The younger milkman on the motorcycle, more modern of the two, in conversation
with the elderly milkman plying milk on his rusted but trusted bicycle around the old part
of Bundi.
At the turn of the century I returned to Bombay from Goa, not an easy decision to make. A software company let me in, then another, then yet another. Time ran past. This time around I was wise enough not to give chase. So occasionally I take my camera along, searching for corners, finding them where none exist. And some of them are painted blue.