Before the first light of dawn

Yellow lighting.
A bright yellow that rapidly diminishes in intensity, leaving a dull haze all around you, and the darkness begins to close in. Suddenly, the intensity increases, and then diminishes again. Dull grey tarmac below you, with a dotted white line passing by intermittently.
It's cold - and that's as it should be. It is, after all, three thirty in the morning.
Law College road by the night is nothing like it's counterpart during the day. During the day, the little road that connects Senapati Bapat road to Nal Stop is a busy thoroughfare. Offices, schools and colleges lie on this busy road, and at the best of times, it is sheer pandemonium.
During the night though, it lies practically empty, save the occasional bike that speeds along.
And if you ride a bike after having drunk through the night, all you'll remember is a bright yellow that rapidly diminishes in intensity, leaving a dull haze all around you, until the intensity increases again. The sulphur lamps that the PMC uses all over Pune - or used to, at any rate - are fondly remembered by many a Bacchanalian devotee.
But it is not only the tipsy brigade that you will find on Law College Road at three thirty in the morning. You shall also find students on this road at that unearthly time of the night. Having spent the night in pleasant chit chat, with unread heavy tomes for company, they too have decided to make the journey with us this night.
Our journey takes us across the length of Law College road. From NCC circle, past the newly opened Mocha, beyond Rangoli, beyond the HDFC ATM, beyond the school on the left, beyond Law College itself, with it's blessed canteen, Kanchan Galli, FTII, SNDT and finally to the end of the road, where Law College road joins up at a right angle with Karve Road.
And at night, with the cold wind blowing past your ears, this is a very pleasant journey.
At that right angle, towards the left, you will see a cheerful congregation. The happily buzzed members of the Tipsy Brigade, the earnest students and the rest of the night owls are joined by newspaper vendors at that corner.
All of Kothrud, or at any rate, most of it, gets the morning daily, be it in either English or Marathi, from that corner.
But the reason the non-newspaper people are there is at a little neighbouring shop.
I do not know the name of the place - I think it is Amruteshwar, but I could be wrong.
At three thirty in the morning, this little place opens up for business.
A little stall right at the very start, behind which lie cigarettes in little shelves, pan masalas, mints and chewing gums. Opposite the counter, on a little raised surface, in a large vessels, bubbles without resting a large copious amount of chai. Forgive me, I cannot call it tea.
In the little shop, beyond which lies the kitchen, lie three or four ramshackle tables - and until around seven in the morning, these are always fully occupied.
At the stroke of three thirty, pohe, upma, sheera and sabudanyachi khichadi are bought out in large hefty containers, and kept on the little counter.
And Anna, otherwise a kind gentle soul, begins mortal combat with the large crowd that descends all over him.
Wearing a tattered brown banyan and shorts, with a little stubble that neither grows nor goes away, Anna is a man whose bark is considerably worse than his bite. Patiently and without ever completely losing his cool, he dispenses with remarkable rapidity the meal of choice to his loyal clientèle.
In little bowls made out of dried leaves, for example, he will dole out with a dexterity born out or regular practice a small tidy heap of pohe, garnished with a sprinkling of sev and a wedge of lemon. Grab your spoon, make your payment, and get out onto the rather crowded footpath for your first meal of the morning, or, and this is far more likely, your last meal of the night.
A small cup of chai to round things off, and a sutta if that be your thing.
It's not the tastiest food around - there are far better breakfasts served in Pune. About which we shall talk in the days to come.
But at three thirty in the morning, after a night with friends, there is no better place to come to for breakfast. Indeed, there is no other place to go to.
And so after an hour of idle chit chat, with hot breakfast and steaming cups of chai, you encounter the bright yellow lights that fade in and out once again.
Homeward Bound, as S and G would say.