Why should I cry for you

It’s a Marine Drive song. You are in the black and yellow taxi, heading home earlyish from around Nariman Point. The day is still warm and the night looks to be no different either. It’s not that you choose this song on your cassette tape Walkman, it just comes on as you hit the long curving road of Marine Drive, the smell of the Arabian Sea which is actually the smell of Bombay. You don’t mind the slow traffic. You look out and see the orange ball sinking slowly, at the lovers walking by the parapet wall where you once sat. You look to the right at the bus that’s next to the taxi at a traffic light, you see tired faces staring back crushed as much by work stress as by the crowd on the bus. (and if you are new in the city on a bus from another state, you wonder how you will make it to the exit when your stop comes, especially when you are not sure of your stop). The bus moves off letting out thick heavy smoke and interfering with the Northumbrian flute of the song and you reach for your GoldFlake to counter the soot. Same difference, you tell yourself. It’s getting dark slowly, and if you’re on time, you can catch the last rays feebly trying to reach higher as the deep red orb is finally swallowed by the sea, lighting up the sky in one last attempt.