A Dog Named James

At six in the morning James takes up his position by the balcony door, a black Labrador arranged like furniture with opinions, and performs his single great act of daily diplomacy: he does not wake me. He simply exists, loudly. He sighs. He resettles his weight on the floorboards. He lets his collar clink once against the tile — an accident, somehow, every morning for six years.

Bengaluru is at its gentlest just after dawn, and we own that hour…