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It started out as a light-hearted source of amusement, but, unwittingly, a persevering Delhi street dog chasing our taxi became a metaphor for our struggles to find a SIM card in India, writes Heinz Schenk.
Lucknow - The rather unimaginatively named Road No 201 in Dwarka, an apartment-heavy suburb of Delhi, has found a small window of serenity.
It's actually a bit of an eerie feeling because you don't find a lot of tranquillity in India, which essentially never sleeps.
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Dutifully, our taxi driver from the airport stops at a red light, which - frankly - in hindsight is also a bit of a novelty once you've traversed the Indian capital's main routes with a succession of Uber drivers.
Sitting next to me my esteemed colleague and friend, Tinus van Staden, who is on duty for our sister publications, Netwerk24 and Rapport, interrupts our recent 13-hour travel-induced silence with a hearty chuckle.
"Look at this! This dog is trying to chomp on our tyre!"
I share his amusement because I grew up with a Labrador named Stoffel, who had an affinity for chasing buses along our house's wall.
One school morning, my dad was about to drop us off when fate conspired in such manner that the gate opened simultaneously with a Johannesburg Metro bus driving past.
Needless to say, Stoffel - at that stage already plagued by arthritis - summoned more than enough verve and speed to be out of that gate in a flash.
My younger sister and I couldn't contain our laughter at how quickly our grandpa pooch flew off the mark.
My dad, understandably, wasn't amused though he couldn't let two primary school pupils run after Stoffel either.
"He's still running behind us! What a kanniedood (diehard)!"
Chuckles all round again.
One thing I didn't bank on was how that persevering canine - who eventually gave up and ran back to his sleeping spot - would become the metaphor for our struggles to obtain something as innocuous as a local prepaid SIM card.
If South Africans thought the dodgy and dismantled provision that is RICA was a schlep when buying a SIM, then India presents a unique challenge.
It's an onerous process, one that requires you to sit patiently and wait for the service technician to fill in your details via a mobile app.
Then there's the collective effort of trying to take a picture of your passport and visa without light reflecting into the phone's camera lens.
And then there's the death knell to our application: a local reference in the city you're based in.
If you're currently staying in Lucknow - like Tinus and I for the Proteas' World Cup meeting with Australia on Thursday - don't bother using any of the acquaintances you might've made in Delhi.
You need to make new friends in Lucknow.
All that just for the one-time password that completes your application.
I'd like to think I'm a pretty friendly guy, but I don't make friends THAT easily…
Worst of all, I discovered much of this on a "reconnaissance mission" the morning before South Africa's opener against Sri Lanka.
Tinus and I, who are completely dependent on wifi hotspots currently, had agreed to a time to go to Arun Jaitley Stadium beforehand and, rather misguidedly, I thought I could complete the process before then.
Realising I'm cutting it way too fine, I abandoned the process, race back to the hotel and find poor Tinus smoking a cigarette in a manner suggesting he'd seen a ghost.
Because I didn't bank on my intelligence gathering mission lasting so long, I didn't send him a message and, obviously, he became sceptical when I wasn't answering his texts later on.
The poor man had even gone to reception to find a key for my room and found nothing but my glasses and an open suitcase.
To him, I might've been Doug from The Hangover, passed out on the hotel's rooftop.
Funny now, but not quite then.
It's good to have mates like Tinus.
In between the hassle of the SIM hunt, though, we've revelled in the endless honking, the spicy hotel breakfasts, searching for cheap platforms to watch some rugby (we found one!) and - memorably - a group of four Indian fans at Arun Jaitley, when asked who they'd be supporting, replying: "Faf du Plessis."
It turns out Delhi's airport has an outlet that caters for a special tourist SIM outside international arrivals.
We didn't go there because, at 02:15, you're just too gatvol.
Upon reflection, that outlet that was our gateway to consistent communication is now out of reach like our taxi was for our street dog.
Boy, how that decision bit us on the, erm, tyre…
