A series of offers too good to refuse

His proposal was one I could not refuse.

My brief affair with the Daily Pilot had been compelling,

addicting. I had tasted the first bite and I wanted more. Through

writing, photography and explorations of the community, I had

experienced my world in a new way.

I had reminisced with founding members of Orange Coast College for

a history column, discussed the traffic congestion problems with

county supervisors and met extraordinary volunteers in the community

whose presence left my heart a little bigger.

Perhaps these are somewhat normal, everyday experiences in the

life of a reporter, but for me, it was more meaningful than that. I

had become a significant member of my community.

So at the end of last year, when Editor Tony Dodero offered me a

full-time position with the paper, how could I refuse?

Except, there was Rahul.

Rahul was my crazy Indian college friend who, upon our last

meeting and parting more than six years ago promised, “You must come

to my wedding.” As to whom he would marry and when, his parents would

arrange all of that.

Now he had returned to my life to fulfill his previous invitation

with promises of silk, gold and elephants. The news was sent across

the continents to all of our former college friends: He would pay for

all of our land expenses, we had only to come.

Costa Mesa is wonderful, but Calcutta was irresistible.

“I would love to accept your offer,” I answered Tony. “But ... .”

“You really want to go to India?” Tony asked.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Then I think we can wait for you.”

And with those words, I was free. I had everything I wanted.

Cutting my obligations short and quickly tying up loose ends, I

bought my ticket on a Thursday and left that next day, Friday.

An evening in Tokyo, a night in Taipei and then Calcutta. I met a

stranger on the journey, an Indian businessman with a broad smile who

asked, “Have you seen the Taj Mahal?”

“No,” I responded. “My third time to India, and once again, I will

not make it.”

“Delhi is my hometown and my wife is from Agra. I would like to

send you as my guest.” he replied, offering his card for emphasis.

“Call me.”

But I was busy. Over the next day, I was swept up in a flurry of

celebrations involving more than a thousand Indians and two dozen

foreigners from America, Japan, Germany and Singapore who had made

the journey. My friends, old and new, from near and far, had one

destination -- Rahul’s wedding.

Rahul was the guy we had teased in college. He was innocent,

disorganized, hyper and scatterbrained, and his Indian ways always

seemed a bit strange to the rest of us.

Now we were the ones out of place, mere players in his grand plan.

He had arranged fine hotels for relaxation, personal drivers for

adventure, buffet meals for any appetite and nightly parties for our

enjoyment. He was responsible, reliable and, I admit, even mature.

After an endless week of dancing and eating, my feet ached and my

stomach refused the most delicious of Indian curry and sweets.

My friend Rahul Kamani of the Kamani Mansion is a married man.

The celebrations had come to an end and Rahul took his wife back

to his home in Jamshedpur for the final ceremonies. I had two and a

half more days left in India -- enough time for a trip?

I could not forget the stranger, my new friend at the airport.

His proposal was unexpected and somewhat suspicious. But he was

offering me the Taj Mahal!

Mr. Gupta’s driver picked me up at the hotel with my airplane

ticket. His cousin Vikas met me in Delhi with clear instructions:

“She is our guest. Treat her like family.” Vikas sent me off with a

driver, a coupon for my hotel and a list of phone numbers, insisting,

“If you experience any discomfort, you must call me immediately.”

“You are the Maharajah, the Queen of India,” a young boy declared

as he pedaled me in his cart on the road to one of the most

breathtaking of Earth’s man-made monuments.

As I watched the sun rise, the most beautiful of days was

beginning. I wondered to myself how it was that I ended up in India,

standing in awe at the Taj Mahal with a job at the Daily Pilot that I

would return to within weeks. I asked the journalistic questions --

how, what, why?

Because the proposal was one I could not refuse.

And I said, “I do.”

* CORAL WILSON is the news assistant. She may be reached at (949)

574-4298 or by e-mail at [email protected].