Any given afternoon

It's a mildly warm afternoon in Bangalore.

Outside a glitzy IT office building, an array of smokers pile up as the cigarette hawker near the road makes brisk business. The handsomely paid software gurus puff on their favorite brand of sticks - some have machine-dispensed coffee as companions for their cigarettes, while others mostly have conversations from last evening to share. Some are present as mere by-standers apparently out to take in some fresh air, while also accompanying their smoker colleagues. A few stand alone, lost in obvious problem solving that they're continuing from their desk.

The traffic on the road peaks, then dies, then peaks again - flowing in tune to the traffic signal's dancing lights. In between, a wailing siren breaks the monotony of acoustics, causing people to give a customary glance at the object of distress. A few unfortunate times, the road lays witness to some unwanted collisions of vehicles, big and small. A few other times, the smokers throw their cigarettes and run to help people who might have hurt themselves in such collisions.

Sometimes, the traffic policemen stop by in the shade of the big trees that line the roads of 'The Garden City', and show off their valor and sense of duty by stopping and imposing fines on moving vehicles. Many times, though, the policemen are unceremoniously swept aside as motorists sway and speed past them.

The buses which take up half of the road swivel and turn, the driver probably unmindful of the fact that the turning radius of a bus is much more than that of the auto-rickshaw. The auto-rickshaws, however, seemingly fighting for lost pride, compete with the buses to nail biting finishes. And applause would be the last thing that would cross the minds of the passengers of those vehicles.

Lines of auto-rickshaws pile up along the road, almost getting enough shade from the 'No Parking' sign under which they're stationed. The auto-drivers hark to suspect passengers, haggle their fares, and finally either shoo the suspects away or ride off with the passengers. All this while they keep a collective eye out for traffic police. Occasionally, they're outwitted by the traffic cops, and another kind of haggling follows. All under the shade of the trees by the road.

A puffing smoker is also occasionally interrupted in his act by a small, dirty but well-fed child tugging at his shirt, asking for alms. The child has been smartly coached to select the language of communication depending on the smoker's appearance. And most of the times, the well-fed child with a squirmy face, teary eyes who keeps tugging and rubbing his stomach to communicate in sign language as well, is asking for a Rupee for food. Yet, the smoker ignores the child's vehement nags.

The cigarette hawker does some more brisk business, as smokers cross the gates of the IT building and pile up to him. They start puffing on their brand of 'sticks' as they watch the traffic flow, and the race between the buses and the auto-rickshaws.

The afternoon continues.