I came to India a year ago to find a village in which I could live and write but it was many months before I settled down happily in this Himalayan community. I wasted a lot of time looking for the “typical” village. Yet no such thing exists. Conditions are quite different from village to village. But the villages I stayed in had much in common---poor, dirty and backward. Often the villagers themselves were puzzled and doubtful. Why had I come? I had put aside my work as a political journalist because my ideas had changed. I had come to believe that what was happening in the Third World was more important than anything else. But to understand how three—quarters of the world population live, and what effect their future might have on ours, I felt that I first had to try and share their way of life. In the end I chose a mountain village because it was little cooler than those in the plains. I took the bus from town along a rocky road. Then came a rough walk down a steep path to the river. After this I began the climb into the hills. Whenever I stopped to catch my breath, there was a beautiful scene. After several hours’ walk the village came into sight.