On Tuesday, on an almost wintry afternoon, I walked into the 37 year-old Prithvi Theatre at Juhu. A light, warm breeze wafted into the open cafeteria. In walked some workers from a corner, with gunny bags on their heads. Two more workers stood, having a ponderous discussion over tally sheets of all the repairworks they’d conducted.

In another corner, two marketing guys — unaware of the lull before the storm (read the Prithvi Festival) — were chatting. Their conversation went something like this — “Client ko creative bheja hai, dekhte hai kya hota hai. Main office nahi aa raha. Ab mein ghar ko kulti maroonga.”