“Dude, the guy with pissi…”I took a shallow breath of warm air before finishing the sentence. I read somewhere that joggers ought to take long deep breaths, for the lungs expand and trapped oxygen suffuses through the body to burn fat. “what about him?” Sahu inquired, he was jogging on the other side of the brief line of palm trees on an elevation near the entrance of the village. Fifty feet away, on the track that ran through the field with dry twigs and dead leaves, I shouted “I cannot recall his name” I continued after inhaling what I felt was sufficient oxygen for a phrase or two. Sahu began “there is boos….” I cut him short with premeditated remonstrance: “listen” I said “of the four that includes pissi, one is boos, second one is rahul and the third?” I closed the phrase with the shrill intonation of a question. We were near the U-turn, it was only the first round, and I was determined to carry on for two more rounds, while sahu was keeping himself content with another round. Our...