Fingers had been cut off, he declared darkly, but relented. After winding our way through the metropolitan mess called Agra, where we're shortly to hold our Summit, we arrived at the parking lot, a kilometer away from the Taj Mahal itself. No cellphones, no umbrellas, no pan masala, no cigarettes, nothing but "ladies' handbags", read a signboard, but we nodded our tacit approval and left behind our rain protection.
