Having only a day to explore this bustling city we set off early the next morning and visited the Chandni Chowk. This is a massive, fit to bust bazaar with everything from fake Rolex to beautiful Indian jewellery. We’d planned on seeing far more than we did; in the end, after the constant, forceful yet polite, insistence by every stall holder that we study and appraise every item they possessed, we only managed to get to the nearby Jama Masjid and Red Fort.

This was the highlight of the day, wandering hand-in-hand around the relatively quiet courtyards and marvelling at the amazing Pearl Mosque. The day was over too soon, and we rushed to get our night train to Agra.

After a few days visiting the Taj Mahal and other local sights, we ended up in Khajuraho. Here we visited the outrageous sex temples, which portray some rather amazing anatomical positions. The heady erotic air had obviously got to the local wildlife too. An amorous bull decided to demonstrate his affection to a cow standing very near us. The ensuing scuffle between the two nearly got us run down; only our quick leaping reflexes saved us.

After leaving Khajuraho we spent a morning at nearby Panna National Park where we were quite lucky to see two beautiful and endangered Bengal tigers at close range from the back of an elephant. Amazing! They were like two giant lazy kitty cats wallowing in the sun. Seeing them really made our day. Also we enjoyed looking around the nearby diamond mines, where we had a go at panning for the gems, with no luck but great fun.

We were back in town for the colourful Holi festival in which Indians (and crazy honeymooners) celebrate the harvest and the beginning of Spring by assaulting everyone in sight with coloured dye and paint. Because we were warned that things could get messy on the streets, we decided to stay inside our hotel only to learn that there was a staff vs. resident war planned.

We put up a good fight. We turned against each other. It became a flurry of water balloons, coloured dyes, silver paint and buckets of coloured water; bursting, squirting, splashing, and pouring. We were all covered head to toe in pinks, reds, blues, greens, and silver. Everyone was high from the fun and laughter filled the air.

As we’d already ruined our clothes we sheepishly crept onto the streets at dusk. Everything was covered in paint, the walls, the streets, even the cows! This time of year, according to an old India hand at our bar, is when social rules are overturned, and low-caste may water-bomb high-caste, and the usually tightly controlled sexuality of young Indians is allowed to explode. We saw plenty of evidence of this, groups of young men chasing shrieking girls with water pistols, and couples kissing in the street.

One evening, we came across a large, colourful and brightly lit procession, in honour of Lord Shiva. This, we were told, was the festival of Mahashivratri. Crowds thronged on either side as colourfully-painted elephants moved through the spectators, carrying devotees dressed up as gods. Two children sat side by side on one float, dressed in elaborate head-dresses, their faces made up in red, blue and silver paint, placidly looking on at the people crowding around them. Other children perched on gates, walls and pillars to get a better view of the parade, and all the balconies above were overflowing. The noise was extreme with drums banging loudly, whistles being blown and fire crackers being let off everywhere. It seemed as if every day was a reason to celebrate, and it felt as if our wedding hadn’t ended, just moved location.