Behind Kamathipura's Closed Doors
On the rickshaw, in the evening rush hour. An elderly driver, hands on the steering wheel, khaki shirt, marking his station. His neck hesitantly swivels, as if to say something: they have arrived at their destination. An alien territory in the white-washed city. Coquettish beckonings are lined up on fractured doors as street lamps in the narrow alleys. Collapsing buildings constrict ventilation and light. A landlord’s greed is made manifest: two-storeyed houses buried beneath off-balanced extens