Calcutta, April 3 :     4.40 am. 5C New Road, Alipore. The leaden skies have not yet begun to lighten. At the shadowy meeting point of night and dawn, the white, two-storied building stands lit by the febrile glow of street lamps. It is too early even for birdsong. Here ? in the colony of Calcutta?s super-rich ? even the sound of dead leaves scurrying and yesterday?s newspaper being swept across the kerb in the cooling breeze seems muted. Almost in awe of those who live here. This is the precise time when 57-year-old Exide chief Satyabrata Ganguly used to leave home for his morning walk. His house ? 5C ? is the only one with the lamp shining in the portico. The illuminated nameplate outside glows, subdued and soft on one side. So does the ?Beware of Dog? sign on the other. There is hardly any sign of life in the neighbourhood. Stuccoed houses, creeper and bougainvillaea, debdaru and other tall trees rim the high-walled boundaries. It is forbidding here, it is creepily quiet. Patodia Niwas, Bagla House, Lohia Niwas ? neighbours of 5C ? are silent in slumber. Ganguly?s usual route ? so says his driver ? was out of the house, turn right, past Sanchar Minar, across the tram tracks with the early morning trundling tram tinkling its way to Kidderpore, past the railway officers? flats, skirting the glass-stone facade of the Lakshmipat Singhania Academy, past imposing Jalan House, up Alipore Road, past the billboard that proclaims ?Enjoy your brisk walk, burn your calories,? and into the Agri-Horticultural Gardens. It is a quiet walk, the silence rendered more palpable by the occasional hiss of a speeding car or the noisy grumble of a truck. Inside the gardens, it is business as usual by 5 am. Morning walkers are being driven to their saunters in a screech of tyres in gleaming Esteems, Cielos and Opel Astras. The Maruti 800 is the poor man?s car here, seen sparingly, almost hidden away in the crowd of bigger bodies, more powerful engines, higher BHPs. The police are an understated presence this Saturday morning, patrolling in plainclothes and without the accessories of vehicles and walkie-talkies. As opposed to the Dhakuria Lakes, this is the seriously rich out for a walk. Nike Airs rather than Power Joggers, Adidas rather than Proline. The sleek cellphone is discreetly tucked in the pocket of the designer shorts, the strangled beep mingling with the call of early morning birds. The people ? well-heeled, well-groomed ? are almost all elderly. There are no joggers in these parts. Only walkers. Fast walkers, slow walkers, walkers doing sit-ups, walkers catching their breath on dirt-splattered benches, doing side-bends on the sprawling, manicured lawns. The perfume, such as the one that hits you when you walk into a departmental store abroad, overpowers the scent of crushed petals and the leafy fragrance of exotic trees like the Bottle Crush or the Indian Coral Tree. This is Calcutta?s Who?s Who up and about early. For them, a morning walk is not all about exercise. It is as much about networking. The scraps of dialogue are exchanged as the saunters breaks into trots. ?Missed you at the club last evening. Thought I would catch up with you while walking.? ?Free for golf on Sunday?? But between the golf and the party, the clinched deal and the missed opportunity, falls the shadow of Ganguly?s disappearance. ?People saw it on television last evening. That?s why quite a few have stayed away.? The caretaker of the gardens agrees. ?By 5.30 am on other days, you wouldn?t have found space to park. The crowd is less today. Maybe people are scared.? The crowd peaks at around 6 pm. ?Good mornings? brush shoulders with ?I am on my way out soon.? This was Ganguly?s peer group, the people he could have left behind as he possibly walked back (or was driven home) to New Road. If he had done the rounds at the gardens yesterday morning at all. The Exide boss used to return home around 6 am everyday. At 6.30 am at 5C New Road today, the gates are barred and shut. A cluster of liveried drivers cast curious glances at passers-by. ?Saab has not come back. No one else is at home,? says grim, poker-faced Subhash. Beneath the clump of trees, in front of the high walls, the question hangs in the still morning air. ?Where did Satyabrata Ganguly go when he went out on Friday. No one has the answer yet.