The guy smiled – incredulous –

“Nothing?”

“No – absolutely nothing,” Max said.

It was the simple truth – and it didn’t matter. Nothing much really mattered. If in the end the guy ripped him off, well – too bad. Hadn’t he made a vow to himself to take a few risks once he got to India? Wasn’t that the plan? Wasn’t that what writing was all about – taking risks? Who would bother reading a writer who wasn’t at least brave?

And who knows – it might be interesting.

You’ll never know unless you do it.

He introduced himself –

“I’m Max, he said.

“I’m Padam,” the guy replied, flashing a broad smile.

He looked a little younger than Max, around twenty or so. Immaculately dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt, he was very good looking in a conservative way, with his hair neatly parted and a high-riding, fastidiously trimmed moustache.

Mate…

For all you know…

This bloke could be a Bollywood star!

9.2

Rita rolled over in her sleep – draping her slender arm across the bed.

9.3

As the first strains of sunrise arched triumphantly, like gigantic flaming arrows, over the Indian sky, Max and his new friend strolled along the promenade, past small groups of colourfully dressed men setting up their stalls for the day. Curiously, these men seemed to know him, smiling warmly as he passed – softly touching him with a flick of the eye as if saying –

“Mate… great to see you again”.

It was a fleeting feeling amongst the competing impressions – an almost imperceptible flash of paranoia bubbling to the surface. No one said a word, but the way these complete strangers embraced him with their eyes felt strangely familiar – like they were old friends from a past life.

Are Indian people normally this friendly?

Are they like this with everyone?

Or is this specially for you?