Look, I might as well start today’s lecture, with an appropriate action — an apology.
This apology is no ordinary apology. To liberally borrow from one of this century’s greatest poets, Shree Saddam Hussein, this is ‘the mother of all apologies’. In the sense that this apology covers the lack of subtlety and nuance in this writer’s prose as well as the absence of basic thought application, and fundamental interest, in what turns out to be, time and again, a completely futile effort.
This apology is, however, also to cover the writer’s disappearance from the face of the earth for the past few weeks.
Now, although this was very pleasing to his family, upon release, this writer may not be able to speak about his traumatic disappearance, which for all essential purposes, was a ‘kidnapping’. To find out more, please continue to subscribe to this newspaper. Now let me return to the actual point of today’s column. Which, as usual, escapes me, dear reader, let alone you.
However, a local incident took place yesterday that has horrified me. So much so, that I’ve been on sedatives ever since. For those who don’t reside in Mumbai, I have two things to say. First, you are lucky, second, this is a very local Mumbai sort of fairy tale. Also, let me be at a great level to stress, ‘you are lucky’.
Before reliving the trauma, I need to set up the geography. Mumbai is a city, which can’t be seen from above because of the dust. However, trust me when I tell you somewhere in the western part of India lies Mumbai. If you want the exact location, its Mumbai — care of, somewhere between Delhi and Chennai.
Now Mumbai has many famous roads. Many of these roads share the same name. Although that’s highly confusing, it doesn’t take away from the road’s fame. Though of course you are never sure which road is being talked about, specifically Marine Drive, is different. Its distinct and alone, like Djokovic during the Covid fiasco. It is still called Marine Drive. It has not been renamed, and if it has been renamed, …er nobody cares.
Sadly, repair work on Marine Drive has been going on since King Harsha’s times. Now brace yourself for the incident. Yesterday, July something or the other at 7.30 am, right in the middle of Marine Drive, between, Hindu Gymkhana, (unlikely to be owned by this newspaper), and Taraporewala Aquarium, (also unlikely to be owned by this newspaper), the road being dug up and narrowed meant we spend 45 minutes just trying to get out of the bottle neck.
45 minutes for a three-metre stretch.
A world record. So, for all those who want to shift to Mumbai for work and their careers, I have only one request. ‘Kindly being your own road’.
The writer has dedicated his life to communism. Though only on weekends.
