I was practically marooned in Mumbai on my way to Agra after an encounter with a beautiful Indian woman called Priya.

She bought me a beer and after a couple sips, I woke up several hours later on a bench in the main Transit Lounge. My wallet was gone, and so was my passport and ticket. Beggars with pitiable faces pressed against the windows seemed to feel sorry for me.

Once my head cleared up and I could think straight, I thought back to a manager called Anika who had rescued me once from men who were making fun of me for attending a single’s study in Agra. I visited a customer care booth and asked her by name. Ten minutes later, she materialised like a genie from a bottle.

“Mr Ojiambo,” she said with glorious smile. “Seems to me like you’re determined not to leave Mumbai.”

“More like Indians are determined to keep me here,” I countered. “I was hoodwinked by a most beautiful woman in a sari.”

Anika laughed as if I’ve told the world’s funniest joke. “I’m sorry,” she said between fits. “It’s not funny but most people forget India has some of the most beautiful women in the world.”

“I know Aishwarya Rai, Miss World 1994.”

She shook her head. “We’ve had four more since then. The latest was Manushi Chhillar in 2017. Six titles total. Tied for number one with Venezuela.”

“Are they also criminals? I mean, Priya was smooth.”

“Don’t act like this is the first time a woman got one over you, Mr Ojiambo.”

“Call me Tom. Please. And no, I’ve been had several times, in several countries, to be honest. This only solidifies my determination to be wary of women.”

She nodded solemnly. “I see your point. Now, let’s get you some new documents so you can travel to Agra. You can contact the Kenyan embassy in New Delhi for a new passport.”

Anika is effective to a fault. In no time, I have new tickets and a transit visa. Unfortunately, I had already missed my connecting flight and I had to wait for the next available one, which was the next day.

“I can help you book into a hotel,” Anika offered.

“Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I think I can manage that on my own.”

“Alternatively…” she started then said, “Never mind. It would be crazy to even think of it.”

“Now you have me curious. What were you going to say?”

“I wanted to suggest that you could be my guest for the night.”

After having failed to get her phone number before, now my loins were on fire at the prospect of spending a night with a woman even hotter than the thieving Priya.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” I said, trying very hard not to seem too enthusiastic. “It would be a chance to explore more of your sub-continent.”

“For real?” she asked, eyeing me keenly. “But no hanky-panky. Just a hot meal and a hot shower.”

“I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

Suddenly, Anika’s solemn face broke as she burst into raucous laughter.

“What’s funny now?” I said.

“You are such a typical man. Weren’t you just drugged by a woman merely two hours ago? And now you’re ready to jump right in and spend a night with another entirely strange woman. You didn’t even ask if I’m married or if I have a boyfriend.

“Well, do you?”

“Jesus Christ! You’re incorrigible. Here’s a list of good hotels. Have a nice time, Tom.”

Believe it or not, I’d later meet Anika in Agra and my shock would be complete.