We briefed the para dada as the neighbourhood strongman — the club-bench king whose power is mostly posture, in the direct line of the swaggering, self-satisfied men the Kalighat patuas loved to size up. He sprawls across a low navy bench in a three-quarter turn, one foot planted and the other leg cocked up, arms folded across a white singlet with the studied ease of a man who knows he will not be moved. The red-and-white striped gamcha thrown over his shoulder is his only emblem of office, and the curled moustache and side-eye do the rest. We kept him in plain white singlet and dhoti against a quiet cream ground so the bulk and the attitude carry the whole picture — the bench is the only prop, and it earns its place because the joke is exactly that throne of municipal furniture. No club flag, no banner, no logo: the satire is the lounge, the gamcha and the look.