As we stepped out of the arrival lounge at the Indira Gandhi airport, the western sky was alit with a glorious sunset. I took that to be an auspicious sign for the rest of our visit. But I had not counted on Delhi's rush hour traffic which put paid to my dream of sitting in a comfortable bar well before the evening was under way and enjoy the change from Pakistan where such activities can take place only indoors.
I did, however, manage to keep a grip on my enthusiasm. Only to find it dipping further when I entered the International Youth Hostel in Chanakyapuri where we were meant to stay. Not that there was anything wrong with the hostel; indeed in the next few days I took quite a liking to it. It was just that I was expecting military clubland and liveried waiters taking quiet orders. Instead, I found myself being transported to my college days.
To their credit, the two generals in our group put up stoically with what was on offer, including the four-bed mini-dorms where we were to spend the night. It was only me, a mere ex-captain, who was acting snobbish. But my mind was made up and I told Gen Naseer Akhtar with whom I was sharing the room that I wouldn't be going to Calcutta.