It is a humid Monday morning in October. At the bus stands of Kolkata, office-goers jostle and push, fighting for space in packed private and state-run buses. Among them, Susanta is one of the lucky few to have claimed a seat in a private bus plying between Garia and New Town. By the time it reaches Ruby, the vehicle is already jam-packed, the aisles crammed, and the doorway crowded with passengers clinging to the bars at the gate. The person sitting beside Susanta alights near the Science City crossing, and an old man takes his place. He wears a striped off-white shirt and formal trousers, sweat beading on his face in the stifling air of the bus. His head is full of white hair, and a fashionable, partially grey moustache frames his upper lip. Placing a leather office bag on his lap, he stares intently at his mobile phone. Susanta…