945 - Sunday in Mumbai

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This Sunday was in Mumbai. I took the familiar bus from Vashi to Bandra. There was a trouble in the bus and the conductor and the driver callously let us out in the rain. I joined forces - or voices, at the very least - with a man in a red tee-shirt who told them that this was wrong. Usually, such an argument would have made me uncomfortable. But that morning, it felt good to feel that surge of edge back. 

Mumbai was beautiful and Bandra was stunning. I shopped at Hill Road and walked along Bandstand. The sea churned. The skies were ripped to let out the rain. Huge waves crashed against the promenade. It was magnificent beyond belief. So magnifent that people, slack-jawed, witnessed the waves (yes 'witness'. 'See' is too small to what you do when you confront something like that.) instead of staring at Mannat. They witnessed the waves instead of leching at some girl in a wet tee. They witnessed the downpour and the expansiveness of the sea and I think they felt what I felt - what I always feel in Bombay - a thudding, subtle, resounding, quiet, yet roaring 'Yes'.

It is a city of yesness.

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