03:02 by Mainak Dhar

in any meaningful quantities at any rate, on our bicycles, and while Haiko was just about a kilometre away, carrying it all back by hand was also going to be a tough ask. Someone in the group stood up. Mrs Khatri whispered to me that his name was Mr Kundu.
    ‘I can help think through this.’
    In a few minutes, we had a plan. A long line of people, almost thirty of us, were each laden with backpacks and between us would push along the six bicycles we could find, each jury-rigged with a makeshift carrier made of plastic buckets or cardboard boxes dragging behind it. I called Pandey and pulled him to one side.
    ‘Do we have anything for protection?’
    He smiled. ‘Protection for a shopping trip?’
    I reminded him of the thugs I had seen at the police station and his smile disappeared.
    ‘We have my stick, which is of no use against people with swords.’
    I saw a tall, strapping boy standing in a corner, looking pretty bored with the proceedings. I walked up to him.
    ‘What’s your name and how old are you?’
    ‘Subin, and I’m eighteen.’
    ‘Congratulations, you’re part of our security detail.’
    Our security team, if one could call it that, comprised of Pandey, myself and Subin, armed with an armoury that would not exactly have inspired fear in any attacker or much confidence in those we were supposed to be protecting. Pandey had his stick, I had a golf club I borrowed from Nitish, and Subin had a hockey stick. Still, it was better than nothing.
    As we set out, I asked Kundu how he had thought of a plan so fast. He laughed. ‘I am a bloody supply chain director in my firm. Never thought I’d have to use those logistical skills and thinking to organize a convoy to Haiko.’
    By the time we got to Haiko, it was almost five in the evening and we were clearly creating quite a spectacle. We had told everyone in the group to not breathe a word about what we were doing. I don’t know why we did that, but somehow it came naturally. Are we all inherently selfish? Why was it that our first instinct was not to share our idea with the others we saw along the way, watching us from their apartment gates and balconies? It did bother me, but then I had more immediate concerns to occupy me.
    Once we were closer to Haiko, I ran ahead alone so that the people inside would not be spooked by the sudden arrival of such a large group. I crouched under the half open shutters and was surprised to see just one person inside the supermarket. She was an elderly woman; her clothes were crumpled and her hair was unkempt.
    ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.
    She looked at me with fearful eyes. ‘Since yesterday…I live quite far from here, near Vidya Vihar. I had spent the night at a friend’s house nearby on Saturday as I had an early shift yesterday. There were no auto-rickshaws in the morning and everything had shut down, but my friend’s neighbour, a security guard, gave me a lift on his bicycle here on his way to the hospital. I got here, but most of the staff did not. The few that made it left by evening, when it was clear that things were not right. Most of them walked or took bicycles, hoping to get home by night. My friend had left late at night on Saturday to catch a train, so there was nobody at her place. I thought I’d wait here till things became normal.’
    ‘Can we buy some things?’
    She looked around and smiled. ‘The registers don’t work, so you won’t get a formal receipt.’
    The smile disappeared when she saw the large group appear in front of the store.
    ‘Don’t hurt me. Take what you want.’
    I realized how I must have looked, with a golf club in my hand and leading a large group to the store, so I dropped the club and extended the wad of cash I had carried. ‘Look, we’ll pay for everything. You can keep the cash and pass it on to the managers when the store reopens. Since the system is down, I’ll write down each transaction on some paper so that you can have the records, and also leave