Getting bitchslapped by the heat. Working on borrowed broadband. Staring lamely at the suitcase and the unopened cartons. Washing and wearing the same undie eveyday. Meeting people and generally taking stock of things. Must not let the city dominate me this time. But must at least show it elementary respect by writing about life here in detail only when I own broadband that I pay for. Smashing beer bottles with my breath, which is thick because it’s all steam. Gawking at taxi and auto drivers who quietly settle for a rupee less because the fare is 11 and they can’t return 9. Being put to ease by old friends and brothers of friends, who insist on paying the bill, sensitive about my unemployed station in life. Staring with an eerie feeling at billboards of three-month-old movies everywhere and realising that the producers-multiplexes standoff is much more than a weekend timepass problem for this city. TTYL.



  1. Good to know you’re here . Allow me to poison you over lunch next week – after pagar, before monsoon. Shall we?

    1. Pagar? I hope you are referring to yourself! BUt sure, anything to die eating! I’ve got your number, expect a call soon. And thanks, that’s terribly kind of you and very Bombay. Sniff.

      1. 😀 Yessir – referring to my pagar… and our monsoon! Welcome to Bombay, you’ve come just in time.

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