Rest House Crescent
The weather was classic Bangalorean. The smell of last evening's rain filled the air as workers dug up yet another narrow stretch. There was a cool breeze, warm afternoon sunshine filtering through tall trees, slow-moving cars looking for that elusive parking space, a school girl on her bicycle exchanging a love note with a boy from another school, well-dressed executives reluctantly rushing back to work after a large lunch and the smell of marijuana floated in from under the thick foliage of the Rest House Crescent Park. All this and more was happening on the Rest House Crescent Road on a Thursday afternoon but Mr Mazumdar was busy in his own world. He sat on the pavement outside an old Bangalore home, sketching and preserving the building's little details on paper, before it disappeared. He told me that he has been doing this for 19 years now.
