It was almost o'clock
There is a time in the day when the world is achingly beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that going over Kurla Bridge is like a sweet dalliance over a rainbow. These moments usually escape me when I leave my home, my sweet cosy little flat - where my chair by the window, a visiting kite, table scattered with books, and old coffee cups, I have built a home. Or a refugee shelter. As if there's a difference. But on days that I travel to visit the father, I get an auto rickshaw, settle down with some crusty music on YouTube, and go, usually thinking of the next set of bills to be paid or the next email to be written or the next chiding to be given. I usually travel with a full head. But sometimes, there's a song I didn't choose. But I remember I had liked it in college when I had such low self-esteem that I didn't even know that I was allowed to have taste. And there's the song that lasted all those college years until I got my first job, when my self-esteem was so infla...
