When my British pen-friend visited me in Mumbai years ago, I was embarrassed. What a din our incorrigible Radhabai made when washing the dishes, and why on earth did my neighbours holler on the phone?
Then the monsoons arrived. And I saw why we were incapable of being as whispery and decorous as I’d have liked. We took our cue from the bipolar weather gods! The monsoons were our Ms Manners. This wasn’t mercy that ‘droppeth as gentle rain from heaven’. This was life. And it was big. “We are pagan,” I told Brian, jauntily. “Nothing faint-hearted about us.”