And then I tucked my shirt back in and re-adjusted my groinular bits, after having been subjected to the causal intimacies of frisking by the ubiquitous Delhi police. The lie in wait everywhere, at Metro stations, underground marketplaces and random mausoleums, hands all eager to cup anonymous boob and scrote. It is the most physical intimacy I have experienced in more than a year, and I find the experience obsurely comforting.