In Delhi, as I write this, it is 8:45 a.m. tomorrow. It is 8:15 pm here in Vancouver, or the equivalent of Delhi’s yesterday. You must understand that it is extremely radical of me to acknowledge this.

My husband has a special trick he uses to torment me while traveling. He will tell me the time back home, knowing that it makes me rather crazy to think about being anywhere except where I am. For instance, I don’t want to know that while hiking in Wales I would normally be in bed back home. I figure I need all the tricks I can use to help stave off jet lag.

It seems I’ve made a bit of an issue about this because it’s one of his favourite ways to tease me by saying things like, “You know what time it is in Vancouver right now?”

I, of course, exhibit great maturity when he tries to tell me the time back home…I put my fingers in my ears and yell, “La la la la la, I can’t hear you!”

After 25 years of marriage, ours is a truly mature relationship.

But coming home from India, I have managed to not only talk and write about the time in the future world of Delhi, but I also have no jet lag at all. Go figure.

I do believe I’ve nailed the formula. I get outside and suck up as much daylight as I can, keep moving all day, drink tons of water and take 3 mg melatonin each night. I slap on my super-duper eye mask, stuff in the ear plugs, basically doing the equivalent of a sensory deprivation tank and then sleep like a dead dog. I can’t stop smiling at the great escape I’m managing.

Normally, it takes me a week or so to really get readjusted. I’m not sure if it’s because I came from west to east? I can never remember how that’s supposed to help or hinder the process, but it matters not; all I know is that everything’s grooving.

Some couples probably don’t ever talk about this particular issue…I’m thinking they have much bigger problems to contend with.