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Evenings in the park are busy, mostly with residents from colonies nearby. Old regimentarians with that brisk up-two-three-four that trumpets years of public service. Rosy-eyed lovers with interlaced fingers wandering so languidly that they cause the more serious walkers to dodge them to keep pace. Young women who stop mid-stride to fuss over their pets, disrupting the flow of all those behind them, for who is so heartless as to keep walking when a damsel is in distress? The park is a public space like any other should be. A beautiful bouquet of mismatched strangers and colours and sounds in perfect harmony. Everybody is welcome. Even the oddballs dotting the fringes, making noises about this cause and that.