Cab ride to work one rainy August morning

The rain falls, the traffic stops...the magic of Mumbai unfolds
umbrellas mushroom in popular shades,
buildings and flyovers become hills and glades,
tis true I tell you not all up made
‘imagination Watson’ if you still are staid

Cabs like safe islands…flow with the go…
kids like pixies frolic in the pour
while you sit tucked in enjoying the tour
in anticipation of Bharat’s chai for succor

The damp starts to warm and musty is the smell
and the warmed seat spots your nether side can tell
the dripping raindrops that you can’t dispel
but still the rain ride holds its spell

Tulsi pipe is all choked up
No path to the left, right, down or up
That’s when the magic seems to rub off
and some choicest words in my throat well up
but suddenly the pipe is all set free
and driver and passengers rejoice in glee
till we join the next melee

Its Kamla mills now
and over the under
one place we all have to just surrender
no prayers no reiki no might no right
can push us through a jam so tight

From the side I see the regular beggar kids talking
and the uninterested beagle (dog) that hates walking
ironical that one should be let free and the other disciplined
who wants to be free and who wants to be disciplined?

Through unnecessary pontification I arrive at the great Peninsula
where Lower Parel becomes all ‘cooola’ (cooler)
where security check means a piercing nod at the passenger
because decent looking sorts can’t be arsonists remember?

Leaving them to their logic it’s a queue to the lift
new rules post the last big gut
people holding breath, tummies tucked in, if the eyes meet a hesitant grin
not so for lack of warmth but for preoccupation,
like the muster will go and what will be the explanation

All is done to the best we could
and now we’re sitting just where we should
a cup of tea to warm the soul
and checking mails to get into the role

…The weeks beginning couldn’t have been better.