He boiled some tea leaves, added milk and sugar and handed over one cup to his ailing wife, the love of his life. Cursorily glanced at The Times and the Jam-e-Jamshed where he worked part-time every evening to supplement his measly salary as an officer in a nationalized insurance company. He ate porridge and a banana for his unchanging breakfast, walked from his tiny 480 sq ft home on the outskirts of the Dadar Parsi Colony to the BEST bus stop. Sometimes, he hired a black and yellow taxi. Ordinariness sat so comfortably on his brow.
Soon he would retire from......