12pm Something strange just happened.  I walk out of our gate with my sister towards her car.  An old man is having some sort of interaction with Bilal, my sister’s driver.  He wears a red, multicolored turban that makes his head all the more imposing.  He has a long beard and an expression of pure madness, as if he’s either lost his mind or he knows something about life that we don’t.  Bilal quickly ushers us into the car quickly.  Inside, as we drive off he tells us the story.  Apparently this old man comes around here infrequently.  He comes to Bilal asking for a 50 rupee note, which he duly gives.  He asks Bilal to cup the note in his hand and then to open them, after which is revealed …. red dust.  Bilal showed it to me and, lo and behold, it was actual dust, as if through some magic this fakir had made the note crumble into powder.  Kaley jadoo, my sister remarked.  “Black magic”.

I’m not certain whether magic had to do with anything.  It could have been some soil the old man had supplanted into Bilal’s hand through some very sophistcated slight of hand, who knows.  At the same time, Bilal, my sister, and even I was glad to leave.  Some small bizarre moments are past left in the dust of a speeding car.