I’ll meet you at Wheeler’s then” was a phrase I once used very frequently, Wheeler’s being the book stall at Churchgate station, tucked into the corner by the ticket counter.

Once upon a time, work, romance, sea-breeze, English fillum, Fashion Street, Bachelor’s ice-cream or the urgent work of timepass took me to Town all the time. Sometimes even twice in one day, because hopping onto a train, especially outside rush hour, was no biggie. A friend would call to say “oye, let’s go to Marine Drive for a walk”. “Ok, meet you at Wheeler’s at 6,” I’d say. Another would call with that partner-in-crime voice—shall we go to Gokul and get drunk?” And I’d say “Ok, meet you at Wheeler’s at 9.”