Mumbai is wearing the heat like a thick, winter duvet, hugged in close and pulled up around the ears. It’s impossible to walk for two minutes and not sweat; it’s impossible to stand still for two minutes and not sweat. In fact, for these two months, sweat, and the resulting ‘sweat management’, becomes pretty much my entire identity.

Four years seems to be a universally recognised length of time necessary to prepare for something. In my case, four years is how long it has taken to negotiate my terms of engagement with Mumbai and, as a result, I am finally ready to start accepting Mumbai for what she can offer me, and to stop berating her for not being something that she’s not.

In Mumbai, people don’t talk about ‘moving house’, they talk about ‘shifting’. I don’t think anyone realises quite how apt a term this is because when it comes to moving house in this city, just about everything associated with the process is shifty.

My dear boy, apple of my eye, thief of my sleep, tester of my patience, questioner of my decisions: what a life you lead.