I looked at the magpie outside my flat window in London, looking for food in the wet grass. It was December in London and I was getting ready for my trip to India. I kept thinking of the days I had spent in Kolkata and the friends I was about to spend time with.

I went to Loreto Day School , an Irish convent run by Irish nuns. I have never had so much of joy as I had in those fifteen years of school life under the strict guidance of the nuns. They gave us respect, joy and also the right values. They taught us to always respect our own culture and heritage and also have the same respect for other cultures. I was brought up in strict discipline at home, which was complimented with the strictness in school life.

I remembered with delight the leadership training course that I went to in Bihar. It was a course I will cherish all my life. Among the joys, the lessons and the fun on this trip were also the beginning of a friendship between a boy and a girl of different ethnic backgrounds, to come together for life and give birth to three wonderful boys who have now grown up. Those were the days I thought of and got back to my packing.

Times have changed and so have people's wishes and desires. My oldest brother used to send me chocolates in the 1960s and I would save the shining paper after having the chocolates. Forty years have passed and now I was putting chocolate boxes I had bought for my friends' children into my suitcase.

Suddenly I realised I had to buy gifts for the nieces and nephews I have in Bangladesh. I quickly put the gifts I had bought for them into my suitcase. After all, I was going to visit them as well. I had emigrated to Bangladesh on a cold wintry day in 1981 after the demise of my mother. It was a very traumatic experience for me. I had to leave all my memories, my belongings, my emotions and my friends forty days after my mother's death because I was a girl, was unmarried and so could not live alone. This change had a very negative impact on me. I was depressed, sad, all my energies depleted when I reached Dhaka to live with a sister , who was the only person who agreed to house me at that time. She is someone who soothed my wounds. My sister cared for me like a mother, friend and guide and so did her children. Though I missed Kolkata all the while, I found joy in the little family that welcomed me to their home in Dhaka and gave me a permanent place in their generous hearts. The bonds of love and trust have grown even deeper.

I now had to live on memories of Kolkata and the life I had led there. I had built my life with them, shared the good times and the bad, laughed and cried over the music and films and the food we shared together. I found employment in a school and within a year I was promoted to the post of vice principal. While working there I met my husband, who was young and vibrant. And I thought he resembled Woody Allen. Little did I know that I was to be his bride over a year later.

I am now in Delhi, at Jawaharlal Nehru University, where my husband is a Fellow doing comparative research on Deshbandhu Chittaranjan Das, Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. It is a beautiful place. I get up in the ambience of the fauna and flora and look at peacocks outside my window, the rabbits that scurry about here and there and the multi-plumed birds that paint the surroundings with the hues of the rainbow.

Earlier, I visited Delhi in the late 1950s with my mother and walked, holding my brother's hand, by the Taj Mahal. I witnessed the spendour of the shrine in Ajmer and laid a “chaadar” of flowers for Khwaja Gharib Nawaz. I visited the city again in the 1980s with my oldest sister. And I remember visiting Jaipur watching the Palace of Mirrors in Jaipur in utter astonishment.

I marvel at this land of diversity, the astonishing weave of multiculturalism that is so vibrant here. I noticed this trend at Delhi-Haat a few days ago with my friend. There were stalls from all the states, from Rajasthan to Haryana and from Orissa to Kashmir. Each stall was a display of all the rich traditional crafts that need special appreciation and support from those who have access to it. The poverty that some of the artisans go through touches the thoughtful buyer who does bargain, and it is reflected in the products that have been produced with the positive pain and pleasure of craftsmanship. It was a very cold morning and as we sipped coffee in one of the cafeterias, I wondered about the chill on cold nights and the sweaty days of summer when these artisans wove the products .

Most artisans, I was told, were women and I salute them for their love, patience and the resilience that they go through in this land of different cultures. I recall women of this land who are part and parcel of the rich Indian heritage and culture. I recall the valiant Jodhabai who left behind a rich legacy. She was a symbol of communal harmony, particularly known for reforming Mughal cuisine and introducing vegetables in meat curries. There is too the exuberance of Mirabai , the respect this country gives to the mother, the only nation that calls its country 'Ma', mother.

The richness of this landscape is embossed with the teachings of Nizamuddin Aulia and the fragrant poetry of Amir Khusro and Mirza Ghalib. As I sit listening to melodies on Kolkata's Tara Music channel, I recall Rabindranath Tagore's song, 'Tomar pujar chhale tomaye bhulei thaki”, and Swami Vivekananda's insights into life and living that millions in this troubled world reflect on.

Nizamuddin Aulia speaks to us thus: 'There is no other purpose greater in life than to bring happiness to human hearts.' That is the essence of life, the reality we aspire to.

Syeda Zakia Ahsan is a freelance parenting trainer-cum-mentor and charity worker based in London.