The morning lies here in an inert stupor like a drug addict. A faint T beam of sunlight rolls as shamelessly as a non-paying customer around a wall with the plaster flaking off. Next to a drain overflowing with refuse, a gathering of crows is engaged in civil war over packets made with dry leaves and oil-soaked paper scraps. A mangy dog is curled up in sleep nearby. There are no other sounds.
Kusum has woken up quite early. She's the first to leave her bed in this area. Bokul, Jahanara, Sakina, Marjina and the other women are usually asleep at this hour, sprawled awkwardly. Mannan's shop deep in the lane won't be open yet. Only the young boy manning the dive across the road selling dalpuri and golgolla will be lighting the stove.
The toilet that everyone uses will soon see a queue like at the ration store. Then pots, pitchers and buckets for water will begin to pile up next to the draw-well on the ground slippery with moss. A battle will begin Quarrels screams and obscenities will ring in everyone's ears.