Tuesday, December 28, 2010

A Bombay Tale

The general subject was shizophrenia and the particular subject was Bombay. The cawing of a big black crow. A whoosh from some source unidentified.
There was also in the air another stupendous topic-the cessation of certain phenomena immediately they enter into consciousness. The cawing of a pigeon in the crumbling courtyard, a cooing ceased in recognition and later reasserting in modest retrospect the aural shadow of its former song until crescendi on crescendi had brought the music in on lovely tidal arms.
It was a Scherzo at best; a bagatelle at worst.
The Military and Naval Stores and Restaurant yielded a cool CocaCola hits the spot sign but twelve full ounces had not yet reached these shores-except in the case of beer where the big bottle was the rule.
...to be continued...
Gentle Reader! My dear, my very very dear Transparency.....
For how many years have I carried the words you have just read with me on tiny pages, scribbled in the tiniest script, in my wallet close to my pulsing blood.
Ah Toy had once turned these pages over with a fond hand.
Shall we get on with the story?
The walls of Bombay-its backways dead-ends. I knew them all; had covered the city by foot and made of myself her citizen. Who could forget Sorab Bharucha Road in postal district number five where the street came to a sudden end at the DEAD SLOW sign?
....to be continued....


  1. Like some folks love to say these days - "It can happen ONLY in India" :-)