Calcutta. One night, walking through cones of warm streetlight in an otherwise dark lane, I saw before me an intersection of time. Against the red brick wall of the Park Circus tram depot, stood a green and yellow auto rickshaw. Its interiors done up in shiny red rexine, a brilliant neon pink light spilled from within, onto the road, overpowering the faint streetlight. The sight was surreal. Hues of color, which through decades of Hollywood movies one has come to associate with space and time traveling machines, were streaming out from an auto rickshaw, a mode of transport I use...
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