Last Year's Last Walk in Bombay
The day's itinerary started with the World Press Photo Exhibition at the Express Towers at Nariman Point. Just small talk here and there. And then zainaburbanbawa and I took the bus from Mantralay to Bhendi Bazaar, a corrupted name of the area behind the Crawford Market that the British used to call "behind the bazaar".
Back at Khushaali, Mustafabhai welcomed us. "Kidhar hain photo mera?" was the first question he asked me. I said it would take some time before I could give it to him. As we sipped tea, a retired ex-journo with Blitz, Mr. Abedin, talked to us in a friendly manner and introduced the person seated next to him as the Muezzin (the person who calls for prayer congegration) of the adjacent mosque (one of the most beautiful mosques, the walls done with exquisite tiles, a square-inch apiece). The pair made some apprehensive images in that low light not knowing how to get rid of us.
Later that night dinner at Sarvi, a historic Irani restaurant with a three-metre long kebab grilling spit, had me full and greedy for the moong pulao, kebab and shorba. I was spellbound at the monotonous yet constant pace in which kebabs were done and served. Later, I tasted some Aflatooni halwa at Mohammad Ali Road, something that I had tasted years ago and still savoured the taste and Zainab and I took a bus ride back to the Marine Drive before taking a train back home.
Fort looked strangely empty on that night of 25th December. The pillars looked ghastly and sleepy. The wind too, ironically, had been absent.