A nondescript morning meanders through a busy road smack in the middle of a traffic snarl. Sun rays fall like rain on a young man walking without energy, his shoulders sloping downhill, their mantle of dejection pressing against his collarbones.
The young man has a dark blue striped shirt on, rolled up at the sleeves. His black jeans hang loosely from his hips. His shoes which were shiny in the morning are now covered with a film of sparrow coloured dust. He could be anywhere between twenty one and twenty nine. He could be an itinerant salesman; a medical representative, a computer mechanic, an-out-of-work engineer or an MBA on a sabbatical. The air of hopelessness around his thin body, in the forward tilt of his forehead that speaks of the futility of finding anything remotely good and positive in the world, could belong to anyone.