4.7

The trip in the taxi from the airport into the heart of Mumbai was unlike anything Max had ever experienced. It seemed there were no road rules in India! On a broad two-lane highway they travelled five wide – buses, cars, trucks, bicycles, hand-trolleys, pedestrians – continually changing lanes in a mad scramble for tiny pieces of space. All this frantic activity was accompanied by a crazy cacophony of horns, continually warning of danger. And there was danger everywhere.

Amazingly – it seemed to work!

It seemed to be all about trust.

“How much did you spend on the beggars?” Rita asked.

“I have no idea.”

Max had noticed Rita had not even looked at the beggars. He didn’t blame her – they were very confronting. He’d had about twenty of them milling around him, jostling for tiny crumbs of money. For the first time in his life he’d felt really rich. And it had felt surprisingly unpleasant.

You felt the urge to give it all away…

But you knew if you did – you’d end up one of them.

“You won’t last long in India,” she said.

The taxi pulled up outside the hotel as the last strains of sunset were fading into the night. Blue, red and green lights twinkled like silent companions in the smoggy gloom out to sea.

The hotel was exactly what Max would have chosen – small, unpretentious – not at all flashy but positioned beautifully, right on the waterfront..

“This is on me,” Rita said as she bustled her way inside.

The boss, an overweight, overdressed, sweating wreck of a man lurked behind the desk with his hand in the till. On seeing Rita he began barking orders at the young porters.

Rita attended to the paperwork brusquely, showing no interest in any of the Indians at all.

Eventually the boss looked across at Max.

“And you?” he said, with a knowing smile.

“He’s with me,” Rita said, already heading for the stairs. “Just put him on my bill.”

“But… booking details?”

“They can wait,” she said without turning back.

The boss shrugged his shoulders as Max followed her.