We sit on dried grass next to a temple-like structure away from the boys playing football. This is a shoshan – shamshan. A humble chulha awaits the entry of the next one. We carry on our eager exchange next to the nonchalant goats. As if this were not eerie at all. Many friends and foes of indeterminate origin surround our forthright rational exchange. The footballers do not seem to mind at all. The goats carry on chewing dried grass and some plastic. The dead are inconsequential. In a place where space cannot afford to be a permanent description of being, the dead must be content with sharing space with footballers, rationalists and goats. They could join us if they wanted. For tea and biscuits.