India, Dec. 20 -- At 8.10am, on a morning that resembled an apocalyptic dusk, a school bus in Lajpat Nagar pulled over because the driver simply couldn't see the red light ahead through the haze. Children inside pressed their faces to the glass, trying to make sense of a city that now resembles a burnt-out photograph. Outside, cars crawled in procession, each idling, each adding another invisible layer to the air we breathe. We used to joke that winter in Delhi arrives early. Now it feels as if the apocalypse does. Across the city, weddings explode with fireworks, stadium concerts blast smoke machines, expos and food festivals turn parking lots into choked metal graveyards, and VIP movements freeze traffic for kilometres. It is as though we...