Lobo Lobo, my cable TV technician called me on FaceTime.
“Lobo Lobo hello, what’s happened … you just left my house, all well?”
“No D-D-Dikuna men, I’m n-n-n-n-not,” he said, his teeth chattering.
“Why are your teeth chattering?” I asked perplexed.
“Okay men, I was heading back to my Virar… 
Ujally wen I come to see you, in SoBo, I have to take one rickshaw, change tree trains, and take one bus — Today morrning, I tought, why not avail of dis pride of your Sout Mumbai — de Coastal Road”
“Must have saved you time?”

“Arrey Dikuna men, let me retell you wot wot experiences I had on my way home. As you know I tooked out my old Ambassador, I have an old 60s model — my grandad Lancelot Lourdes Lobo’s car it is, wid no top — ohohoho how we used to drive to Lonavala up de Western Gats men, wind in our hair in de 70s.”
“If you could get to the point, please.”