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He worried about underarm sweat patches, though they would often say, “Mukeshbhai, why do you worry about such things? We are old now. We don’t mind.” But Mukesh did not want to be old, and if he stopped worrying about sweat patches, belching in public, that sort of thing, he might stop caring about other more important things too.
Time of Eternal Quiet had begun, that silent, lonely stage of grief, where everyone but you had moved on,
