It was one of the quieter afternoons. I realised there were more squirrels around than usual. Then I realised they were all looking at me. What I didn’t realise was that there was an even larger number of them on the neighbouring trees. Every one of them was looking at me.

Most of them were not even from any place nearby. I knew pretty much all of the squirrels near my house. They usually sat on ledges and waited for biscuit crumbs. And there were only two of them, a couple by the looks of it.

I don’t think he knows about it, which leaves only me in possession of this potentially terrifying secret. I say potential because there is only so much an 86-year-old can do to alter history and cause planetwide mayhem.

Now that we are on secret-sharing terms, a bit about my grandfather: He is OLD, like… ancient. Is HARD of hearing. Can’t see very well (make that not-at-all) at night.

He also forgets a lot. I am not too sure about that anymore. I suspect I have been wrong all along.

After nearly a fortnight in Cuttack, I am on board the Konark Express heading back Mumbaiwards. Home was sweet and all but I could use a bit more of the monsoon. The train will pull up at Dadar station late at night.

I have leafed through a couple of magazines and am now forced to look beyond the confines of my top berth. A tiny baby civilisation of sorts has sprouted up down there. It started, methinks, after we passed Secunderabad. Mostly Andhra Pradeshis. Their leader, however is Oriya (the unmistakable tilak mark from Jagannath Puri on his forehead).