I thought it was just me and a few friends, but apparently everybody does it. Given that that statement sounds a tad vague, allow me to elaborate, which is something I find I can do with consummate ease. I love words and if it does take me a lot longer to get to the point it is because I enjoy the journey strewn with subjects, objects, verbs and adjectives, before arriving at the terminus. So, back to everybody doing it.

I’m talking about overseas travel and what’s on the ‘Must Do’ list of most travellers, especially the ones heading out to countries like India where the dollar or the pound make a fabulous exchange with the demure, accommodating, namaste-ing rupee.

“Welcome, welcome. We’ll take your foreignness, give you a ruddy good time and still somehow show you who comes out on top. Have you, for example, been to one of our Indian Premier League cricket auctions?” Economics at the best of times is complex and this is surely one example.

So what is it that travellers have on their shopping list? Two items at the very top, pencilled in red: Eyes & Teeth.

“If you’re going to India that’s what you do first,” advised a friend, adding, “Have you got shortsightedness, long-sightedness? Get to the first optometrist. Have you got cavities? Get them filled at the nearest dentist’s clinic. Any dentist. It will be miles cheaper than what you’ll end up paying here in Australia.”

It is indeed ironic how the miles do become cheaper the closer one gets to India from Sydney. On the way in, I got ripped off at the airport, I was told about paying Rs30 (Dh1.79) for a bottle of water, but as far as I was concerned that didn’t cost me even a dollar. With regard to the eyes, I most definitely needed a new pair of spectacles and as for the cavities, let’s just say enjoyments like ice-cream had fallen off the dessert list a while back because the teeth simply couldn’t take it.

Now, the thing is, you don’t wander in to the optometrist or the dentist and lay bare your needs and your background. You only lay bare your needs. At the dentist, for example, you simply open your mouth, but you don’t utter a word; and when you do, you fabricate.

“Never let on that you’re from Australia, that would be the most naive thing to do,” I was cautioned by the same advisor, a frequent flier and a frequent visitor to both Indian eye doctor and tooth fairy.

“Make up a story. Say you’re a retired teacher or professor from another part of the country, holidaying with your sister. Tone down the accent, give it a bit of stereotypical Bollywood English. That should do the trick.”

On my initial hesitation I was assured: “Never worry. It’s the system. They know in India that many foreigners are up to these tricks, so you find a way to work the system. Prevaricate. Prevarication is a useful ally. It is first cousin to the White Lie.”

Thus suitably armed I ventured into the optician during one of my recent sojourns in India and the trick worked. I got a brand new pair of spectacles for a throwaway price. After paying nearly Rs50,000 for the previous pair, I had to sit down and regulate my breathing, in order to recover from the shock of such Indian cheapness.

Then came a visit to the dentist. Another day. Luckily I’m not asked a thing about where I’m from. My Bollywood English is working, I think. Three cavities! All filled for a slightly robust amount, but still way below the approximately Rs20,000 paid to fill one molar with cement back in Australia. On the way out, the cheery lady dentist says: “Safe journey back to Sydney.”

What the adviser failed to advise: “Make the appointment yourself. Don’t get a sister who is proud to tell everyone where her brother is from to do it!”

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.