The man was around the size of any Indian grandpa, 5’4 give or take. Hunched back like a parabola with a domain restriction. He had chocolate brown skin sprinkled with sagging moles. He used a chestnut wooden crutch to walk, chipped toenails inching slowly towards the entrance of the temple, hands trembling. The teenage girls in lehengas giggling with their straightened hair and brown highlights, twenty five year old virgin males in kurtas with their sideburns and half grins, middle aged aunties gossiping and cackling as if in their youth, all seemed like comical background caricatures, social party animals. Something about the serenity, the focus with which the grandpa tried to walk seemed real. I hope the universe, too, was looking at him.