Homebody

ecently we had a number of guests livingwith us. I know I make it sound like a herd, but it was really only threepeople. They came separately and stayed one at a time. They were all very niceand if I didn’t prefer being solitary, I would have enjoyed having themaround. Actually, I DID enjoy having them around, but had to make that previousstatement in order not to ruin my image as a professional recluse.

Two of them were newcomers to India. I have taken to warning first-time visitorsto India not to stay with me because I will only give them the grimmest possibleview of what they’ll find when they get here: murderous traffic, inclementweather, pollution and hosts who prefer never to leave the house. They persistin coming nevertheless and to my surprise even manage to have a good time (or sothey tell us).

One was lissom, blonde and idealistic. She had heard hair-raising stories aboutDelhi’s finest, with the result that every time she returned from anexpedition to the outside world without getting raped it was with a sense ofhaving scaled Everest barefoot. The other one was a young man, and thereforeless vulnerable to the attentions of Delhi’s testosterone-enriched sharks.Both claimed that their experiences weren’t a tenth as bad as we’d led themto believe. The third has stayed with us a couple of times already and says shefeels safe so long as she’s got our cook’s soup to come back to each day.

So ... have the capital city’s street-side manners actually improved? Or is itjust that our security systems (private taxis, modest clothes, no late nights)are watertight? I’m hoping we never find out.