All drivers guffaw loudly at the joke but quickly shut up when several policemen start looking towards them.

‘But why did the goons attack the office?’ I ask.

‘Some say it was Shiv Sena’s Dilli party madam—no one knows yet. Something to do with some article the paper printed about computers or something—the party did not like it, said the newspaper was taking Indian youth away from roots,’ says the driver-with-the-police-connection.

They all argue about the correct story for another five minutes.

‘And since when did you start reading English newspaper?’ someone asks.

‘I don’t read English bhai but the guy who runs the tea stall—where I have regular evening tea with the hawaldar?—he can read English and he told me. He’s my second cousin you see,’ the driver-with-the-police-connection declares to much general amusement.

I check my phone to see if I’ve missed a call or text from office about the incident; but there’s still nothing on my phone. My only guess—if the driver-with-the-police-connection is right—is that all this has something to do with Ratan’s article on Orkut. I should probably ask Ragini about it, she’s sure to know, but then she’s not talking to me. I haven’t even seen her around office much this week. I wonder if I should call Comma or one of the Features girls, but I don’t. If they had known about this, they would have called me. But why didn’t anyone inform me then? I realize that Ragini is perhaps the only person in office who would have bothered to inform me and she’s upset with me.

Finally, the seventh driver I speak to agrees to take me home—on the promise that I’ll pay him an extra twenty bucks.

As we set off towards home I text Comma, just to be on the safe side. I really don’t want to give her another reason to yell at me, especially since my blogger article will be published in tomorrow’s edition.

Thank god that this bomb hoax didn’t happen yesterday—it’s the second busiest day at work and would have been disastrous. I hope those who work on the front page—usually kept open till 10 a.m. Thursday morning—have somehow managed to get into office and finish it. I’ll also have to wait till tomorrow to read my final article. I’d hoped to read it in one of the proof pages but I guess that’s not happening now.

I reach home ninety minutes later since I get stuck in yet another traffic jam.

It surprises me to find Sid’s car parked outside our gate. What’s he doing home? For a couple of seconds I have the intense desire to be anywhere but home, but those seconds pass pretty quickly.