'So do you just give them some Tammi flu, and send them on their way?' 'No, we detain them for seven days and then send them home.' Wow, I thought: imagine coming all the way out here then having to head back home early.  But these were Ironic thoughts as I would later find out.

We headed straight for the other airport to catch a flight out to the island of Langkawi, supposedly a place of true beauty, warmth and friendliness. We got to our hotel and rented a car, something called a proton which handled like a shopping trolley... a cheap shopping trolley, that didn't have wheels. We popped to some of the local beaches and a supermarket before heading back to our first hotel for the night. Where I excitedly let out my anticipation.

You see, since I was about 18, Langkawi had always had a particular hold over me (after seeing it in a holiday brochure), like some kind of hypnotist's pendulum, it had kept me fixated on it for the last decade and now, I was there, waiting for tomorrow, when I would be sped over to the private island where I had booked my stay.

Morning came and I found myself giddy and ready to head off on the speed boat to what I thought would be my own little slice of paradise.

It was nice.

Four days passed quickly, without outstanding or disappointing consequences. On the morning of the last day I found a new excitement within me, as that night I would be heading off to see a dear friend in Australia, but fate had other ideas.

Wifey woke uncomfortable, complaining of a stomach pain. I thought she was catching the Delhi-belly I had just gotten over, but along with the sickness of stomach and high temperature, but she had added one more symptom. She couldn't move.

I tried to cajole her to the bathroom, and at one point she dropped, I thought she was feeling weak, but it turns out she had passed out. I tried to get her up a couple of times but she burst into profuse sweating and was in obvious agony so I left her to rest on the bed, while I did my best Florence nightingale impression, but without the apron.

She drifted in and out of sleep like a feather floating in the breeze, never quite coherent, but never quite lost on me, and I spent the intervening hours making friends with HBO. And then suddenly around 8 PM she, like a woman possessed, got changed and told me she needed to get to a hospital.

I was surprised but got our stuff packed and quickly headed for the last boat off the island, the worker's boat. The water was choppy and the boat slammed down on wave after wave with judders and thuds more at home on a wwe wrestling mat. Still, twenty minutes later we were in a taxi headed to the hospital.

It was smaller than out hotel had been. The doctor spoke fluent English, and as Wifey explained the pain and the timings, he pressed her stomach at various points to see what the problem could be. He told us he was worried about her heart rate as it was over 130 (which is how fast it beats  when one  goes running - problem was she'd been lying down all day) As he worked, his wide moustache dropped further, as seriousness took hold of his face and he told us that we needed a specialist. Immediately.

She was carted to another room where a stomach scan was done and the specialist muttered something to her assistant who suddenly darted out of the room. The doctor asked us to focus on a screen, which looked like a messy etcha-sketch.  It was grey and black and meant nothing to me, but Deena being a doctor and the doctor,( who was also a doctor), seemed to understand it was serious. Apparently, one of the big patches of grey, which looked like Africa on a map, was internal bleeding.

'You have to go in for an emergency operation' she said. She nodded and I held her hand. The doctor explained the situation further and soon asked Wifey to sign some papers. It was happening so fast I had to keep looking around to make sure I was awake and not in some fast forwarding dream.

But there I was, a reality which found me saying what felt was a last 'I love you' to my dear wife and she had to start a sentence with the words 'if the worst should happen...' and then told me a few short but gut wrenching messages she would like passed on.  

She was taken away and I was left in a short corridor which at either side led on to roofless sections of the hospital. It started to storm.

I prayed, then prayed again before huddling under my jacket on some benches, staring at the blue door behind which she was being operated on. Or so I thought, for as soon as I had managed to drown out the storm and the chime of the broken elevator in-front of me, with its incessant pinging, a tiny man in a blue gown came out to me. He introduced himself as the anaesthetist.  I asked him if everything was ok and he told me that they hadn't started yet as they were waiting for the correct blood match for a transfusion. 'You can have my blood' I said thinking that might help, and then quickly realising I was being stupid, until the anaesthetist answered 'sure, if we need some I'll come and find you.' At which point he walked off.

I dragged myself back to the bench and lay. Managing to keep my face intact, but my mind was wandering: 'what If she dies', 'stop being stupid, she'll be fine', 'yeah but what if' 'what will happen to the body'... such worries streamed into my mind and I ended making an international call to my Shiekh. I quickly told him the situation and he said it was better if the body was buried in the place the person died. Oh.

'Well what if I get her on the next plane home' 'no, for health and safety reasons, many airlines would want to replace her insides with pulp, due to rotting and bacteria, and the Prophet (pbuh) said that damaging the body of a dead person is felt by them in the same way as it would be by a living person'. Oh number 2.

I don't really recall the next few hours. They blurred into thoughts of me having to look at her dead body, explain to the parents, and in another, imagine seeing her smiling and being alone. The hospital was empty, the one security guard I passed was asleep and I only had animals for company, there were ants on the floors, lizards streaming across the walls and, I swear to GOD, at one point, a ginger and white cat walked past the door of the operating theatre. It strolled through like it owned the place and I went back to more prayers.

2 hours later the doctor came out. She was alive, stable but had to stay in for a few days observations. She quickly left and where I had stood to talk to her I held out my arms and loudly, tearfully thanked God she was well. Anyone watching, due to my standing position and raised arms, would have thought I was in mid-worship of the broken elevator.

I cannot explain how infuriating the next few days were, trying to get stuff sorted with the islanders - and I will only regale one more episode. The day after the operation I asked reception to call me a cab - they said ten minutes, I waited twenty - no sign. I called again - they said ten minutes - I waited another twenty - no sign. This happened two more times and I was fit to explode. I had not been that angry in years. My mind grew malicious and I thought to myself 'I'm going to find your address, shit in a box, and send it to you'. Something that felt like rationale peeped into my thoughts and then I figured 'no, im gonna find your address, shit in a box, cut holes in the top of the box so you can smell it, and write 'this is you' on the top of the box' and then I suddenly felt sad, emotionally drained and decided I'd just have a massive go at the cab driver when he finally got there.

The driver turned out to be a diminutive, portly old man, who shuffled rather than walked and as soon as I saw him, I almost drunkenly realised it was all emotions about Wifey.

Don't think she will be flying again anytime soon - but as soon as I find myself on a plane again, I will be in touch.

So we moved on out of beautiful Kashmir, but not with any ease or finesse. The security at the airport on the way out was nothing short of Hitler-riffic. I had to show my passport eight times, had my bags searched twice (and my underwear pulled out on display for the terminal to see) , they went through my camera for some unknown reason and then to top it all off... when I got off the plane in Delhi, I was asked to show the boarding pass for the flight I had just been on, presumably to check whether or not I had jumped on to the flight somehow at 30,000 feet. Bizarre doesn't even begin to cover it; but the worst experience was being patted down by one guard, who stopped with his left-hand on my right hip, facing me. He said 'ok' which I presumed meant I could go, so I started moving, but he didn't retract his hand AT ALL, in fact he slid it right over my groin I was walked past. I was too shocked to complain.

Wandering out into Delhi in a bit of an abused daze, we made our way to the hotel and took a brief nap before heading out into Delhi for a purposeless stroll, it was crammed, rammed and completely claustrophobic. The streets around the city were as tight as they were loud. Never have I seen so much reversing; as many a-time two cars enter a street and after a short bout of glare down, one decides to do the decent thing and back up. It all works fine until a cow decides it also wants to check the road out. There are traffic wardens, with whistles, who blow like their lives depends on it, but considering there is a symphony of car horns blaring at any given time, his efforts are more sympathy than order inducing.

Being of course in the home of curry, many other things were induced. Namely mass eating of curry, by me! In the 8 days in India so far, I have eaten around 15 separate curries and was enjoying myself no end. Until the... let's say... side effects caught up with me. But that wasn't til the next day: on the trip to the Taj Mahal.

I have always been drawn to that building, it boldly stands for something pure and masterful, it was in fact the main reason I came to India. So I haggled my way into cab and endured a 5 hour trip to Agra; this wouldn't be fun at the best of times, considering the car was the size of a fiat uno, but the traffic made it worse, while the 'side effects'  of the curries nearly made it down right embarrassing. My stomach started rumble 2 hours in and I tried to ignore it but a pit stop ensued involving a door-less and ...tissue-less trip to a squat-hole-in-the-ground toilet. More details are in no way necessary but suffice to say it put a dampner on the rest of the day, until I saw that gleaming white dome.

The Taj Mahal was built by a Muslim Moghul for the 3^rd of his wives around the 17^th century- partly out of love and partly because she told him to. Apparently this wife was the only one to bear him children (thanks to a black stone, according to legend) but she fell ill and asked him to build a dome over her grave. She died soon after the Taj Mahal was begun. Ultimately it took some 20 years and 18,000 slaves. I found the history interesting but open gazing at, walking into, around and through the building, I couldn't shake a feeling of being underwhelmed. It is stunning. No doubt. But a lot of people were sleeping in the building, burping, blowing snot shots and one kid even came out with a break dance inside...which all in all took away from the majesty I had envisaged. I stared, took the pictures, prayed at one of the adjacent mosques it is flanked by and tried to look at it with fresh eyes, managing only to be left hungry for something else. It wasn't disappointing, but it just wasn't as illuminating as I'd imagined.

My high hopes had fallen heavily, and Delhi then conspired to worry me even more. On an 11 pm return to the hotel I restlessly switched on the TV looking for a decent film -  I was greeted by Val Kilmer's - The Saint. A film to give every primary school child the full confidence that they could one day be the lead in a Hollywood film - but this was not the final of my Delhi disappointments - they were to be found in the commercial breaks. What do you think was the most frequently advertised item? Mobile phones? Holidays? Cereal? I reckon even if I allowed for twenty guesses you wouldn't get it - the answer is: The morning after pill.  One of the brands was even called 'Unwanted 72'. The advert comes on and a woman is crying and spewing quick Hindi alone in her room. Cut to white background and then the product box. Voice over man in Hindi says something and the next shot is of the woman now silently walking along smiling her ass off, holding onto a man's arm.

Maybe I'm being old fashioned, but I really hope that doesn't make its way onto our screens. The next most oft repeated adverts were for products that make your skin whiter. Creams, lotions and clinics all directed at making people look like sun deprived pasties. Strange considering how much time people in the UK spend on tanning. Anyway, around 2 in the morning (while I mulled over the contraceptives, Val Kilmer's retarded accents and how the use of one 40 years ago could have stopped me being afflicted by the latter) my stomach gave way to the most robust round of projectile vomiting I have ever witnessed, and being the sober one on many a night out , I've seen more than my fair share as I'd always be the designated looker-afterer.

 A week of curry shot itself back up at speeds previously only achieved by the millennium falcon and the bitter bile that escaped not only burnt my throat in a hell worthy display of pain but also probably took off quite a few layers of the toilet basin's enamel.

'Delhi Belly' had struck.

Needless to say curry is now and forever more banned from my palette. Seriously, on a ginger walk round town the next day the sight of a curry house made me gag... so guess what I had for dinner... Subway! That's right - safe as houses, commercial, fast food about as culture specific as a plain piece of white paper and tasted pretty much the same.

 I head now for the sunnier climbs of Malaysia's Langkawi, hoping not to meet any more 39 year old travellers chasing teenage girls, as was my misfortune in Delhi - imagine telling a stranger that was your goal within minutes of meeting someone? Anyway...

Pashwari nan is not the same as Ashwarya rai

Love and salutations as ever