Karan Mehta 1 The humidity hit Nisha Deshmukh like a slap as she stepped out of the cab in front of Dadar Heights. Her cotton kurta clung to her back, damp with sweat. It was past 11 p.m., but Mumbai’s summer showed no signs of cooling down. The street outside was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional honk from a distant rickshaw. A few stray dogs lazed near an old lamp post, while the flickering light overhead cast long shadows across the cracked pavement. She looked up at the building—five stories of faded pink paint, streaked with years of monsoon…