It's a hot summer night on Carter Road. There are some couples who're getting to know each other as they stroll past a tepid, shimmering ocean dotted with construction equipment. (At this point, construction equipment in Mumbai, or at least Bandra West, can pass for installation art.) There are girls in track pants and tee-shirts so faded that they are one wash away from being dust cloths. They occupy the two far ends of Carter's and play badminton. Some young boys are listening to something on their phones. Families with little children try to find a spot to sit where their kids will not start scooting after large rats running around. I walk on the promenade just to immerse myself in the quiet communion of the joy of the ordinary people. A little girl with curly hair runs towards me. She almost trips. I help her up and look around to check for a panicked parent. A sweaty lady is tying her shoelaces. She signs to me to keep her kid in check for a few minutes. I tell this girl that her name is Rayna. Because she looks like a Rayna. She is a little surprised at being told her name and not asked it. But she shrugs. It's not important to her what she's called. I asked her why she was running so fast. She points to the moon and tells me she wanted to catch it. I asked her if she knew what that was. She thinks and tries to remember what it is. She gives up and says, "Tired sun." By this time, her mother has reached us and smiles and retrieves her daughter from my custody. I looked up at the sky and thought that we truly are living in a beautifully bizarre world...where kids can spot the burnout in nature. And with such poetry.
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