Sarah wasn’t at all sure they had such a thing in Calcutta, but said nothing as she followed her sister down the steps and hurried through the teeming rain into the terminal building.

The first thing to hit them was the all-pervading smell of mixed spices with the tang of onions, garlic and curry powder which seemed to hang in the humid air like a thick pall. The second was one of too many people crammed together in the reception hall, their sing-song voices clamouring to be heard in the confusion of noise and colour. The third, and most uncomfortable, was the overtly hostile stares.

As they stood there amid the babble of noise and confusion, an obsequious and rather plump Indian man in a crumpled linen suit pushed his way through the melee and introduced himself. He was their guide and spoke excellent English, assuring the bewildered flying-boat passengers that he’d soon have them at the very finest hotel in Calcutta.

He clearly knew his way through the red tape of the chaotic customs system, for they were soon following him outside to a covered walkway where he pointed out with great pride the ramshackle bus that was coughing exhaust fumes by the steps.

Sarah watched as their luggage was packed on top of the bus and firmly tied down by the porters. The bus was positively ancient, with bald tyres and rusting bodywork, but every inch of it was decorated with lurid designs of every colour imaginable, with the added flourish of scarlet and yellow swags and tassels, flags, tinsel and streamers and even tiny bells strung from ribbons. In fact, there were so many things dangling over the windscreen, Sarah was sure the driver couldn’t see much of where he was going.

A swarm of ragged, barefoot urchins suddenly came from nowhere, their hands out, or tugging at their clothes as they begged and yelled and chattered for money. Their guide shouted at them to little avail, then chivvied everyone on board.

The inside of the bus was stifling even with the windows down as far as they would go and the leather seats were cracked and spewing horsehair stuffing. The door was shut and the driver set the bus off with a crunch of gears and a groan of reluctance, the swarm of begging children chasing after it, still yelling.

Their guide extolled the glories of the ancient city as they trundled along at an alarming pace, narrowly missing meandering, skinny cows, darting dogs and children. The rain was hammering down, filling the potholes and filthy gutters to wash a flood of debris beneath people’s feet and into the doorways of shops and homes.

Sarah could see by her sister’s expression that she too was reminded of the poorer areas in Malaya and Singapore, but the poverty and sheer volume of people here was quite overwhelming.

It was with great relief that they turned in through a set of elaborate gates and saw their hotel. It looked like a palace, with lush gardens of exotic flowers and cooling palm trees, raked driveway and marble steps leading to a marble-floored veranda where servants waited in their uniforms of scarlet and gold embroidered jackets, white trousers and leather sandals.