India's not for everyone but it's my ancestral home and I absolutely love it. My mother, who gave me the genes that make it my heritage, couldn't understand my passion for the place.

As she had only visited once I think she felt she missed what I saw. She'd say that she wanted to go there with me. I wasn't keen. I love to travel alone and, although my mother moves quickly, I felt she'd bog me down. You know – she'd want to do this while I'd want to do that and one of us would have to miss out.

Also my mother is beyond being a neat freak, there's definitely some deep psychological reason why there cannot be a speck of dust or a hair out of place, in things around her. And of course that's annoying and tiring. And to be blunt, India can be filthy, in many cases absolutely filthy.

But my mother turned 75 in February and I thought it was plain selfish of me not to take her with me when that crazy British Airways special dropped into my lap last year ($50 round trip to Britain in World Traveler Plus). So I booked it and in February gave my mother the surprise of her life.

Then I thought it could make an interesting article – my adventures in India with my mother so I approached The Royal Gazette Editor and he agreed.

We didn't learn of a BA upgrade to business class until we checked in and even after three weeks in Incredible India, that first leg on BA remains one of the most comfortable parts of the trip. My mother had no idea of the grandeur of the cabin and later laughed that she had packed sandwiches. We had more food than we could eat, and a restful sleep in a flat bed.

At Gatwick we switched to Emirates airline. We stopped in Dubai for a few hours and reached Delhi two days after we had left Bermuda. It was about 3 a.m. and we took a cab to our hotel. The driver had great difficulty finding the place and with almost no one on the street, other travellers may have become scared. But I knew we'd eventually find the place and I'd be able to get a good sleep in the comfortable bed in the room. I knew that bed was comfortable because I checked it out online. I had every faith the place was great.

When we drove up to Khalish Regency Hotel the cab driver got out and knocked on the door. It was locked. After a few minutes a skinny scruffy man answered and went to get someone else. A slightly tubby manager didn't apologise or hold back on profuse yawning and eye rubbing. The skinny man walked us up six flights of stairs to our third floor room and opened the door.

It wasn't what I saw on the Internet. This wasn't going to be a treat for my mother. She looked worried and asked if there was a bathroom. We were shown to the en-suite facility where there was no delineation between the shower and the floor.

We were tired. We inspected the pillow and sheets, decided they were clean, and tucked in. It might look better in the morning.

After about five hours sleep we awoke extremely well rested. The queen-sized bed (although my reservation was for two singles, the skinny man looked exasperated when I queried this) was comfortable. There were loads of light switches a fan and an air conditioner. When we turned on the air conditioner, just to test it out, it sounded as though the room was going to transport us somewhere by air. We turned it off.

There was hot water and a bucket in the shower. I suggested to my mother to bathe by bucket so as to have better control over the water quality (I'd brought a bottle of Dettol). She obeyed and we both felt well rested and clean when we left the room.

We spent the whole day in Delhi. I ate breakfast from a street vendor to my mother's horror until the plate came and she couldn't resist digging in herself. But she was preoccupied with finding a shopping mall or market. We spent the entire day trying to find an open shop – Monday all the stores are closed, but anything save shopping was a bore to her.

At nightfall we learned of an evening market and easily reached it by foot. My mother was excited. Too excited. You cannot possibly get good bargains if you excitedly announce how much you love the slipper, the sheet set, the shirts or even incense.

But she couldn't contain herself and paid the price.

The next day we flew to Varanasi, a holy city that the sacred river Ganges runs through. I chose Varanasi as the place to witness Holi, the Hindu festival of colours where dye is thrown on everyone. My mother wasn't looking forward to this.

As soon as we arrived and settled into our hotel we took a lazy boat ride down the river. Our captain only spoke Hindi and could explain nothing along the route. He did manage to tell me that we should take the ride again to watch the sunrise and I agreed.

Mother and I happily ate at a clean restaurant but the next morning she wasn't feeling well. I took the romantic boat ride alone, watching the funeral pyres burn on the beach lighting a little candle amid some rose petals and letting it float away.

The captain had me back to the hotel before 7 a.m. This was necessary because apparently women are not safe in Varanasi at the start of Holi festivities. There are accounts of women attacked by groups of men if they are out. So we stayed in.

That news was more than a little disappointing, as I'd specifically booked the trip to coincide with Holi. But from the balcony of our hotel we'd have a great view of the activity. At least we should have. I suddenly joined my mother in a bout of Delhi belly. We were so drained that we slept right through the festivities waking in the late afternoon into what seemed to be a dream, red, pink and green people all over the street.

We spent a week in Hotel Ganges View never venturing too far because mother was sick. And when she'd feel a bit better, I'd be down. It was quite funny except I sensed she was scared. Scared when she felt sick and perhaps even more nervous when I was down. What if she had to go out and find help for me on her own?

Luckily it never reached that stage. We'd walk up the street visit a shop or two, eat the curry, completely enjoy it and then take turns running in the room.

The area we were in is called Assi Ghat. Most who visit Varanasi move from ghat to ghat. Not us.

What we did was the equivalent of coming to Bermuda and spending an entire week on Bermudiana Road, walking to the ferry and taking a ride around the harbour once.

At times I felt our Varanasi stay might have been fated. According to the Hindu religion it is auspicious to die there, and many Indians make a concerted effort to be there when they feel their days are numbered.

But we survived and we loved our stay. We delighted in returning to the cafés we'd found day after day, eating and drinking the same things. Remembering a wonderful ginger fizz drink has us yearning to return despite our intestinal problems.