Christopher Kremmer first set foot in India in 1990, as a young Australian reporter. In 1993, he married an Indian journalist, Janaki Bahadur. And in 2006 he published a sprawling portrait of India – Inhaling the Mahatma. Combining an objective, journalistic approach with a perspective influenced by living with an Indian family, Kremmer introduces the reader to an operatic cast of political Brahmins, Prime Ministers, cyber coolies, so-called messiahs of low castes, architects, missionaries, pandas, lawyers, marriage registrars, domestic helps and even naive hijackers of planes, all brilliantly nuanced.

Though Kremmer specifies that his portrayal of India’s momentous struggles focusses mainly on the past 15 years, which marked a decisive stage in the nation’s progress, his book, in fact, goes much beyond these years. From the epic age of the Ramayana, through the Mohenjodaro civilisation, Rajput and Mughal rules and colonial period to March 7, 2006, when the Sankat Mochan temple in Varanasi was rocked by powerful bombs, Kremmer encapsulates the entire history of the complex nation, moving from the micro to the macro with effortless ease.

What makes Inhaling… eminently readable are anecdotes from the writer’s carefully recorded notebook (he even jots down arguments his parents-in-law have on current events!). Whether it is his encounters with politicians like V.P. Singh and Amar Singh, who stand delightfully stripped of their pretensions, his coverage of a Rajiv Gandhi election campaign when the latter charmingly offers him an ice mint while popping lozenges himself, to keep him going through the rigours of campaigning in the heat of summer, or his neurotic hunt for the marriage registrar in the betel-stained, urine-stenched corridors of the Tis Hazari court, Kremmer captures the quirks and oddities of a difficult-to-define country in an amusing, entertaining manner. “Rather than rendering it in dry, historical terms, I have chosen to tell India’s story in the context of my own changing life there,” he explains in the preface to his book. “The experience of living within a Hindu family on the fringes of Old Delhi, more than anything else, allowed me to discern the fundamental difference between the tolerant Hinduism of the majority and the less appealing kind practised by power-hungry politicians.”

Inhaling... is therefore pleasantly devoid of pre-conceived ideas, pedagogical theories or rosy-eyed notions of Indian spirituality. Yes, he does seem to convert to Hinduism towards the end of the book, but he does so after a long-drawn search of his essential self. Dunking himself in the muddy waters of the Ganga, in Varanasi, clasping his hands together tight in front of a lowered forehead, he concludes profoundly, ‘Ishwar ek hain.’ Next moment, as he climbs the ghat towards his bundle of clothes, he hopes no thief has stolen his sandals. The ‘global gypsy’, who lives in Australia for the major part of the year, talks about his India experience.

Your first impression of India...
Most foreign visitors just want a first taste of India before deciding how long they’ll stay. I’d taken a job based in New Delhi without ever having visited it, so it was a bit of a gamble. Like it or not, I was coming for at least two years! It was eerie looking out over Delhi at night, from the plane window, at this vast city, which even then had a population almost twice that of my own country. I scribbled a note to myself promising to do my best to be fair in my reporting for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. I’ll never forget the date – July 11, 1990. Every year I mark the anniversary. It was one of those turning points in my life.

“The normal three-year stint in India was barely enough time to scratch the surface,” you say. How many years did it take you to scratch beneath the surface?
I remember leaving India in 1993 and thinking that, after Rajiv’s assassination, after caste politics, after Kashmir and Babri Masjid and the Mumbai riots, that the country would tear itself to pieces. I was living in Vietnam when I heard that voters in UP had turned away from the BJP. That was significant to me. It meant that just because politicians spoke the language of religion, it didn’t mean Indians were fooled by that. So that gave me a confidence in the voters’ intelligence that maybe I didn’t have before. Ever since, I’ve been stunned by the sophistication and wisdom of the verdicts crafted by India’s democracy. Becoming part of an Indian family was also immensely important. My wife Janaki’s parents have different views on politics; I respect both of them and I began to see that all sides in Indian politics have some grounds for their position. I realised that with India, the key is to hang around. Give it time, it will change your mind.

In the second chapter of your book, you said no power on earth would make you dunk your head in the polluted waters of the Ganga. But the book ends with you discovering freedom at Varanasi, when you take a dip in the same river, perhaps more polluted downstream than in its upper reaches. How did the change of heart take place?
I wanted Inhaling the Mahatma to be more than just a book. I wanted it to be an experience. So I decided to cast India’s changes and my own during the eight years I lived there, within the context of a new journey, my own personal yatra, which happened over a period of six months. For the first time I was completely free to reflect and explore without having to write for a daily newspaper about it. It was a profoundly important experience for me and it’s what lifts the book above most gora accounts.

If you had to use one adjective for Indian politicians, what would it be?
Clever. Perhaps, like Australian politicians, too clever for their own – and their country’s – good. But in the end, I gained a grudging respect for them. After all, a democracy cannot function unless some people enter the political fray. So, while most politicians serve vested interests and their own interests, they do facilitate the popular sentiment about where the country should go and often risk their lives to do that. As they say, democracy is imperfect, but show me a better system of government.

Your take on the Indian bureaucracy?
That’s such a big question. I mean, which part of the bureaucracy should we talk about? Everyone who knows India knows that some IAS officers are amongst the most dedicated and talented civil servants you could ever hope to meet. On the other hand, few would pretend that bribery and corruption are not entrenched in parts of the bureaucracy. The sad fact is that the reality of corruption has reached a point where people accept it, and have become resigned to it. I remember when Inder Kumar Gujral became Prime Minister and promised to end the corruption, people hoped that things would change. But he didn’t last long enough and anyway, it’s a massive undertaking. There was Tehelka and the evidence on film of political leaders taking bundles of cash across their desks. Even that didn’t lead to a fundamental change. I think it’s a work in progress. The media is doing a fantastic job exposing corruption and some NGOs are making progress in educating society to see corruption as a cancer that must be cured if India is to achieve its goals. It will take time.

In the horrific post-Ayodhya riots of Mumbai, a few weeks before your wedding, you found yourself questioning the wisdom of marrying into India. What are your sentiments today?
(Laughing) Well, Janaki and I have been married for 14 years, so obviously I changed my mind. I’m not sure whether that was just cold feet looking for a reason or not. Being married to someone from another culture and country has taught me that these differences are not really all that great. Certainly they are not the main things my wife and I disagree about. Really it comes down to your love and respect for an individual and how much you care about them. We felt related even before we got married.

What are some of the ‘India’ images that come to mind when you are in Australia?
There are about 150,000 Indians living in Australia, so one is constantly meeting them and there is no need of remembering. So I remember family, the in-laws and their very charming way of life, the garden and the household staff, some of whom have worked there since my wife was a child. They still call her ‘Baby’ even though she’s in her 40s now. I think of the magnificent landscapes of Rajasthan and Punjab, Himachal and Kerala, the Himalayas and the Ganga, and even UP. I’m quite fond of UP. Sometimes I miss the weather, the summer loo, and that rotting humidity as you wait for the monsoon. And, of course, the food.

Which is the aroma you yearn for in Australia?
Fortunately, Janaki comes from a long line of very adept Kayasth cooks, including her famous aunt, Madhur Jaffrey. My northern favourite would be an Old Delhi meat curry served with dahi, parwal, bhindi fried until its crunchy and a good Punjabi achchar. My southern favourite would be a good veg thali.

Which is the city you’d like to live in if you relocated to India?
Fortunately, I keep one foot firmly planted in India, so there is no need of relocating. My wife is an old Delhiwaali; the walled city and the area just north of it where our home is must rank as number one. But because I’m from Australia and grew up by the sea, I’ve often fantasised how nice it would be to live in Mumbai....if only I could afford to!

Where do you live in Australia? What do you do there?
Well, my Australian home is a 150-year-old stone cottage on a hill overlooking a village of 400 people. We’re about 600m above sea level, so every couple of years it snows. There are more cows and sheep than people, so it’s a nice contrast from crowded Delhi. Janaki and I move back and forth according to work and other demands, which suits us fine. I spend half my time writing books, and the other half writing stories for The Sydney Morning Herald and travel magazines. It’s a very fluid existence that suits my nomadic personality.