My bus comes at 6.15 every day. It is 6.20, and I am waiting. “There is a strike,” a man said, “No bus, taxi, or auto rickshaw today!”  As I walked home, I texted my boss and informed him that I would be working from home. “There are no vegetables,” my wife said, handing me a list which had more than vegetables on it. “Get the rest of the provisions from the shop near the hospital. I have to go to my sister’s house.” Her sister lives in a building next to ours. Walking distance. “While you are at it, you can bathe the children and see that they have their breakfast. No school today because of the strike.” My phone buzzes. It is my boss’s approval for my work-from-home request. I take a deep breath and start working from home.