Wednesday, July 21, 2004
The past days have been riddled with heat and dust, fire and fury, all with the avowed intention of taking all in one's stride--the grin and bare it demeanour.
The tale starts off with receiving an old pal at the airport--he from Calcutta after a disjointed and desultory day at the Visa office--successful, and I from ModiLand. Decided at about midnight that a stroll down to the Gateway might be a good idea. Navigated through the din of bedecked horses, bejewelled professionals and other diaspora and made our way through the quaintly Victorian locales to a bench by the sea. Yakked nineteen to the dozen and then some. Even met some folk hesitantly asked us--which way to the India Gate--didn't even bother to correct, just pointed.
Despite all efforts to the contrary, did have to put in a couple of hours at the O on Saturday , quite productive and fruitful--before taxiing down along the length of the train tracks to Parel, where we met with another old friend for lunch. The joint was called Viva Paschim situated helpfully near a garage which of course I realized only after I had quizzed a grisled panwallah, and the scorn on his face quite gave away his disgust the place was right under my nose metaphorically.
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The tale starts off with receiving an old pal at the airport--he from Calcutta after a disjointed and desultory day at the Visa office--successful, and I from ModiLand. Decided at about midnight that a stroll down to the Gateway might be a good idea. Navigated through the din of bedecked horses, bejewelled professionals and other diaspora and made our way through the quaintly Victorian locales to a bench by the sea. Yakked nineteen to the dozen and then some. Even met some folk hesitantly asked us--which way to the India Gate--didn't even bother to correct, just pointed.
Despite all efforts to the contrary, did have to put in a couple of hours at the O on Saturday , quite productive and fruitful--before taxiing down along the length of the train tracks to Parel, where we met with another old friend for lunch. The joint was called Viva Paschim situated helpfully near a garage which of course I realized only after I had quizzed a grisled panwallah, and the scorn on his face quite gave away his disgust the place was right under my nose metaphorically.
