Coming Back to Bombay

I notice the lady with the child immediately. I note her because what I thought was a backpack worn in front is actually a baby and he/she is resting, head covered, only hands showing against the lady's bosom.

There's a bomb blast. In Delhi, this time. I thought Delhi was safe. No more. Nowhere is safe anymore. Our mofussils are bad lands of marauders and violent thieves.

There's a flash of beautiful sunlight. Sunlight is so rare on these monsoon days. A lot of my thoughts centre around death these days because the in-laws aren't well and the "what if" of it lingers in the mind. "You have to bear your pain," doesn't explain anything. Again "what if" comes to mind like a recurring nightmare. Coming back to Bombay was a new experience altogether: grey skies, dampness, water everywhere, the crowded trains, the walking in the slush and most important of all no dry clothes. Clothes take a long time to dry. A journey is most disrupting. And you wanted to be a travel writer? Ah!

What has been lost is not innocence but a lack of proper education and schooling. Yes, I mean schooling. There was hope for this world by means of some old fashioned education. We must start education all over again from schools. Children aren't reading books anymore. In our days we used to be punished for reading the wrong books. My friend gave me a sexy book to read. I read it on the sly and gave it back. Innocent stuff! His dad later found it on his bookshelf. He called me to advise me on propriety, and all that stuff. Actually my friend told him that I had given him the book to read. Oh, the embarrassment! These days there's no punishment for even seeing the most lewd and sexy innuendos on television. It's open fare. It's freedom. But the freedom can cost us a lot.

Enough ranting. Got to go back to where I came from.

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.