And I rest my case, Svengali! ;) ...and into squilching mud you step with your old BATA chappals, fetid, sometimes putrid decaying humus seeps into the crannies between your toes. As the ground moves, you shift your weight forward, fighting with the suction of the the heelo as the chappals refuse to yield to your will. Flash floods come and go as you step over rivulets, meandering around waiwai chow chow wraps, bits of straw and and plastic flotsam, while you look for a flat piece of stone, anything to salvage your frayed denim hems from the blotting fecundity. And as you screw up your face in disgust and look into the sky, another pailful of rain showers down your face, your neck, your t-shirt and disappears into the weaves and folds of fabric. And for a moment, just for a moment you forget the decaying carcass of the dog lying upstream, bloated and ignored. Just for a moment, you inhale the distant aroma of corn on open grates, roasting, sometimes charring, sending gustatory organs into orgasmic fits. Asarai Mahinama. Hey Svengali, thanks, thanks thanks!!!!! It's been ages, since I've been moved to impulsive writing. And surely, I don't jest! You are very good.