At this roundabout I give my turning the miss, deliberately. Once in the car I did it thrice prompting my co-passenger to firm up her mind on what she always suspected: I was a directionless nig-nog. Its hugeness doesn’t let me notice the hexagonal shape but allows me to zip, zigzagging through traffic. There are many pedestrian crossings where you wait for animated families, parents dragging skipping children lost on ice lollies. Many continue earnestly into their slightly raised mouthpieces without missing a beat; couples hand-in-hand, springing steadfastly towards what
Clashing with the police, as anyone who has clashed with the police knows, is addictive. There must be some endorphin involved in the heightened sense of indignation: ‘hey jerk, I am doing your job and you are hitting me?’ Observe the frontline protesters, they are regulars. You will find many of them in gym gear or hessian tees and chappals, their wallets and mobile phones given away for safekeeping. Watch them closely and you can see their eyes glow as they go about sloganeering, stone-throwing and indulge in various acts
