The ancient air-conditioner in my room groans and sputters, fighting a losing battle with the sweltering heat. The paint on the walls is pe...
The ancient air-conditioner in my room groans and sputters, fighting a losing battle with the sweltering heat. The paint on the walls is peeling, the carpet is threadbare. The towel draped over the backrest of my chair was once white but has now settled into an indeterminate shade of grey. I reach for it gingerly, but Keshav snatches it up before I can touch it and hurries to the door.
“Get rid of this rag and get a new towel immediately,” he snaps. I conceal a smile. He’s learning. I settle down in the chair, which creaks in protest before accepting me. “Okay, Keshav,” I say.
“Let’s review the crime situation here.”
Keshav has a presentation ready and begins reeling off facts and figures. Of course, the case I’m really interested in is the CRPF ambush, but I’m not willing to let anyone know just how important it is to me. I let him ramble on for a while, taking notes every now and then. Then I hold up a hand, frowning.
He pauses. “Sir?”
