The crows beat their wings against the bay windows, waiting to ascend and dive. Their cries are incessant;it is their apocalyptic swarm that is different in India. They dance in the rain and wait in the yellow heatof unyielding farmland turned to dust and hover above corridors of refugees fleeing flood and war. Now, in thelate monsoon in Mumbai, they perch on a billboard image of young businessmen, who are white-skinned and joyfuland celebrating their ownership of a mobile phone that combines a TV screen. The young businessmen and the fatcrows overlook a pyramid of rubbish, which is inhabited by a scabrous dog and darting rats (with an eye to thecrows) and a tiny sari-clad figure, digging methodically with her hands.