For the many years I’ve known Dara Pochkhanawalla, I’ve always seen him dressed in a light coloured shirt. And that is what I expected him to be in when I was welcomed into his home in Mumbai’s Fort area last week. Instead, Dara was in his sudreh (vest worn by Parsis).

He sat behind a large desk, spending his hot afternoon with a television news channel on, oblivious to the busy street down below, populated by traders. I had come to meet a man who is dealing with a cruel blow in the form of a chronic kidney disease  which requires thrice-a-week home dialysis. He’s not been outdoors in months, except to be hospitalised five times in the last seven months.