We’d been warned to expect to be hassled when we came to India. As two white European men we stand out a bit. If I’m honest, I’ve not found the beggars to be any worse here than in the UK. Not that seeing anyone beg is pleasant, but the part that is really hard is when it’s painfully thin small children begging. It’s gut wrenching.

Aside from from begging, there is often general hassle at railway stations. At most of the stations we’ve arrived at we have been immediately approached by people offering their tuk tuk, taxi, hotel or a tour guide services. Unusually, it seems to be me they are drawn to. I thought that with Michael being blond, he’d be the one who’d get the attention – but it appears I have a feature that draws people to me. 

My moustache has been much commented on. I’ve lost count of the times that, after they have finished badgering me, they sign off with ‘very fine moustache Sir’ or ‘Sir, I very much like your moustache’.  It’s very nice to receive such compliments, not least because there are no shortage of fine moustaches here in India.

I’ve read that for generations of Indian men, a moustache has been a must. Throughout history, it was thought that the more fabulous your facial hair was, the more masculine you were (that’s me, I’m so butch!). Before the eighteenth century only high caste men were allowed to keep moustaches. So, moustaches were seen as a symbol of power. 

Back home my brothers make sarcastic comments about my moustache – well listen up brothers, here, my facial hair makes me ‘cool’ and ‘powerful’, so take some advice from me – go with the mo bro.