Rain check, Bombay

"I see you are more than adequately equipped to handle the city's monsoonal angst, Lady Flora. Those tall gumboots seem like quite the effective support to wade through our roads and streets, considering my former bosses have failed miserably all over again in their "efforts" to save the city from drowning. Lady Flora noticed that her friend Sir PM gestured to show quote marks when he uttered the word, effort. He was clearly quite upset that he had to witness the predicament and trauma that his citizens had to face from his pedestal. "I agree, Pheroze," Lady Flora nodded, adjusting her rain gear that included a dainty parka. "Their priorities are elsewhere - in making grand plans to make it a world-class city; god knows, how these plans will materialise when the basics are in such bad shape. Oh, and these aren't gumboots, but Wellingtons. My cousin packed me an early birthday gift all the way from London. Quite the classic, right?"

But, Sir PM's mind had moved on to other pressing concerns that had grabbed his attention. "I really don't know how many reminders need to be given to them about the city. Everyone pays their taxes, yet I can see the plight that they have to endure every single monsoon, in particular." He was in one of those moods, Lady Flora could see. "Pheroze, I heard this ridiculous claim recently where the babus in the building shared that there were only 100 potholes in the city! Lady Flora had counted at least 10 as they proceeded towards Kalbadevi for a change of route on their midnight walk. It was a false claim by the BMC, she realised. 'Silly me, for believing them,' she told herself.

Sir PM was stumped. "That's preposterous. Considering aunty Behroze is still recovering from her fall while trying to avoid one of the big ones near her home in Bandra, during her morning walk. And she was sure that despite her Alzheimer's she had spotted at least another 50 within her neighbouhood. I am shocked at the casual behaviour towards citizen's complaints. What are they doing for the rest of the year with all that money in their coffers?" He was staring at a run-down building that displayed traces of stunning vernacular architecture. "See this hall, Lady Flora. You know, once upon a time, it was an important landmark where leaders like the great Lokmanya Tilak would assemble and share their vision of democracy with citizens. And now, it's nearly gone with no interest to revive it. Its façade has been blocked entirely because of what else, but the Metro work, so any chance of an upgrade seems bleak."

Lady Flora grimaced and struggled with every step. Walking around with the rain gear on these uneven roads wasn't her idea of a pleasant midnight stroll. "This was not a good suggestion, Pheroze. Let's turn back. We can see St Teresa's Church next time around. Tell Viegas that his midnight rummy party plan will have to wait. My newly restored and now sore ankles need immediate tending to. I must inform cousin Alexandria about this misadventure. She will be cross to hear that this stone-hardy pair couldn't negotiate Bombay's roads," exclaimed Lady Flora, writhing in pain. By now, she had to take the support of her friend as they turned around to make their way back towards Fort.

As they reached familiar ground, the heavens opened. In a jiffy, Sir PM brought out a massive black raincoat. He looked like a spy from an early 1900s thriller. Lady Flora's face broke into a smile, finally. "It's from Bhendi Bazaar - durable, just like us Bombaywallahs; it has survived 100 monsoons," he chuckled, as he saw off his friend till she reached her pedestal. "Stay dry, Lady Flora, and the next time, I will take you shopping before the rains."

mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana
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