A zephyr blows tirelessly, accompanied by a drizzle. The light rain patters down on my hair forming an effect of early morning dew on a spider's web. Toes clutching onto my cousin's chappal* two sizes too big for me, every step I take is accompanied by a risk of the abysmally large footwear flying off and exposing my feet to the dirt, grime and muck that lie in plenitude on the streets of Bombay.
Damp hair hurriedly pulled into a wild bun with a side ponytail while they're still manageable, make for a bizarre 'do. Having forgotten my scarves in Pune in the last minute rush to leave, I had to make do with a peach chiffon scarf my nani** lent me to mismatch on a light grey tee which on account of its stretchable cotton material, had grown a size.
Completing my ensemble with a nonchalant scowl, I walk fearlessly like I own the road, enjoying the gorgeous weather that is so hard to come by in this city. People go by unconcerned; everybody's minding their own business. It's just me and the road.
I think that's what I miss most.
**nani: maternal grandmother.
(Bombay, July '11)