Forging Ahead

loving care of the authorities, it is only occasionally that a stray one is reported, such as Prabir's, because it occurs in the city centre, in the glare of a dazzling July afternoon sun. Moreover, all is well that ends well. Prabir is dead; there is one less unemployed to roam the streets of the city of Calcutta, one less spec of inconvenient statistic. It is so cosy that food, the measly food an unemployed youth from an Impoverished family took at nine-thirty in the morning, still managed to come up the wrong channel seven hours later. There is a certain indigestibitity in the ingredients one tries to absorb in Calcutta; and it is to be welcomed: without it, the tales served up by the police will be difficult to swallow. Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood.