The community is, as you might expect, active and well organised. It brings out an annual publication, the GSA Directory, through which every Gujarati knows every other Gujarati, husband, wife and child.

Lap of nature: Driving down a four lane inter-state highway from Little Rock, we branch off into a single lane road that literally tears 20 miles into a deep, dark forest. Almost suddenly we pass, dreamlike, through a winding road with 50-foot-tall trees on either side, rather like a battalion of the best soldiers. Five minutes later, we emerge on an open stretch with fields laden with haystacks, reminiscent of the countryside in India. We are close to a marvel of human endeavour: the Maunselle Park.

The park stands on the banks of a mighty river, the Arkanas (pronounced Arkansaw), flowing from the Rock Hills, cutting across Arkansas state, the home state of President Bill Clinton, and merging later with the yet mightier Mississippi. It was an awe-inspiring sight, reminding me of our own Narmada in spate.

We were not alone, of course. The park was dotted with tall trees, lush lawns, parking plots and a large gathering of people. The people, in fact, summed up the essence of America: Men, women and children of all colours and races, clad mainly in shorts and T-shirts, some sporting the logos and icons of sporting heroes. There was a sprinkling of sarees and salwar-kameez as well. The more enterprising brought their own tents, and some their mobile homes, a typical American innovation on wheels. These families would spend their week-end or more, to be in tune with nature.

Maunselle Park is probably ten times larger than Sayaji Baug, and the attention paid to human comfort infinitely greater. The park has numerous rectangular lawns, each with a fixed solid stone table and stone benches, large enough to accommodate a group of eight or so.

The clean, concrete roads that circle the park are wide enough to permit cars, vans and even station wagons. No vehicle fumes; that is unthinkable here. Every few hundred yards there are what they call here rest rooms, the American name for toilets. It's a part of the culture: respect for the human being and his dignity.

There is much to see, much to learn. Sayajirao did it a hundred years ago on his travels round the world.

While returning home, along the same winding road, the sun was setting and the sky was crimson, russet, dark and blue; all colours at the same time. I was reminded of Robert Frost's immortal lines: The woods are lovely, dark and deep/But I have promises to keep/and miles to go before I sleep/And miles to go before I sleep.

The author, a historian, writer, raconteur and social worker, is on a four-month visit to the US. He will contribute to Vadodara Newsline a fortnightly column on his experiences abroad. Readers who may wish to interact with him can e-mail him at: buch@aristotle.net.