I humbly remember the grace of Rustom Bharucha and Sindhu Radhakrishna in writing this book, which is nothing but the differential quotient of their reading and my writing. Both of them herded my meaningful shyness to a sense of improvisatory curiosity. I respectfully remember Anitha Kurup, Sundar Sarukkai, Larisa Jasarevic, Hannah DeBruine, Ameet Parameswaran and Mahesh Rangarajan, whose presence animated my articulations. I fondly remember the structures of Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and the National Institute of Advanced Studies, Bengaluru; both of which conserved my agencies in writing this book. I remember with debt the services of the Library Genesis search engine in grooming my reading instincts. When I felt I was in a no-man’s land, the kind gestures of Sivakolunthu, Muthaiya, Murugesan and Manivannan helped me a lot, and I remember their enduring pulse. The virile immanence of the herders, groomers, players, and bovine doctors, I cannot forget. With an electric hug, I remember the bovines, which faced me; and those bovines, which refused to face me, I remember them as an ascetic spectator. A main part of writing this book happened during precarious shifts in my personal life and the global COVID-19 pandemic. I remember both’s mundane inevitability and haunted ubiquity.