When worlds collide

Now, most young people living in Delhi -- particularly foreigners -- have more than a few quibbles with their landlords. Either Aunty is overbearing, or Uncle drops into the flat unexpectedly, or they both harass you for keeping odd hours (even if it is for work).

S and I had remarkable luck with Dr. K, who is very hands off. He also has loaned us some furniture, allowed us to keep cats, and is generally genial.

But every once in a while, he has his moments.

S's phone rings.

"Hello, Dr. K, hello."

His face is contorted -- I can't tell if he is angry or in stitches. They speak for a few minutes, then S narrates the conversation for me:

"Remember Dr. K has a niece, yes? Well, his niece is getting married. So he wants me to take a picture of her to send out for matrimonials. 'S,' he says, 'she's a little fat, so you'll need to do something about that...'"

Smoke? Mirrors? Emergency liposuction? Not sure how he'll handle that one.

Still, a small price to pay for what is otherwise a relatively peaceful landlord-tenant relationship.