So the phone rings in the room. I pick it up (like what else??) and a voice says, in a very strong, Indian accent: “is that Andrew Convay?”

Which, other than the regional mispronunciation (I struggle with Murgh Meganhi), is my given name. But the only people who ever use it are my mother, and as she was never an Indian, and she passed away 3 years ago, it was unlikely to be her, and telesales people. Because the lists they buy are from banks, official places and others in which I would be included in my full and proper form.

Fortunately, before I managed to lash out with the normal string of expletives about not having ever been (mis-)sold PPI, not wanting to sue my bank for holding my money, not interested in making a claim for a motor accident 3 years ago that I never had, I remembered I was in Delhi. And it was our guide calling to tell us of his arrival for our Delhi tour, part 1: ‘Old Delhi’. And he is, unsurprisingly Indian. I asked if he has a brother, maybe, who is involved in any of the above, but he doesn’t. Must be more than 2 Indians then.

And when you go to Old Delhi, you find that indeed to be true. There are 2 million cars, bikes, tuk-tuks, rickshaws and motorcycles, and that’s just on the side roads. Though its all pretty much side roads in the old bit. New Delhi is… errr… well, newer, bigger, more grand, full of forts and palatial embassies and governmental buildings of grandeur and splendidness, and wide roads. So the traffic jams are much bigger. There’s still 2 million on each of those roads, few horses thrown into the mix, cattle, dogs, goats, but mainly jams. Endless fucking traffic jams. Makes London look like the Nurbergring.

Fortunately there are very strict rules, otherwise it would be madness, pandemonium and sheer insanity out there. Here are the rules:

Never look for other cars/bikes/dogs/whatever; THEY WILL GET OUT OF THE WAY, you just go where you want, even if its the wrong way down the carriageway (as our driver did, into 3 lanes of the wrong carriageway).

Honk your horn to let other people know you’re there. Or if you’re no longer there. Or if you intend at some stage to be there. Honk to let people in (like they’d stop even if you weren’t), honk to stop people coming in (they won’t hear it) and honk all pedestrians.

Give way to no-one, ever.

If there are three lanes marked on the road; make a 4th. Then a 5th. They’ll squeeze up, really, they will. Oh, and never drive at more than 3mph. Could be dangerous.

We were on a cycle rickshaw. We survived. Just. OMG.

Happy whatever fucking day it is; I really have no idea.

A xxxx