I woke up today and felt awful. The tinny grumble of the rickshaw taking me to the office shook every hair follicle on my body. I stared at a mixture of leaves and trash on the ground, and the driver interrupted me by saying in broken English, “Traffic. Big jam.”
I looked at the pandemonium ahead, a mess of yellow-and-black rickshaws buzzing like angry bees through a cluster of motorcycles and pint-sized cars, all sprawled across the 100 Feet Road fly over heading toward Koramangala.
“Everyday,” I said.
