It is a point of contemplation
I face day after day.
To walk or not to walk?
I could definitely take the bus,
But then how would I feel that special feeling?
The feel; your legs stretch,
your muscles tauten and release
With every step you take towards your manzil.
I pass by the bus stop,
My steps barely slowing.
And when I pass the Bhikha Behram Well,
I turn to look at it, as I always do.
Curious, as I perpetually am,
I shrug it off and walk on.
I’ve gained some rhythm now,
But as I reach Flora Fountain,
I pause to breathe it in
The path, the books, the statue,
The people passing by,
Occasionally stopping to snap a photo.
I walk by that ‘beautiful’ building
Which housed a not so beautiful brand.
For, one that backed fast fashion and mocked Gaza
How could it be beautiful?
Feeling the AC and the smell of capitalism
Wafting from it as I glide by.
Akbarally’s stands old but grand on my right,
And Nearah with its horse figurines on my left.
And I hold my breath as my beloved Elphinstone building
Comes into view and I can see nothing else,
Can admire nothing besides Reinzi Walton’s arched walkways,
Gothic design and Sandstone walls.
Sometimes I walk to the red bricked building
Of The Bombay Samachar, but mostly
I walk by the lawyers in black bustling past me,
And meander through Cawasji Patel Street and its parallels.
I pass by Yazdani and it’s freshly baked bread,
And wave to the uncle slicing open a bun ready for some maska.
I can see the lovely Fort House now,
But instead of turning onto the main road,
I swerve right into Bora Bazaar.
With its busy vegetable sellers and grocers
And printers and pedestrians and students,
it is nothing less than charming.
I amble along trying to evade the the harsh sun,
And catch a glimpse of Victoria Terminus in the process.
There it stands, the majestic building,
The architectural phenomenon that makes crowds freeze in a pose.
I cross the road (run across) and smile to myself,
Grateful to have chosen to walk.