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It was still drizzling. The old woman, one hand holding a bag and another hitching her wet saree, was struggling to cross the puddle, possibly hiding open manholes, when the bus glided splashing filthy water on her. She stood there cursing, her old - worn clothes and the curry leaves peeping out of the bag, dripping in water.

[He sighed and moved away from the window to his system. He must blog about this]