But in the heat and hectic pace of India, agitation and aggravation sometimes smothered my benevolent nature, and I occasionally became your typical Western TET—Totally Exasperated Traveler. And what was even worse—I discovered fragments of a true colonial Englishman lurking in my subliminal regions and didn’t like him at all…. Hot! It’s unbelievably hot in Allahabad, as only India can be, leaving you drenched, drained, and wandering in a druglike trance between infrequent patches of shade. I was so glad to be leaving. Just a couple of things to do—make an important phone call to the United States and catch the 7:30 P.M. train to Delhi. I had two hours, more than two hours. Plenty of time. No need to rush in this interminable heat. The manager of Allahabad’s best hotel was a skinny little weasly faced man with a penchant for pomposity that exceeded the absurd. He was obviously fully aware of the power of his position and loved every disdainful moment of his dealings with guests.
