In almost every stratum of society, in almost every section of every class, this touch, this exchange was contraband. A young couple, a girl and a boy, go sit on the grass by Rabindra Sarobar in the late afternoon. On another afternoon, two young men walk by outside the Victoria Memorial, on the grassy patch across the road from the planetarium. The younger of the two notices a row of working class men crouched, unmoving, at the short pillars of the Memorial periphery, all of them facing into the Memorial gardens. As these men and women landed their blows did it occur to any one of them that "Oh, my god, this is my own younger self that I'm beating up"?

Source: The Telegraph May 14, 2018 18:22 UTC