There are many unforeseen advantages to living as remotely as I do. You learn not to take yourself too seriously or get too immersed in the everyday politics of one’s work environment. You get better at travelling light because you know that taking a flight involves taking multiple trains till you arrive at the airport and vice versa on the way back. You learn to co-habit with nature and feel attuned to seasonal changes. You begin to glean, instinctively, whether the wind that you feel blowing is coming from the north or the south. Sometimes, when everything with the rest of the world feels like it’s going south, you find hope in small gestures, the magnolia buds that rest resiliently all winter at the tips of branches, the burst of yellow that is the ‘Ginster’ signalling early spring, the harmonious sound of wind instruments playing Christmas carols and other rituals that you didn’t grow up around, necessarily, but have become familiar, part of your eco-system.

But, of course, there are numerous drawbacks to living in the Alps. Even if your friends from back home manage to procure a visa, they prefer to visit the more famous Italian cities. Where I live is too much of a schlep. Most people have never heard of South Tyrol, so there’s no lure, nothing to draw them in. It’s often impossible to find a lot of basic ingredients as well to maintain your immigrant kitchen. On a recent trip to Napoli, for example, I visited three shops that had drumsticks, karela, saag, bhindi and other delicacies. Here I’m lucky to find a coconut that isn’t rotting from the inside by the time it arrives. I’ve had to adapt in ways I hadn’t imagined. My inability to find a good mixer means that my Xacuti recipe has had to be modified. I frequently have to manage without coriander and I’m always running out of ghee.