>>24844571
Stately, round-bellied Bhaskar Menon came out from the rooftop steps, balancing a brass lota of water on which floated a cake of Mysore sandal soap and a dull razor. His loose kurta, unbuttoned, fluttered behind him in the mild Chennai dawn breeze.
He raised the lota high. “Hari Om!” he chanted in mock solemnity, the sound carrying over the tiled roofs and the cries of the cow dung vendors below. “Attend, O faithful disciple! The morning Gorehabba of the high priest of Marina Beach begins!”