Me, standing at the entrance of a Patel Chowk-bound train, Mozart’s Lacrimosa playing in my ears. Man, sprinting from the stairs, towards my metro car’s entrance. Man, yelling: Hayooda? Hayooda? Hayooda? Me, yelling, hand outstretched to stop him: Nahin, nahin! Bombardier! The man, skids to a halt just outside the door. The doors close. The train…