D city waits in blind hope. Then a tremor is felt within the sky’s belly.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven carbon balloons float against the yellow blue. Frowns vaporize; yearning eyes stare for a crack in dull heat. With rapid urgency hollow worms slither through the city. Hungry hearts, lazing incompetently in the heat, surge for a fill. Just then, the breeze quickens for a few seconds. A weak shower of borrowed water trickles into the gashes of bold concrete. Countless nostrils breathe in deep, the hushed fragrance of uncemented earth, of a pious Lucifer. Saturday night bathes Bombay for the Sunday mass. Neptune too, visits the city with a schedule convenient for it's residents.
Sunday noon rests the sun and as the BMC taps scrunch out drops of dirty water, the gods take charge. K just hopes that they are here to stay for a more than a few months, in the least.
