Fool that I am I cannot bring myself to ditch Alan Bennett in a budget Nagpur hotel room. He’s such a bulky book; for sure I can’t take him back to Britain. But he’s been a friend these past few weeks and I would like to think he’ll be read again by someone who’ll understand. This seems unlikely if I leave him here, but where better I do not know. Tadoba, Pench, Kanha, each as unlikely as the last. ‘Set the book free,’ said the one who gave him to me. I shall, but almost certainly in the wrong habitat.