I am generally a genial sort… or so I’d like to believe. You know the kind that meditates occasionally, reads copiously, writes short stories and barmy poetry, makes little clay men and paints, even though I haven’t painted in quite a while, except for my bedroom door…. and No! I wasn’t cheaping out on getting a pro.
And then I gripe, moan and bitch at the world that goes on by, simply because I can.
So I float, which isn’t the same as drift which I’m also prone to on occasion and look down every now and then, barf bag in hand at stink city that Mumbai is slowly descending into and long for the hills. For calm and quiet. Where I’ll miss vada-pao’s with fried green chillies on the side, dusted with salt and grime, even though they give me the runs.
And I stay put.