The men of Calcutta, the mechanics, highway flagmen, insurance agents have the same patriarch-pale eyes and sharp cheekbones you see in the photos of their great-grandfathers. They even have Old Testament names like Jorah and Tabbaoth. Look closely and they seem faded a degree toward sepia.

They watch their Netflix, they believe they can live without pain, they think of the moon as a place, but the men of Calcutta are wrapped in the gossamer threads of the past.