Arjun imagined the singer: a mischievous soul with a thousand faces, who could make you laugh and weep in the same breath. He learned the words, humming them as he pedaled past trams and tea stalls, feeling the songs stitch himself to the city. At a hojra-postered theatre, he sang on a dare; strangers stopped, moved by the familiar cadence that seemed to belong to everyone and no one. Old women wiped their eyes. Teenagers grinned, tapping feet.
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