There’s a large group of Indian couples waiting in the first-class lounge of the Ngurah Rai airport at Denpasar on the island of Bali in Indonesia. The men are casually dressed but smart: slacks, sport-shirts that bulge over the waist and expensive unscuffed trainers. The wives are immaculately groomed, tossing waves of exquisitely streaked and tousled hair from left to right. They laugh and joke in a mixture of Hindi and English, shouting at the same time into their mobile phones as they talk among themselves.

“Where’s the boy?” One swears in Hindi. “I asked for chai. He’s forgotten the hot milk.”