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I hate to work on Sundays. But the assignment was wrapped on an invitation to visit the freshly renovated, one and only, authentic seafood restaurant in Chembur. We set on a bike on a lovely Sunday traffic, meandering on the highway and criss-crossing the suburbs on to the central and were on the last lap when a fellow bike rider pointed towards the rear tyre. By the time we realized it, the bike groaned loudly with the added pressure of the deflated tyre. We walked the rest of the few blocks and were waited upon till the owner arrived. A round of seafood entrees followed by the main course including a very unique bhatkal biryani and finally some caramel pudding ended a sumptuous Sunday afternoon. The owner dropped us to the bike and guided us to the nearest mechanic. Temples are a very lucrative site for beggars. We dragged the bike to the parking lot and a street urchin raced towards us wanting to lead us to the mechanic. Before we could decide, he was already off and my fr...
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A son is a son…

When life becomes routine and boring, I think of new devices. Once, in the middle of the night, I decided to hitch hike all the way home. Two walks and one hitchhike later, I was stranded along with a group of complete strangers who seemed to have missed their last mode of transport. I noticed a frail old man, bent by the burden of at least seventy to eighty years, waiting for a bus. I heard his cellphone ring and he answered his whereabouts, probably to a family member. Or maybe they just called to know whether he still existed or not. The phone disconnected while he had just begun to explain. I enquired and he told me that his wait was almost an hour long. We decided to share a rickshaw till home. He had retired from TCS and had three or four sons all well settled in affluent areas of Mumbai and Pune. He was sharp enough to trace my origin accurately through my accent, in spite of the fact that I was conversing in his native, quite fluently. He still worked for his living and ate onc...
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