Have you ever stood in a traffic-stranded bus for a whole half hour next to a man with a tie slowly nodding off to sleep in his seat and you think this is all there is to it an island in a sea of rain where we slowly fall asleep so you close your eyes but a conductor snarls, “pudhe sarka pudhe sarka” and you shuffle to your left like a law-abiding citizen a rightminded gent while the line rights itself only so that a minute later your man with a tie stands and leaves his seat to a pigfaced mass of muscle and vein who resembles to you a failed wrestler you once saw getting tombstone piledriven by a dead Undertaker oh so many years ago so now you wait and watch him cough pieces of his larynx into a checkered handkerchief? No? Ok.