As ali walked through the crowded streets of the city of hyderabad,he was overcome by a strange sadness. A strange grief. This was not new to him. Sight of a crowd always had this effect on him. As he walked down the busy historical streets,he wondered the existence of so many people. Random people crossing him. Each one with a story. Each one with his own problems. Each one with hopes. Each one wishing for happiness. A middle-aged man in a typical checked shirt buying fruits-whose prices were constantly rising- from a street vendor. Most probably for his children or for his sick parents takes off in his bike. With his own story. With his own hopes. A local bus-overcrowded to the limit-with people hanging from its,doors advances slowly through the cruel traffic. People smelling of sweat. Each one with a story. Each one with hopes. Children hardly about 15 hired by book stores-a large amount of them in that area-never ceased to surprise him. "A great discount for you brother!""Come inside brother,we offer the best prices in the city""What are you looking for brother?"Weren't they supposed to be studying? They would have excelled had they got an m. B. A he thought. Ali's imagination began to run as he thought about the centuries old streets. These streets were witness to people who used to live without electricity. Vehicles. He imagined the sounds made by horse's hooves. Travellers. Messengers to the nizam. He tried to think from their perspective. Their world. Their thoughts. Their wishes. Their happiness. Their death. What did their world revolve around? Agriculture? Trade? What would have been their daily dose of problems? He'd read that standards of living were better a that time. This brought a happy family to his mind. How much has human thinking evoved? An old rusted colonial type street-light pulled his thoughts back towards the streets. The streets of the city which had taken the british help to protect itself from the marathas and other princely rulers. The streets of the 'city of pearls'. The streets of the city initially named after the sultan's lover. After the independence the streets of this city slithered rapidly extending their reach,adapting to the changing times. A beautiful girl in striking black burqa on bike diverted his thoughts. Did girls ride horses at that time? The complexity of this world perplexed him. What was the use of so many people? Any specific reason? As a philosopher said "A human's life is just as significant as a bubble on any ocean's tide" Was he correct? No. Some people-like gandhi- were as significant as a tide sweeping away a whole city. But what about others? Honking by a bus beside him which he hadn't noticed brought him back to this world. Why was he even thinking about this? Past is past. Who cares….. Ignoring his doubts about the human existence,ali skilfully boards an already full bus. Hanging. Supporting himself with one leg and one hand. His thoughts again going towards the people hanging like him. 