“Last evening was such a harsh reality check, Pheroze; it felt so very odd…” Lady Flora, spoke haltingly, instead of her usual rapid fire-like delivery. She was sipping on chai with her old friend and walking companion Sir PM at their usual spot inside Horniman Circle Gardens.

“What do you mean, Lady Flora? I hope everything is okay with you,” Sir PM enquired. She could read from his stressed forehead that he was worried. “I am fine but this wretched virus and its aftermath has really knocked the wind out of so many good things in Bombay. I was stunned when I decided to do a quick dekko of the Kala Ghoda festival last night, only to see an empty, quiet neighbourhood. It felt ghost-like. It wasn’t until I bumped into our good friend Dr Viegas that he briefed me about the change in plan, and how no physical event was going to happen this year, thanks to the monster pandemic. Isn’t that tragic?” she winced. Sir PM realised that once again, he’d missed the bus when it came to news updates.