Day 16 - Homage to Suriya

Tuesday 15 November

Our taxi is booked for 6.15 am, and the room 'phone buzzes with an (unasked for) "This is your wake-up call, sir" at 5.30. All is packed, and I say farewell to my room. I have loved its spaciousness, from marble floor to lofty ceiling with creaky fans, and especially the narrow balcony, a secret observatory of life in the street below. If I were a lady in purdah, this would be my Hawa Mahal. I forgive the advertised aircon, which is con but not air, and even the odd little roach scuttling across the floor. They have done me no harm. And, of course, the staff, ever-smiling, helpful and hopeful of backsheesh.

It is on the way to the airport that I make a discovery, or rather, a non-discovery. My (new) mobile phone has gone. Thinks, odd that I didn't hear it tinkling in the night, though I did have it at the Khosla. Perhaps I understand what the Muslim meant about "bad men"; did they distract my attention to the right while they removed it from my top left pocket? An old trick, and it's the fourth time I have been caught this way (Rome, Amsterdam, Mwanza). No fool like ... Or is the loss the product of my forgetfulness. The last time I used the 'phone was late at night on the balcony, so perhaps I left it there, out of sight and earshot. I speak to Oli (in Guildford) via a payphone and ask him to contact 02 to bar the SIM. But I'm sorry to lose mesmerising Dev's 'phone which, as he put it, "just feels so good in the hand."

At IGA airport I leave RB on the concourse (his flight to Dakka is later) and pay my final respects at the huge bronze statue of Suriya the sun god. Bye bye Delhi. Thanks for having me. Hope to see you again one day.

Note: Brief postscript may follow, then that's it. Richard abbeygarth@hotmail.com