Pheroze, is that you in the black raincoat? I hope it is, else it would be a shame if I came to the Cathedral to meet some random stranger in these unsafe times,” shrieked Lady Flora. Thankfully, it was Sir PM Mehta. “It’s me, Lady. Please don’t use that awful pepper spray like you did the last time you weren’t sure. My trademark rainwear should be an instant giveaway. How many times we’ve had to cancel our evening plans. It’s been relentless for us Bombaywallahs…” Sir PM trailed off.

“And quite tragic, too, with the deaths and damage to property. The script seems so predictable. If someone like me, a keen observer who, sadly, has no power to ‘turn the tide’ – pun intended – can guess the areas in the city and the services that will get affected whenever the rain gods go into overdrive, why can’t the civic gods create a permanent master plan to counter these unfortunate annual losses and inconveniences, Pheroze...?” she asked her friend, quickly adding, “Look at the plight of our railway tracks and stations – the so-called ‘lifeline of the city’. They should stop calling it that; it’s a joke.”