'Where to mister?" she yelled at me from a distance, loud enough for everyone to notice. "Hey, I'm not some kind of a thief, just looking around, grabbing a book to read. That's what they're meant for, right?"
"Yea, if you pay for it!"
"Of course, here." I paid for the stack of papers bound together in knots of tiny rounds, filled with words that were about to change my life.
As I walked home, I was beaming with a sense of refreshment. I hadn't read a book in months, and calling myself an avid reader wasn't true anymore.
It was a cold Saturday afternoon, and I was dreaming about a warm coffee in my balcony with my book. However, my footsteps had a different afternoon planned for me. "No, sir. Dalal Street is where I want to go. Could you help me?" I heard an unfamiliar accent from the corner of the street.
"Seedha rasta hai"
"What?"
"It's straight from this turn, approximately a 2 minute walk." I intervened.
"Thank you miss", he said, a little confused.
"Oh! and would you mind company till your destination Ma'm." he asked as I turned around and walked towards my afternoon siesta. "Umm. Sure, come along.. I am going that way." I said, a little reluctant. But I couldn't resist the charm from mysterious smile, his confident walk, and the rustic, rough dressing. His bag was probably one picked from an antique store. Hat that may have belonged to a young Harrison Ford. And he wanted to walk with me. My mind was racing with the speed of light.
"So, Dalal Street. You're in Mumbai for the first time?"
"Yes. I am. And you?"
"Of course not. I live here." Taken aback by this little comment, I moved along the noise from his heavy pants hitting his shoes, cranking up the street stones. "You're into economics?"
"Yes, pretty much. I earn and invest. But that's about it."
He stopped by a coffee shop and asked me if I wanted some. Thinking about my plan for the balance of the afternoon, I wanted to deny it as much as I hated tea.
"Yes." I was surprised by my own response. I sort of had an epiphany, a deja vu. Why do I feel like this has happened before. He looked into my eyes and asked me if I was okay. I was not.
The next time I checked the watch, it was evening. The sun was going down on the vast sea line leaving a beautiful orange shimmer behind. "I think I've been out longer than I thought I would be. I've to get going. Thanks for the coffee and the amazing conversation" He picked up his sack and swung it around his shoulder, took a paper out of his pocket and scribbled something on it.
"Hope you won't mind another coffee like this" handed the paper out to me and walked away.
I stood there, wondering what just happened. The paper was beginning to feel familiar as well. As he turned away from the corner of the street, I realized I had this paper. From our meeting last evening.
I raced the last few steps home. The book in my hand stayed the way it was this whole time.
"Yea, if you pay for it!"
"Of course, here." I paid for the stack of papers bound together in knots of tiny rounds, filled with words that were about to change my life.
As I walked home, I was beaming with a sense of refreshment. I hadn't read a book in months, and calling myself an avid reader wasn't true anymore.
It was a cold Saturday afternoon, and I was dreaming about a warm coffee in my balcony with my book. However, my footsteps had a different afternoon planned for me. "No, sir. Dalal Street is where I want to go. Could you help me?" I heard an unfamiliar accent from the corner of the street.
"Seedha rasta hai"
"What?"
"It's straight from this turn, approximately a 2 minute walk." I intervened.
"Thank you miss", he said, a little confused.
"Oh! and would you mind company till your destination Ma'm." he asked as I turned around and walked towards my afternoon siesta. "Umm. Sure, come along.. I am going that way." I said, a little reluctant. But I couldn't resist the charm from mysterious smile, his confident walk, and the rustic, rough dressing. His bag was probably one picked from an antique store. Hat that may have belonged to a young Harrison Ford. And he wanted to walk with me. My mind was racing with the speed of light.
"So, Dalal Street. You're in Mumbai for the first time?"
"Yes. I am. And you?"
"Of course not. I live here." Taken aback by this little comment, I moved along the noise from his heavy pants hitting his shoes, cranking up the street stones. "You're into economics?"
"Yes, pretty much. I earn and invest. But that's about it."
He stopped by a coffee shop and asked me if I wanted some. Thinking about my plan for the balance of the afternoon, I wanted to deny it as much as I hated tea.
"Yes." I was surprised by my own response. I sort of had an epiphany, a deja vu. Why do I feel like this has happened before. He looked into my eyes and asked me if I was okay. I was not.
The next time I checked the watch, it was evening. The sun was going down on the vast sea line leaving a beautiful orange shimmer behind. "I think I've been out longer than I thought I would be. I've to get going. Thanks for the coffee and the amazing conversation" He picked up his sack and swung it around his shoulder, took a paper out of his pocket and scribbled something on it.
"Hope you won't mind another coffee like this" handed the paper out to me and walked away.
I stood there, wondering what just happened. The paper was beginning to feel familiar as well. As he turned away from the corner of the street, I realized I had this paper. From our meeting last evening.
I raced the last few steps home. The book in my hand stayed the way it was this whole time.
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