KEY POINTS:
There are so many rules for travellers in India. Even before you arrive it's a scary place. Everyone who's been there has as many horror stories to tell as they do life-changing ones.
And the guide books warn of intimidating touts, tummy bugs and terrible queues.
Whatever! Enough with the scare mongering. Pa-lease. After spending a month there (which was far too short, I might add) here's my advice for enjoying this crazy bloody place, and falling in love with it.
First, a few basics: drink bottled mineral water, keep your hands away from your mouth, use antiseptic hand gel, such as Purell, and don't be scared of scoffing the delicious food, hanging-out, talking cricket with the locals, and living it up. If you do get sick - and I did, slightly - get on the gastrolyte.
Yes, at times India is challenging, but what a hoot. Where else would you see two cyclists riding along the road with a couple of sharks draped over their bike carriers; a person squatting on the roadside having a poo; two men sawing a railway track with a hacksaw; or eight men changing a light bulb in a mosque?
It's also infuriating - the queues, the dirt, the bureaucracy. For a country with the world's second-fastest growing economy (behind China), India is a place where carbon paper is still king. Where else would you have to go to five different counters in one shop before you get your goods?
Although it seems like a ridiculous rigmarole at the time, it just makes you smile in delighted disbelief.
And the people can't do enough for you - being able to carry your own bag is a privilege, and when you do get to do it, it is a minor victory.
And never fear, you grow to love the crazy, and at times terrifying, traffic. You laugh nervously at first but that eventually gives way to more relaxed squawks as tuk-tuks piled with 10 to 15 people chug along, or a cow waltzes into the middle of the road. Then there's the roundabout etiquette. Yeah, right. What etiquette?
New Zealand drivers would be hopeless, not to mention a menace, in this sort of controlled chaos.
The roads are hairy, and so are some of the street-side food stalls. But many of them have some of the yummiest food on offer, so why be put off eating from them? It's the old story though - go to the busy ones.
The samosas, in particular, are tasty and the best snack you can have.
On the trains the golden rule is don't accept food from strangers. But what if you're sitting next to three lovely older ladies who offer you their home-cooked delicacies? I'm sorry, but they are so sweet, who cares about the rules?
Speaking of the trains, these long journeys are the perfect time to trial a squatter toilet instead of a Western one. Believe me, despite the initial strain on the thighs, it is far safer to hover over a hole than to risk brushing against a grotty, stained toilet seat.
Just as you choose your toilet carefully (admittedly sometimes you have no choice), why not choose the monuments you visit carefully, too?
A favourite saying of my wife and I is, "Nice monument, where's the pub". Don't get me wrong, we are not stuck in our glory days of backpacking, when getting wasted was part of the sightseeing.
No, I love the history of a place and learning about it. And there are certain things you should see, like Jodhpur Fort in Rajasthan, a spectacular architectural achievement, or Jaisalmer Fort, a giant sandcastle rising out of the Great Indian Desert, or the Taj Mahal.
But really, you don't need to see every Mughal Fort now, do you?
No doubt about it though, you see some sights in India, and some of those aren't nice. I'm not being patronising but I felt sorry for a lot of people, especially these poor, dirty little beggar children.
There's not much you can do for them except give them lollies, which they love, even though they'd prefer money.
One older man's story really stuck out though. We met Gopal in Agra. He was a journalist-turned-tour guide and he showed us round the Taj Mahal.
Gopal was everything you want in a guide - knowledgeable, conversational, and polite. But he was a sick man.
He coughed and sneezed, yet he had to keep working. He also had a nasty scar around his ear. At one point he opened his wallet to buy entry tickets and I noticed some smiling faces in a photo to which I asked, "Is that your family?"
He looked up sadly and said the picture was of was his first wife and his children.
He explained how thugs had broken into his house and beaten his wife and daughter to death, and badly injured him and his son.
The vendetta attack was because of a story he had written in a newspaper.
You don't feel sorry for him, you just feel sad.
But when he tells us about how he has re-married and has a new family he breaks into a bright, beaming smile. That's India for you.
