Just before I left Delhi, I was on the street walking back to Meeta’s house when I had to dive out of the way of an oncoming auto rickshaw that seemed poised to kill me. As I jumped to his left, my trouser leg caught on a shard of metal sticking out from a car on my right, tearing a rather large gash in the side of my pants.

I was pretty lucky to get out without a scratch on me. Except, of course, the emotional scars of looking like a man of questionable fashion sense (and/or loose morals) while walking back.