Excited at the prospect of staying with a host family, we made our way to the household where we were greeted by a family of three; Sita, Durga and their son Prawesh. Having never experienced anything like that before, it felt quite weird – as if we were invading their privacy and territory; their really, really nice and exorbitant territory. With fresh namaste’s and sindoors, we were made to feel at home right away, albeit one of us unintentionally rubbing off the vermillion didn’t really give that impression. My god was that hilarious. Of course such a show of disrespect would come from one of the most respectful people on the face of the planet – by mistake… (I’ll never let him live that one down!)

After a failed attempt at fixing his forehead, we unloaded our luggage in our rooms and, still sweaty, stinky and fully unpresentable, made our way to the kitchen where we’d have some much-needed dinner. We sat down on the floor by a low-lying table and waited for the food to be served, as the most heavenly aroma wafted tantalisingly into our nostrils. In front of us, Sita; our host mother laid the most gorgeously arranged dish of dal. Famished, we all started digging in before she joined us. Eventually, she did sit down and much to our surprise and slight apprehension, she downed the whole dish fist by fist; as is customary in their culture. All I could think of was how convenient that would be once you get to do the dishes. Still can’t get over having potatoes under your fingernails though.