“Sir! Did you?”

The cars were honking on the road that morning as I made my way to the park, drivers in trucks had their heads out yelling, and motorcyclists had worried expressions behind their visors as they looked ahead to see only a jam.

I walked on ahead and soon found the culprit; a little auto-rickshaw that had gotten stuck in the middle of the road. There were beads of perspiration on the driver’s face as he pulled the starter handle up, again and again and again; nothing happened.

“No petrol,” I thought to myself and then found myself getting furious, “Why doesn’t the ass move his rickshaw to the side!” I thought, so did all the others who honked and yelled and cursed.

He got up wearily, and the passenger in the rickshaw got out, a young man with a white shirt, tie and button-down collar, who was on his cell as he stood by the stalled vehicle and watched the driver try to push it uphill and to the side.

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