"Psst, Lady Flora…are you awake?" whispered Sir Pherozeshah Mehta, "One can't tell after your face has been wrapped up in protective covering." The genteel Parsi lawyer and activist was on his post midnight walks around some of his favourite SoBo landmarks, and of course, to catch up with his old friend and fellow Bombaywallah.
Just as he decided to not disturb her any further, and return to his pedestal, he heard a shuffle behind him. Lady Flora had managed to extricate herself from the layers, and had hopped off her vantage point. "Pheroze, forgive me for not responding earlier. All of this [referring to the layers] takes a while to remove; plus the daylong drilling sound, thanks to the Metro work is doing no good for my sinusitis. I hardly sleep these days; it gets very tiring, you see. Gone was the time when I could catch forty winks despite all the chaos below. Not anymore," she signed.

Sir Pheroze suggested they walk towards Victoria Terminus (now, CSMT). "So tell me, Pheroze…what's been happening these days?" she enquired, as a stiff sea breeze accompanied them down the city's premier road, now unrecognisable with construction barriers and gigantic machinery. "Lady, Flora, I have news for you. And it's not good," he stuttered.
"Go on, Pheroze; it's okay," she prodded. "I heard from my sources inside the railway terminus; gargoyle and Sir Shankarseth even confirmed this. They are planning to convert FW Stevens' labour of love into a full-time museum. The gods in the railway ministry issued a statement recently. This move will mean that most of the functioning offices and its staffers will have to leave the premises. It's a shame on the very idea of this magnificent structure," sighed Sir Pheroze.