We’re at the night market. I’m with my Indian colleague and one of his friends, an eloquent man of about 70 who lives in Bangladesh but self identifies as a British Indian. He’s simply charming, regaling us with stories of his life in academia and development work. We’re buying sarees, me for myself, the men for their wives. I ask to see a brilliant purple piece of silk with gold embroidered flowers. I’m oohing and ahhing and admiring. The elderly gentleman clears his throat and speaks.

“I think this is a bit, ahem, gaudy. Perhaps more appropriate for a young girl of 18 or 20. Wouldn’t you prefer something more elegant?”