~ As the plane descends through the last of the clouds an expanse of the neon washed Bombay grows slowly from the darkness beneath. Petite islets of bright lands with their slow flashing vehicles scattered all over the dark interrupted sea; a picture of a huge electric pancreas. The smell of the might and the spirit from miles afar.
Bombay is not any city but a giant galaxy that cares for no one.
A rough screech declared the landing. It has rained.
~You want to remember badly who actually told you this; the sum of temperature in Fahrenheit and percentage of humidity above 180 is hell. You cant recall. The mobile phone shows 90% humidity and 40 centigrade. You had 6 l of pepsi since morning and couldn’t squeeze a drop of wee. Your t-shirt is wet with your salt. Then you stand there and smile at the camera .Wondering about this all.Probably this is how it would feel when you just have a century against your name?
~Gateway of India
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