Having read the student version of The Mahararbarata, and turned completely Indian, I'm in Laxman Jhula square taking photos of the archaic equipment being used to spray bitumen to repave the road. I'm also admiring the larger than life white marble statue of an ancient Indian archer, fully enclosed in a glass box in the centre of the square
'Mmm,' I think, 'that might be Arjuna.'
I see a portly little storeholder, sitting on a low slung stool guarding his display of brass artefacts, sandalwood pieces and clay chillums. Better check!
"Is that Arjuna?" I ask, pointing to said edifice.
"No. It's Laxman. You want smoke?"
"No," I reply. "I think I'm already gone."
'Mmm,' I think, 'that might be Arjuna.'
I see a portly little storeholder, sitting on a low slung stool guarding his display of brass artefacts, sandalwood pieces and clay chillums. Better check!
"Is that Arjuna?" I ask, pointing to said edifice.
"No. It's Laxman. You want smoke?"
"No," I reply. "I think I'm already gone."
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