We were talking about writing about our favourite walk, mine happened to be walking around south bombay with my closest friends back home. Of course I missed home. But crying in an online class was new.
Can I only cry in the confines and the comfort of my room?
No, i’ve cried in public spaces before.
Was it-oh wait.
Nevermind, it was my period. It was nothing profound that my body was trying to communicate to me. My crying didn’t signify anything more than just an outcome of pmsing.
Sometimes, I really don’t like being a woman.
Anyway, I thought I’d share the peice I wrote with ya’ll-
I am walking through South Bombay, I’ve done it a lot of times and yet every time, these walks are etched, filled with fond memories.
I get down at the VT Terminus, grab the ritualistic sickly sweet fountain coke you find on the side of the platform and make my way through the decorated pillars that bolster not only the beautiful arches but also the ambition of many that come to this city to make it. The scorching Bombay sun blinds me as I make my way towards Colaba Causeway. As I cross some of the remnant Victorian-era architecture, I’m reminded of how there is so much hidden history in those crevices which I may never get to know. I reach the corner of Leopold Cafe, which gained even more popularity after the 26/11. It is rightfully described as a microcosm of Bombay elites and expats alike by Gregory David Roberts in his book Shantaram. I step in, the narrow alleyway engulfs me, I am in a sea of bright stone rings, rusted antiques, boxes of factory discarded clothes with their tags cut off, intricate oxidized silver jewelry, mosaic stone clutches, the ubiquitous om block-printed kurtas. I ebb in the sea of people-of tired husbands or boyfriends, of enthusiastic hagglers, of awestruck foreigners, of cranky children-and I never want to leave.
