On hot March afternoons, a flute seller appears playing a familiar tune, Dil pardesi ho gaya (my heart became a stranger), from an old Hindi film. It jolts me awake and then fades away. Another breath lost on the world. I search for him in the green haze beyond the window but he eludes me. As the tune fades into the rough noises of exhaust fumes, the notes hang in the air haunting me like the heady fragrance of jasmine flowers. Suddenly, there’s screech of tires, and I’m back in the world of plastic paper clips.