Saw two men drawing a hand-cart. People still do odd jobs to make a living in Bombay, not many things have changed.
Saw a little girl of around 3 years confidently carrying a packet of biscuits into one of the gullies at Mahim, boldness personified, and walking with twinkling toes, caressing the ground with shimmering little bells, walking into the shadows as giants walk by, that little ghost of a doll, walked alone, reminding me at once of how young and brave, and all knowing we felt when we were little.
Towards the Bandra junction, which somewhere just minutely resembles the Times Square in its positioning, an old man found himself lying at the edge of the pavement which flanked the petrol pump, struggling to raise his body from his hips, the pain eating him up with such excruciating taste, he called along a passer-by to help him up. The passer-by, one of the many newbies that walk this earth, that walk lost in Mumbai, helped the poor old man struggle to lift his body and defy the inhuman gravity and stand up on his feet, limping. The signal turned green, the old man found himself wanting to run across the other safer side, that little moment of wanting to live, of crying on your dilemma, he burst forth with a limp, as the brutal traffic made its way. I wasn't there to watch the climax, you see. My bus had moved on.
Saw a young delivery boy, run headfirst with his bicycle onto the empty roads, handsfree, and enjoyed the graceful, swift breeze that lifted his eyebrow and his lips pursed like a wind's embrace.
Two young boys watched tv outside a showroom squatting and admiring everything that a television can produce, such eager eyes and such attention is sorely missed by the industry today. In a world of artificial television and TRPs.
An evening full of reflections, and continuous observations, of people that stir up moments in your life, an evening in bombay on a warm december night.
