nets of Cochin at sundown; singing Beatles songs in the car with the rest of the cast.

But I remember too what happened shortly after we arrived in Hyderabad. The date was October 31^st 1984. We learned about the assassination of Indira Gandhi when we were sitting around the pool. Riots had broken out in New Delhi. A curfew had been imposed. All flights were about to be suspended and – for reasons I was not party to – we were to be escorted to the airport to get the last flights out. We were hurried to the airport in a taxi with suitcases up against the window.

I was young. I was incredibly naive. My education had been in European languages and literature. We had been allowed to give up History and Geography aged fourteen and we had only learned about things like the Tudors and the Stuarts and the formation of mountains. I had been actively discouraged from involvement in politics (that is another story). When I think back to what was unfolding at that time in India, I feel a sense of shame at my ignorance – which was pointed out to me at the time – but I also feel compassion towards my younger self because we are all the product of our environment. I was a young woman who was learning, growing, becoming.

It would be eleven years before I would return to India. This time, I travelled with my husband, David, to Rajasthan to visit Delhi, Agra, Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaipur and Pushkar. We both read Mark Tully’s book No Full Stops in India and James Cameron’s An Indian Summer before we left – so at least this time I travelled with somewhat more awareness of the political history of the country.  

We travelled independently and David chronicled the trip with many brilliant drawings. What I remember most about that trip was the unexpectedness of each day – waking up thinking ‘what is going to happen to me today?’ I’m not sure I have ever since lived so intensely as I did during those few weeks.

I will never forget the red sandstone palace of Fatehpur Sikri, built by the Mughal emperor Akbar – but soon after abandoned. The experience of standing on the walls of the Mehrangarh Fort looking out at the blue city below, will also always remain with me. Voices drifted up in the air – an incredible effect – almost as if one could hear every conversation in the streets below.

But what marks out any trip, of course, are the people that one meets along the way – including a particular jewellery salesman, the exquisitely-dressed Raja Babu, who told us his life-story whilst selling me a ring.

‘Years ago, I lived in London,’ he told us. ‘In Balham, do you know it?’

We did indeed. We lived there.

In Pushkar, by the sacred lake – according to legend, created for Lord Brahma when a lotus flower dropped from his hand, the lake forming where it fell – we naturally took the Pushkar puja – a blessing and prayer by the lakeside.

That trip was nearly thirty years ago. In truth, I don’t think I really believed I would ever see India again. Several years ago, I had been approached by Chetan Mahajan, a member of my team at The Writing Coach, about the idea of teaching at his Himalayan Writing Retreat. At the time however, despite the lure of the Himalayas, I said no. The timing did not feel right. I wasn’t ready.

 I have never been a particularly adventurous person. My adventures in life have been in the raising of two incredible children, in writing my novels and in embracing the stories of others via my work at The Writing Coach. I have sought adventure in the way I live my everyday life, in taking up new challenges such as documentary photography or a return to drama school and acting. Yet for some reason, recently, I had started to ask the question – will I ever travel again beyond Europe and America. Will I return to India?

So it was incredibly strange when, a few days after that question had come to mind, I received an email from Chetan, inviting me to India again. This time, the invitation came in the form of a precise outline, including a full schedule of travel, detail of additional trips including the Taj Mahal, a visit to the Chirag school in the Himalayas and the Shiva Temple in Mukteshwar. He also mentioned morning yoga at the Himalayan School and a Bollywood night…

By now, I know the value of Writing Retreats, having taken two myself over the past year to find the space and time needed to complete my novel, now with a literary agent.

The non-adventurer in me still wanted to say ‘no’, even as the excitement bubbled up… and yet, in truth, I knew it was a ‘yes’.

The strangest thing, for me, was the circularity of the invitation. Aged 18, I was invited to India, as an actor. Nearly forty years later, I have been invited to India as a writer and a writing coach. What a privilege to have the opportunity to visit such an incredible place – in Chetan’s words, in the ‘halo of the Himalayan peaks’. But also, to have the honour of teaching writing there – to be there to facilitate the stories of others and to work with them individually on their tales.

I know that this trip will be altogether different to my earlier ones. But there is a beautiful symmetry here. To receive a second invitation, in relation to my art felt significant. There is a sense of return. But also an opportunity to reflect . I am, of course, both the same person as that young girl who only saw the country through the lens of a theatre trip – and I am transformed – as we all are, through life and experience.

It is for this reason that I call that invitation to India life-changing for me. It opened up possibilities that I never knew existed. It changed me because I saw a different aspect of the world, and even though I did not understand it, even though – like so many young people – my education had not served me – I did, through criticism and through experience, start to glimpse the person I would prefer to be. It was a vital step in the right direction. And beyond that, it offered me confidence in my abilities as a creative individual. That totally unexpected invitation enabled me to see that, despite clichés about art not being a viable direction, in fact it was. Each small step one takes on the creative path, each connection one makes with other creatives, can have a huge impact. We never know how the steps we take in our art will pan out, but I started to see that making art (the many Sunday evenings I had spent in that small studio in Basildon at the Towngate theatre) has consequences. What one focuses on, grows. And yes, I also don’t deny luck or privilege. I didn’t come from a overly privileged background, but I did come from a very supportive environment, I did happen to have the right looks for the role. All the same, the lesson remains. Art matters. What you focus on grows. You never know how a small thing that you do could turn into a big thing. What matters is the process always. The next step that you take. I teach this always to the writers that I coach. Without this lesson, I may never have gone on to write novels.

In my teaching in India in 2024, I will include, always, the holistic aspect of who we are as writers and what is possible for us. In class, we’ll also look at the works of international writers as examples, including Jhumpa Lahiri and Arundati Roy, as we delve into our own stories. You can read the full curriculum here. The trip has been organised so brilliantly by Chetan and his team. Every detail has been taken care of in advance and Chetan has led many such retreats with other international writers.

I cannot wait for our Himalayan Writing Retreat. There are only ten places on the retreat and seven places have been taken. I would really love you to join me as one of the three remaining participants on this, my third trip to India.

I know it will be an incredibly calming and memorable experience and I cannot wait for it to begin… I know we will bond deeply as a group and have experiences that we will never forget. And of course, we will all deepen our connection with our writing work.

If you’d like to find out more about the retreat or to book, you can read about it on our website here and you can find the full schedule on The Himalayan Writing Retreat’s website here. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch if you have any questions. It would be fabulous to meet you there…

In the meantime, you may enjoy listening to what other writers had to say about their experience there by watching the video below: