The momos in the local market (market no. 2 to be precise) run out by this time. Crowds of gossiping school kids gape at how long they have discussed Twilight (and other matters of critical importance) and decide it’s time to attend to their daily tuitions. Shopkeepers rub their hands clean of jhalmudi (bhelpuri’s Bengali sibling) and go back to their grocery or general provisions store.
Housewives speed up their cooking, in frantic anticipation of the eight o clock soap. The neighbourhood dog starts moving from this house to the next, looking to arrange the night’s dinner. Badminton matches in the alleys wind up and the scene shifts to the day’s spelling lesson. The elderly sit out on the porch and shake their heads at the peak time traffic. Conch shells blow and the air boasts of agarbatti fragrances as the evening puja is performed. Students try and persuade God to tempt the examiner into writing a 90 on their answer books and Dadi prays the eldest girl in the family is soon married to a suitable groom.
In a while, the orange in the sky will be gone. The dark blues will take over, assisted by faulty streetlights and summer power-cuts. The roads swarm with people returning home. I better get back before Delhi welcomes another night.