Looking at the Jaguar showroom in Worli...those cars all sinewy and feral and virile.
Looking at Haji Ali in the light of the moon, with one strong lamp, lighting up a narrow path in the sea.
Standing alone in the midst of highrises, eyes blurring as they travel up lithe spines of architecture.
Counting cars that glide across clean, beautiful roads in smooth circadian rhythm, but paradoxically at night.
Waiters at ajuice centre wiping sweat off their brows, yet smiling and bringing you a napkin even when you're not a patron.
People waiting silently for a bus that doesn't turn up, and decide to walk home whistling.
Men getting into a sruffle, yet pulling each other out of harm's way when a car speeds past recklessly.
Scrambling across Bombay Central station, stopping to smile at an unexpected sight - a young, pretty woman in an orange saree selling eggs at 12:30 at night.
Rushing to get into a train...any train...because it is definitely way too late to get anything, and be proven wrong.
Looking at the surreal, gloomy, empty railway tracks that are stunning in a bizarre way.
Making plans to sit near the window seat because the train's going to be empty...but what do you know, a hundred people are already inside ...and a hundred odd waiting to get in.
Getting ready to say goodnight to the city, only to find out that it's too late. For some, the day has already begun.
And whilst all of the above was happening, one thought of what Voltaire said, "Some thoughts are like prayers. No matter what the position of the body, the soul is on it's knees."