Naturally, I'm counting down.
17 days to go.
Then I pack my bags, say my goodbyes to people and places and begin the drudgery of airport-hopping & thumb-twiddling at transit lounges.
Drowsily stare at the orange-yellow glow struggling to make it's presence felt through the smog.
Stretch my legs, yawn & stumble across the downward-sloping gangway.
Imagine it a fraction of a second before I smell it - phenyl.
Feet involuntarily move faster as the babble of languages, none of them English, wash over me.
Pray that I can spot my bags on the conveyor belt.
Brood about the prospect of the corpulent Customs chaps hassling me without reason.
Grin uncontrollably as I step out into the sultry night air of Bombay.
Song for the moment: Baker Street - Gerry Rafferty