2230 hrs.
Hyderabad.
Having finished their Sunday dinner, the residents are lazily bracing themselves up for the following day. Those who don't have to go to work are drinking, speeding down the roads and trying to get into The Times Of India.
Taj Krishna is doing its vociferous bit, hosting a Tambola for zealots.
I have to bathe. Just a few more steps and I'll be home.
My dog, sapped by the day's heat, has dozed off at the gate, unmindful of the passing cars, which he would otherwise abuse wholeheartedly.
Suddenly, he snaps to life, launching an audio-visual assault on the newly-arrived smell and sight.
I walk in amused at his stupidity, for I have only gotten myself a Ramu-Shamu haircut.
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