But the new lungis will not do. He has forgotten to soak them to take the starch off. He will have to wear the old batik one. Old cloth absorbs sweat more efficiently. Marli is standing right behind him. She takes the old lungi from his hand and irons it with quick strokes. He taps her cheek in gratitude. Her mother, Girji, cooks for him and Marli sweeps and cleans. When her work is done, she follows Haridas around. She stands next to him when he's painting—handing him his brushes, his wiping rags, his tubes of paint and whatever else he needs. He mutters to her while he paints. He doesn’t ask her if she understands. He likes to have her around.

Unlike Ashesh, Haridas likes people to come and go when he is painting. His house guests, generally artists from here and abroad, hold serious conversations with him while he works. Sumitra Basu from the new seven-storeyed apartment block on the main road drops in to watch him work. She is a diploma holder from a Kolkata art school, but hasn’t held a brush in her hand since the day she got married. She does not have the space, the silence or the encouragement to paint in her house. Also, she has children. So whenever she can, on her way to or from the market, she stops by Haridas's house and greedily watches him paint.

Haridas tops his batik lungi with a colourful sleeveless vest and leaves. He looks at his Mercedes and decides not to drive. He wants to feel close to people. He has his horn with him. He will offer it to Feroze as a birthday gift. If Feroze turns it down, he will give him the recently published Krishna in Miniature Painting. Feroze has become avidly interested in Krishna.

Sitting on a platform under the banyan tree, Ramprasad points to the horn. ‘What's this you’ve got?’ No resident or resident's friend who enters Hengewadi during Ramprasad's waking hours can escape paying up at his tollbooth with conversation. He has ironed their clothes for fifty years, starting with two paise per garment and going up to the current two rupees. After half a century of sweaty work, he has earned the right to sit around doing nothing. It is difficult for the residents to grudge him a few minutes of conversation. So they generally add a few minutes to their schedule to accommodate the inevitable pleasantries. Unknown people entering the wadi must also submit to a check—tell him where they are going. He considers it his right and his duty to know. The pictures of Sai Baba and Goddess Lakshmi that he has nailed to the banyan tree bless him from behind their frame of aerial roots for the sentry work he has taken upon himself.