Back. Set the alarm for six so we could walk up the road and cast our vote. Two lines on either side of the gate to the school marked out the No Parking zone. The press were out in force. We were the first voters to arrive, the first to cast our vote.
The index finger on my left hand is blue all along my nail. On our way out, two men with cameras took hesitant steps towards us then changed our minds. The rest-of-the-day began at five minutes past seven.
Bombay made me feel like I'd taken a swig from a bottle of Corex; I felt nerveless and numb, sure I would bump into things to find myself somewhere I didn't plan to be simply because I was too woozy to pay attention. Three hours on Saturday evening from Yari Road to Thane.
I hate people who have magnetic poetry. I've wanted one for a long time. In Thane, (not just) our endeavours, made in a slightly alcoholic haze.