Time after time, the waves splash against the tetrapods, down below my dangling feet, not with force but out of a sense of duty. Along with the waves, the sea sends gusts of cool breeze, pleasant and comforting despite the prevalent humidity; the reason why people have thronged this place. I must be sitting somewhere near the mid-point of the pincer shaped sea-front which stretches out in either direction, bursting with luminescence pouring out of hundreds of streetlights. In contrast, the sea is darker. Still, I can spot a few ships far out, looming near the horizon.
“You know what my greatest fear is,” I hear my friend say, sitting beside me. Unlike him, I can distinguish between a regular question and a rhetoric one. Therefore, I don’t give a reply straightaway. I let him complete his thought.
“I fear that one day I would realise that I am dumb.”
Now, I have to jump in.
“Didn’t we already discuss this in college,” I start. “We judge others, how everyone else is a fool. Who knows, it might be the other way around.”
“No, everyone else has so many achievements. What do I have?”
Looks like, he is going for the deep dive. I have to stop him before he drags me down with him.
“Chill a little, it’s your birthday,” I try to sound casual. “Save this crisis for some other day.”
He doesn’t say anything just delves into a packet of thinly sliced mangoes sprinkled with lots of chilli powder, the speciality of this place.
“Are you sure about staying here the whole night,” I ask, stifling a yawn. The sea breeze has made me a little sleepy. “We can still catch the last local.”
“You can leave if you want,” he replies in his matter-of-factly way. “I won’t force you.”
How do I respond to that? It’s his birthday, so I let him have his way. Besides, it’s a weekend anyway.
As the night progresses, I feel the hankering to munch on something. All the vendors have disappeared or run out of stock. I look longingly at the shut doors of Pizza By The Way. I should have taken his offer earlier. It was his treat, after all. Disheartened, I turn back to the sea.
I must have dozed off for a while for when I come back to present, I see people scampering away. Sound of whistles blowing fills the air.
“Sheth, get up. The police are here,” I shake my friend repeatedly. I’ll never understand how he manages to fall asleep like that, sitting cross-legged with his head bowed. When at last he regains his self, he doesn’t seem to share my panic. He slowly adjusts his glasses then lazily stretches his legs.
“Chill, it’s a routine round by the police,” he replies, getting his shoes on. “They don’t do anything. We’ll come back after they are gone. Let’s go!”
We walk in the direction of Churchgate station to wait out the police. Sheth turns out to be right for when we return, the police are gone and people have resumed their seats.
The first local from Churchgate station leaves at 4AM. By then, my cellphone battery is completely dead and I am famished. I gobble up a few bun maskas before proceeding to the station. It’s a sight to watch Sheth gallivanting from platform to platform, through vacant bogies, without taking the overbridge. He reminds me, however bizarrely, of Peter Parker in New York City, a character, he so passionately adores; only he is a low-budget, web-less and rotund version of him. Although, he has a significant advantage over Peter Parker as he isn’t broke; rich guy owns a flat in Matunga. We are heading there now. Mumbai is expensive and I am saving up for the next trip. Bunking up with him for my short stay in Mumbai is a fair bargain. All I have to do is listen to his 'Lonawala looks amazing in monsoon' talks.
The building is a short walk away from King’s Circle station. By the time I reach there, I am completely exhausted and ready to submit to my bed. That’s why I get totally pissed off when I find the Main Gate locked from inside and Sheth looks at me, apologetically. Apparently, he doesn’t have the key and nobody seems to be awake. All we can do is wait for somebody to open the door.
“Let’s go somewhere,” I say, sipping a cup of tea at the nearest stall. “I am not going to stay put out here.”
“But where?”
I take a moment to go through the bucket list in my head. Most of it, I have covered already. I finally decide on one of the unticked ones. Sheth makes a face when I put forward the suggestion but agrees sensing the position he is in. I call a taxi to take us to Bandra fort.
Overlooking the Arabian Sea stands a six-storey building. Contrary to my expectation, I can see only a handful of people in the surrounding area. But then again, today is not 2nd Nov. Sheth isn’t interested; therefore I approach the building on my own. Getting closer, for whatever reason, I expect alarms to go off any minute or a guard to jump on me. But nothing of that sort happens. All I can see up close is a black stone with the words ‘MANNAT’ etched in bronze letters.
My cellphone being dead, I give a call to Sheth. Of course, I need a picture with the house. But in spite of my continuous request, he doesn’t oblige. I thought he was just messing with me, at first. But then he starts spewing out at length about blind adulation and hero-worship. By the time, he comes around, I have lost all interest.
Heading back, I smile when Sheth points out Salim Khan, Salman Khan’s father, walking his dog. It’s a fake smile. Inside, I am plotting my revenge. Someday, Sheth is going to rue this day.
***
Bahut sahi
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