It was a beautiful evening yesterday. Met up with a friend at Nariman Point and we went to Theos first, the terrace of Sea Palace next (which is fabulous, by the way) and finished off with coffee at Starbucks.
I had taken the train to and from Vashi and a local is so much better than the metro. Or maybe that's how I like it - anything open over anything closed. :-) I remember being in Goa with someone. We were having a beverage in a posh place. This person told me how excellent it was to be sitting in front of a beautiful infinity pool. How nice to be able to afford all that so that you could avoid being on the beach and the polluted ocean. I longed for that smelly ocean though. It was an ocean.
Anyway, while returning, it was close to midnight and I stood by the door. The train picked up speed and there is this part in the local train journeys that I love - when it feels like you are hurtling down down a ear canal or something and you'll suddenly stop when you have lodged yourself in someone else's brain. (I see the city like that sometimes - a chaotic collation of neurons - a mad sort of collective consciousness - and a rusty local train to take you there.) But a double dollop of joy is when you are standing by the door and the wind is whipping your face and there's a train that is speeding parallelly in the opposite direction. You brace yourself and it whizzes past - all light and shifting, melding stripes of iron bars, with a shattering sound - and just like that it's done. You still have your own speed and your own night and your own panels of the world to pass by.
Something else happened that I want to write about.
Later perhaps.
I had taken the train to and from Vashi and a local is so much better than the metro. Or maybe that's how I like it - anything open over anything closed. :-) I remember being in Goa with someone. We were having a beverage in a posh place. This person told me how excellent it was to be sitting in front of a beautiful infinity pool. How nice to be able to afford all that so that you could avoid being on the beach and the polluted ocean. I longed for that smelly ocean though. It was an ocean.
Anyway, while returning, it was close to midnight and I stood by the door. The train picked up speed and there is this part in the local train journeys that I love - when it feels like you are hurtling down down a ear canal or something and you'll suddenly stop when you have lodged yourself in someone else's brain. (I see the city like that sometimes - a chaotic collation of neurons - a mad sort of collective consciousness - and a rusty local train to take you there.) But a double dollop of joy is when you are standing by the door and the wind is whipping your face and there's a train that is speeding parallelly in the opposite direction. You brace yourself and it whizzes past - all light and shifting, melding stripes of iron bars, with a shattering sound - and just like that it's done. You still have your own speed and your own night and your own panels of the world to pass by.
Something else happened that I want to write about.
Later perhaps.
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