March 15, 3 am, Marine Lines
The days of celebration gone by, no one seem to be celebrating now. ‘Celebrations’ has been re-christened as rave parties and hangovers. All seem to be walking on the dead man’s plank. Blinded by seeking an eye for an eye, the city is searching for the meaning of its existence.
Amidst this toxic smog, last night, a ray of hope found its way through the cribbing souls of my fellow denizens. He questioned the liberty, the late night parties and the teenage flings. He pointed proudly at the sea and summoned the Armageddon. “The land of the rising sun has set”, he grinned, “Now, it shall be you!” A fire lit in his eyes as his laughter echoed in the invisible gas chamber trapping us all. He walked across the shore, skipping the smooth rocks and stepping on the slippery ones. He looked back; perhaps the aroma of the cutting chai was holding him back. He searched his pockets; he didn’t have a single rupee! (After all, Armageddon is priceless!) Poor He, in his very first night in the city of falsity, he had to compromise! The chai wala smiled and offered him a cup of chai for free. He wrapped his ragged sheet around and sat down briskly. Ringing his bell, the chai wala walked away as the Messenger of Doom sipped the hot chai with full content!
Tonight, Mumbai made truce with the messenger of Doom!
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