In a place like Mumbai, where finding a spacious two bedroom hall kitchen flat is difficult, a person across my street has a one floor flat along with a balcony. His entire balcony overflows with bonsai. I like to think of it as a bonsai garden.
I have these thoughts about how it would feel to descend the staircase and feel the tips of the trees, graze by me as I walk inside. I like to imagine being covered by the minuscule canopy as I lay on the concrete ground, staring at the stars, the leaves absorbing the traffic noise from down below.
But that is a figment of my imagination.
In a place like Mumbai, where every building does not have enough parking for a single car per flat, and where even I need to go in the lanes behind my house to park the car, the Ambanis had the entire web of lanes evacuated for VIP parking. Where should all the regular cars go? No idea. Now that is unfair and probably not okay. But let us get real. Who decides what is okay and what is not? *cough* powerplay *cough*
The road was full of noise. The lanes behind were full of lights and emptiness. A line of horses trotted on the street. Fancy ones that too. My grandmother shouted at me to see them. I tried to take a video but my crappy phone camera couldn’t capture it.
It is funny to think of the groom entering on short horses with fat feet and long hair. But this will remain a figment of my imagination.
In a place like Mumbai, where there are trees with purple bell flowers, yellow leave shedding trees, and coconut ones swaying in the wind showing off their disco moves (also looking unstable and making me want to stay coconut-tree-feet away), my friend might get a Christmas tree. What is amusing is not her having a Christmas tree, but that her sister might get one from the United States of America in her luggage? Is this even allowed?
Picture this: A twenty-something girl, carrying three bags at the airport. There are people ahead of her, trying to bargain with the authorities to let them carry some extra weight. And in she strolls elegantly, with one of her bags containing a Christmas tree.
I wish I could see that happen. I wish I could see the reaction of the people scanning her bag. But it will remain a figment of my imagination.
In a place like Mumbai, where there are so many stores to shop from, Brand Factory situated at walking distance from home has many sales. And every time they have a sale, they message everyone who has ever shopped from there. This is the very time I will not dare to step into the mall. There are people in a line to get in. There are people paying to get in. There are just so many people, where do they come from???
On the other hand, I see myself lined up outside Only which is about eight stations away from my house, when they were having a big sale. My aunt is along with me and it is probably 6am - if you don’t arrive early enough, you’ll never get in! I learn that people still buy from Salman Khan’s being human store next door. I learn from a fashionista in the line that Forever 21 was initially an imitation brand. And I also learn that I am an idiot to stand in the line for three hours (or was it five? Because it felt like ten!) especially since I was inside for five minutes and all I wanted to do was get out.
Unfortunately, this is not a figment of my imagination.
Thanks for reading ^_^
Kanksha
I have these thoughts about how it would feel to descend the staircase and feel the tips of the trees, graze by me as I walk inside. I like to imagine being covered by the minuscule canopy as I lay on the concrete ground, staring at the stars, the leaves absorbing the traffic noise from down below.
But that is a figment of my imagination.
In a place like Mumbai, where every building does not have enough parking for a single car per flat, and where even I need to go in the lanes behind my house to park the car, the Ambanis had the entire web of lanes evacuated for VIP parking. Where should all the regular cars go? No idea. Now that is unfair and probably not okay. But let us get real. Who decides what is okay and what is not? *cough* powerplay *cough*
The road was full of noise. The lanes behind were full of lights and emptiness. A line of horses trotted on the street. Fancy ones that too. My grandmother shouted at me to see them. I tried to take a video but my crappy phone camera couldn’t capture it.
It is funny to think of the groom entering on short horses with fat feet and long hair. But this will remain a figment of my imagination.
In a place like Mumbai, where there are trees with purple bell flowers, yellow leave shedding trees, and coconut ones swaying in the wind showing off their disco moves (also looking unstable and making me want to stay coconut-tree-feet away), my friend might get a Christmas tree. What is amusing is not her having a Christmas tree, but that her sister might get one from the United States of America in her luggage? Is this even allowed?
Picture this: A twenty-something girl, carrying three bags at the airport. There are people ahead of her, trying to bargain with the authorities to let them carry some extra weight. And in she strolls elegantly, with one of her bags containing a Christmas tree.
I wish I could see that happen. I wish I could see the reaction of the people scanning her bag. But it will remain a figment of my imagination.
In a place like Mumbai, where there are so many stores to shop from, Brand Factory situated at walking distance from home has many sales. And every time they have a sale, they message everyone who has ever shopped from there. This is the very time I will not dare to step into the mall. There are people in a line to get in. There are people paying to get in. There are just so many people, where do they come from???
On the other hand, I see myself lined up outside Only which is about eight stations away from my house, when they were having a big sale. My aunt is along with me and it is probably 6am - if you don’t arrive early enough, you’ll never get in! I learn that people still buy from Salman Khan’s being human store next door. I learn from a fashionista in the line that Forever 21 was initially an imitation brand. And I also learn that I am an idiot to stand in the line for three hours (or was it five? Because it felt like ten!) especially since I was inside for five minutes and all I wanted to do was get out.
Unfortunately, this is not a figment of my imagination.
Thanks for reading ^_^
Kanksha
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