fcarly as it was when we climbed into our

fcarly as it was when we climbed into our buses for the whole-day excursion to Agra, the morning was surprisingly warm. (Later we read in the newspapers that this year the hot weather that oppresses north-central India in our spring months was beginning earlier than usual.) One of our colleagues carried a jacket or windbreaker of some kind, explaining that we should not get back till late in the evening, when it might turn quite cold. I murmured a snide comment in my wife’s ear. In due course I was suitably punished for my hubris. When we started back, it was nearly dark and a chilly draft, from which there was no escape, whistled through the bus. Three days later, sure enough. I blossomed out in one of my rare but castastrophic colds. Incidentally, most of our party caught cold in the ensuing week, in spite of the growing heat.

Otherwise, our trip to Agra was pure joy. Once clear of the interminable suburbs of Delhi, we found ourselves in really open country for the' first time. We were crossing a corner of the small, agricultural state of Haryana into the much larger state of Uttar Pradesh. In the villages and little towns we passed through. We got further fleeting glimpses of the life of the people. Women were doing their marketing at the tiny open-fronted shops, drawing water from the communal tap, carrying it, away in shiny brass pots or •earthen crocks. Men were less conspicuous except as drivers of trucks or oxcarts. We saw a few getting shaved at open-air barbershops, Children of alj ages, playing * or doing little chores*, were everywhere.