Ranakpur

'I make you beautiful explanation,' says my guide, the novice priest, as we reach the end of the tour of the temple. 'Yes you have,' I concur. 'Here is a small gift,' I say, fishing out a few notes and slipping them discreetly to him.

Extraordinarily, however, like Oliver, the boy wants more. More?!

'I am a priest, I have no salary,' he says.
'But the temple takes care of your needs,' I say firmly. Plus grubbing for a few extra rupees isn't going to help you on your way to enlightenment, I feel like adding. Truth is, I might have been more generous had I not already squandered most of my small change on tips to the temple guards earlier in the afternoon.

'It is as you wish. You are very welcome,' he says, shooting me a wounded look, and I relent.
'Here, I have some more change after all,' I say grudgingly, pulling out a few more notes.
I am just about to turn and leave when he has a brainwave.

'Maybe you also have your country money?' he ventures.
'What, dirhams?'
'Dollars.' (The cheek!)
'No, dirhams – I live in Dubai.'
I hand him an Emirati bank note, leaving him puzzling over the value, and forfeit my blessing and the dab of saffron paste on my forehead.