Left Right…Romance Chowk: Panda love and Anarkali

Chapter 6: Panda love and Anarkali

“Abe Anarkali, at least say something? Why are you acting pricey like a mehenga bride and I am no sasta Dulha,” Sejal ruffled his hair. He gave her cold stares. He pushed her hand away from her. Mann shunned her and was in no mood to speak.

“Don’t you dare to touch my hair or come an inch near me or I will call aunty?” he warned her. She was unfazed by his empty threats and dared him by walking seductively in her shorts, moving an inch closer to him. Sejal eyed him like a tigress lusting on its prey. Mann almost shouted like a child, “Aunty…”

She was amused and grinned. “Let it be. I am not going to molest you in any case and drag you on the bed. Cry babies should be left on their own. You such a girl, Mann.” He protested, “It’s so racist and sexist. How can you speak like that?”

“Whatever,” Sejal muttered. “Ab agey bhi kuch toh bol. I ain’t going to sit in silence and please stop this tear jerking sullen act.”

“Why did you do that?” Mann sat cross faced in front of her.

“I did what?” she was perplexed.

“Don’t you try to change the topic and pretend to be innocent? We lost our sleep and courted danger to find you sitting inside the train on the Monsoon Day when the city was sinking. Is this your idea of fun? One rainy night, to run away and sit inside a train compartment that was filled with water. Are you aware how worried aunty was?”

She became silent and suddenly broke into a cackle. “You are such a cute chamcha! Abe oye! My Mom’s chamcha. What do you think that you got a legitimate fuck entry into my house as the official damaad.” She pinched his cheek. “You look like such a sweet little munchkin yaara. I couldn’t imagine that you are so stuck with this rain incident and in the end, like filmi people, we did smooch. Guys will be guys.”

Mann exuded a faint smile and went point-blank. Deep inside, he was trying to be pricey and putting an act pretending to be all hurt since Sejal didn’t bring up the topic of the monsoon tryst.

“Stop behaving like Dadaji,” she told him. “There is a big secret behind me sneaking out in the rain to go sit inside the train with a book as companion. See! I love thrills and adventure.”

She made a straight face and pressed her naked feet on him. “I am a bit, just little bit ashamed for that day but you saved my life braving danger.  I am sorry for putting you and Maa through all this. You love me a lot, na.”

Mann slowly moved his face an inch away from her. “Tell na. What are you being so shy? You became my Dabbang hero on that day and putting your life at risk to save me from the water. I was shit scared that both of us would never be able to make it.”

“Oh! Wow! Lara Croft you are. You had the time to think about us while drowning,” he teased.

“You see. I am a thoughtful girl friend. And, you were cross with me. Acha sorry yaar. What else do you wanna me do now? Uthak Bhaitak like a monkey,” Sejal flashed a bright smile. “At least tell that you love me, na,” she was eager to hear him spell the three-letter words.

Mann breathed in and out. “No! I was saving you and not to take Paap of letting a girl die. I am in love with Shaina.” Sejal turned her face abruptly and her voice rose, “Now who the fuck is Shaina?” It felt like a pinch inside her heart.

It was his turn to laugh gleefully. “My neighbor’s pet dog. Of course, I love you, idiot.” Sejal pushed him on the bed, pressed his chest with her leg and pump fisted him on the stomach. Both wriggled and rolled with each other between laughter and cuddled each other. She smacked him on the mouth and whispered, “It’s a secret that I am going to tell you. The day I sneaked out to sit inside the train…”

He moved his eyes furtively to ask in a hush and seductive tone, “What’s your train secret?” She dragged him off the bed, “Now! Let’s go out and unravel the mystery. Another clue, the secret destination lies in a public glare.”

Mann protested that they were not able to make out, “You are such a kabab me Haddi’ and to which she responded, “That I am! I promise you the spicy sex if we unravel the mystery together. Well! It’s not over and patience will reap the fruit, my dolled panda.” She scratched his nose.




Children and security in schools: Is there a breach of trust and security?

Schools’ role is to provide a safety cocoon to young children and unfortunately, the events taking place inside school premises have sapped the confidence of children and parents where that tempts us to ask serious questions on the temple of learning lacking in safety.

I am angry. I am shocked. To define the death of a 7-year-old child inside the toilet of a Gurugram school whose throat was slit and according to cops, there was an attempted sexual assault shocked is horrifying, sad or shocking is an understatement to make.  We all know that there are vultures lurking around and our children are often at risk from the sick elements in our society. In the first instance, the murder of the child didn’t take place on the street but inside a school, considered to be a temple or mecca of learning where a young mind not only learn or make friends but gives a sense of security or comfort that makes him or her a lovable human being.

The most shocking aspect is how on earth that Ryan International School can take security aspect in a callous manner taking into account that the crime was committed in the morning. There are several questions raging into my mind: Why the alleged criminal, a bus conductor allowed to loiter inside the premises of the school and worse getting inside children’s’ toilet? It’s a serious breach on the part of the school authority that cost the life a child.  The worse thing is that the school authority has apparently lied to the parents telling that the child is being transported to hospital while he was already dead.

How can school authorities take the security of children so lightly that predators were allowed to not only loiter but found an easy way to brutally assault a child? Was the child reported absent in the class and how come nobody got wind of it? If yes, why was it ignored? Common sense tells that a teacher should count the number of children in the morning and alert should be given why a child is missing. In case, the child was missing, the school head’s should have been immediately informed.

Moreover, there is a dearth of due diligence when it comes to security in school and sadly, it’s not happening for the first time since there are several instances where young kids were sexually assaulted, raped and murdered in the most gruesome manner. It goes beyond this incident. The way things have been handled in an amateurish manner in the past and the present case make us wonder the extent to which school doesn’t conduct a background check on their recruits such as bus conductors and drivers. In the first place, people who got no business inside the school should not be allowed to walk past the gate.

The time is now. Parents and teachers should play an important role and perhaps act as vigils to demand accountability report from time to time on every aspect from enhanced security to classrooms and cleanliness.  It’s not about policing the school but ensure that the children are not only protected but don’t live in a state of fear. Moreover, schools should ensure that any suspicious activity be reported to the police and there must be officers running security check in every school corner be it toilets, unattended classrooms or within the premise itself.

The breach of trust and communication gap between school authorities and parents is the need of the hour that needs to be addressed.  We cannot afford to pay such a heavy price for our children in our quest to give them the best of education. Losing a child is the biggest tragedy for parents and a nation. Children are our human capital nurtured with care and love. It’s a given that laws should be strengthened to give the hardest punishment to the sick minds. But, at the same time, blame shouldn’t be shifted to the Government only but the onus falls on schools failing blatantly to protect children. The school should be brought to task and be answerable for the death of the child.




Teachers’ Day: Stirring minds, shimmering light

Image credit: Google


The lamp of knowledge lit,

souls will come and go,

classrooms will be empty one day,

regaling tales of Shakespeare,

doctrine of Mahalanobis Economics,

stirring minds to debate,

thinkers produced,

some like me too shy to speak for one second,

shimmering light,

kill if you may!

thoughts will remain eternal,

power of classroom and learning,

take a stand,

seek wisdom within,

trudge fearlessly in your belief system,

one day everything shall be over,

but a rich legacy and symbolism shall serve as a reference,

swimming in an ocean of knowledge,

blessed I am to be the student,

learning from your wise words,

for you are the pearls that bore no taint,

thank you dear teachers,

Happy Teachers’ Day

Love and gratitude





Blessings and vibes that count

Grateful I am for the small joys in the month of August. I am striving hard not to make it a gratitude August post but the miracles that come to life makes it a real charmer. The flow of happiness that sashay my way always comes unexpectedly that makes it a smash hit in my box office of life. I love surprises. There are no expectations. What a fab month and week it’s been to be filled with positive energy and divinity!

There is Shayra who is a super talented and young blogger who has nominated me for a couple of blog awards, including Get to know me child Tag award. I am grateful of the love pouring. I am not accepting awards but I acknowledge the blog award given by Shayra. Stay blessed my dear friend.

Image credit: Google.

The positive souls that I am surrounded with make me feel blessed. I am forever grateful to them. One Friday, I lamented on FB that I am suffering from writer’s block since the entire day was kept for creative work but it wasn’t happening. One of my closest friends from Pune, Kaustubh commented and telling to go easy, feel the fresh air and have coffee to let the thoughts unfurl. Then, the message box on Facebook flashed red. Bhavana Nissima is one gentle soul who pinged nd told me that she read the status and offered to help me unclutter the mind.  I am amazed, considering that we never spoke on chat but she reached out to me by offering help. I was stuck but at the end of the day, the writing hurdle was overcomed though the work is still unpublished since it needs lot of editing and polishing. She taught me the need to avoid self-sabotage that I often indulge in and be like the light feather. I shall come up with an entire post on that later and hope it can help everyone facing their inner demons to heal.  Bhavana is an NLP Master Practitioner and do like her page The Light Weaver. She blogs here.

The small exercises that she taught me, like flush things out of the mind like in the toilet pot and gently told to let go of every negative energy went beyond the creative work. It was a miracle. I am thankful to Bhavana for pulling me out of the rut and yours truly, intend to make the lessons a routine affair.  How people reach out to me when I least expect such goodness from them! It reaffirms my belief of chucking out expectations and that way, it makes life easy that wears no wrinkle of deception or disappointment.

The last week was pure bliss when I re-connected with not one but three friends who saw the real me in the college days. Two of them are on my FB list and beyond, the occasional comments on status, we hardly spoke on chat. I reconnected with Ruchit who was my batchmate in Economics at Fergusson College. He is now a super talented photographer in Pune. He has uploaded a couple of pictures of our college that he visited last week and the thread kept going where we exchanged comments. He messaged and drop his WhatsApp number.

There is Ajitabh Bhaiya, our college senior and whom we would address respectfully as Bhaiya which means elder brother.  I saw him on FB and sent a friend request which he accepted. We exchanged a conversation on chat and rekindled the amazing moments spent during the college days. We connected after 8 years.  I request everyone reading this post to send him all your blessings. May he soar and conquer human adversities to triumph in life.

Maryam is another wonderful girl whom I knew since my college days and the time I knew her, she was already doing so many things in SY, right from training and tuitions. I am in awe of souls who chart their own path to conquer and inspire people around them.  She brings so much of positive vibes around.  I humbly request all of you to like her Facebook page for kids, Eloquence-Speech Drama Training in Pune where young children are equipped to inculcate speech, drama and beyond skills. I think it’s such an inspiring work that she is doing. It brings such an aha feeling to be surrounded with such wonderful people.

There are tons of blessings in life, the friends and people who believe in positivity who always reach to me when I least expect it bring so much strength to my inner and outer senses. We are all extraordinary souls destined to make a difference to lives and people around us. Let this greater power takes us forward and never resist the lush breezy that carries the power that touches us. Happy Onam. Happy Eid-Ul-Fitr.

Stay blessed and trust the vibes






WoW: Romancing the window seat

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ It’s my Sunday tale of the prompt, ‘Life by the window seat.’

WoW: Romancing the window seat

wow blogadda

An artist’s muse is to find inspiration through the lenses of the eyes. A city or village is about myriad emotions and identity formed by the people. Living a dream at high-speed or altitude that flits past the aesthetic taste has always made me dream and wonder about the human identity, the ordinary mortals and often less celebrated heroes and heroines. A therapeutic affair to flit past the beauty offered by the wide gamut of human emotions.

The window seat is my favorite in a bus, train or place that makes it mandatory before doing any booking. It offers an altogether unique world to my allegory senses and stoke alive the creative writer in me which often sinks into coma wearing the cloak of a living corpse. Counting stars at night during the flight, watching the dazzling skyline or simply the people squatting under the sun from the bus or train ride makes for an amazing sight. It is the celebration of life in all its forms and spirit.

The Goa trip or road to Taj Mahal in Agra as the bus stumbles its way near small villages and rural life brings so much joy in offering the simplistic and unique hum drum of life, a rare sight that escapes our reality. An elderly granny carrying kitchen wares or flowers in a basket on her head, coconut trees giving shade to a thatched house made of mud and hut or the chaiwala watching the train or bus that flits past his stall gently reminds us that the commoner has every right to dream or nurture aspirations that he or she will someday travel. Travel gives us a rare insight on how our worlds converge, the universe represented by the middle class or the downtrodden.

Sitting by the window is not just a seat that a wanderer like me pay for but the fulfilling of dreams, longing for the beauty and essence of life, an osmosis of sort that makes emotions, not tears shed but a prized asset captured eternally. It is a love story. A story where the trees run behind your train chugging at speed or the brush of wind that caresses the faces when two twin trains flip past each other. One of my favorites is when the train enters the dark tunnel at Lonavla and it’s the moment that I leave the window seat to stand by the door, admiring everything dark that makes the heart beat faster than the wheels.

A fairy tale spun in the heavenly bliss of cows grazing on the green pastures, counting stars in the sky and watching from the high altitude the magnificent view of city life with light moving in a fleeting manner. The favorite cushion has and will always be an obsession for me for I have changed my travel dates in the past because that seat was simply booked. It gives me a sense of comfort which speaks directly to the soul. Travel, in my book, is all about this space to watch the dance of life and turning into live camera that catches people in their move. Who needs a digi cam and a smart phone when you have eyes and a window seat?

I have an eternal and ongoing love affair with the window seat. The sheer passion and intimacy with this couch shall never wane with time or attention be shifted to an alternate direction. No wonder, I loved my hostel room in Mumbai that faced Marine Drive where the rare sight of Anil Ambani tailed by his Black cats commando or the breezy air that flew made my imagination travel to cherish every single moment of life.



Left, Right…Romance Chowk: Drip of stormy love

Left, Right…Romance Chowk

Chapter 5:

The car wiper was stuck. Mann lunged towards the front seat and grabbed the dusty garment to wipe the window sheet. The cab slowly ambled its way towards Churchgate but hit a dead-end to wage a battle against the water raging its might. Water seeped inside the car that soon replicated into miniature version of a swimming pool.

The two car occupants, Mann and the car driver impassively watched people stranded, kids doing a somersault and flowing on a container substituting for a boat that turned the road into a vast sea expanse.  The driver was having a tough time, igniting the battered engine to life that screeched and timidly lurched ahead. Wrong signal. The water escalated like a rush of electrical wave and ran wild on the otherwise busy road at Eros Theater.

The black umbrellas mushroomed on the road past 2 a.m and flapped open, thrust forward and backward where people had a tough time holding on to. The car again battled the rush of water spurting under its wheel. The phone battery was almost done and Mann managed to make a call to Sejal’s Mom.  “Aunty! I cannot speak much since my phone is dying. I have reached Churchgate but we are stuck. It seems like it will take me another hour to reach your house,” his voice wobbled with emotions.

The TV reporters clumsily walked inside the flood to report and stood on their naked feet with their pants rolled till the knee, battling the heavy rain and cloud outburst to report live on the state of the city. There was panic everywhere. It was may hem everywhere. The car engine conked. There was no way it would leap to life.

The police were trying their best to help stranded citizens who were lost and moving in various directions with difficulty to find shelter under the roof of nearby restaurants, hotels and the station. Together, Mann and the car driver held to each other’s arms to wriggle their way in the water and crossed the road for shelter.

As Mann trudged inside the water that ran deep till the knee, the cab driver called, “Sambhal ke Jaana.” They exchanged sympathetic glances and smiles, a rare luxury in Maximum City. A tale of two humans and strugglers in the city who understood each others’ emotions without uttering a single word despite coming from two extremely different background.

Mann tried to find his balance by walking slowly in the water, battling the fear of being carried away by the waves when a cop held his hand and escorted him towards Churchgate. Sejal’s Mom was waiting in front of the gate housing the line up of plush apartments and she hugged him. “Are you okay, Beta? Let’s get inside the car,” she was on the verge of tears.

The car slowly trudged inside the water that made a splash like a stormy river. “Where are we going to find her?” her voice choked with emotion. “Pray that nothing will happen to her,” tears welled on her face.

The vehicle slowly ambled. It was dark everywhere. Mann called the emergency number but no one was picking up. He tweeted and sent a message on Facebook with the picture of Sejal. It was 3 a.m in the morning. The status and tweets were shared zillion times.

“Where to find her?” she stammered. Mann scratched his hair and tilted his head towards the rooftop of the car. He urged the car driver, “Bhaiya, let’s move towards Churchgate station.” The driver nodded. The tide was growing at every second. It was a five minutes distance but the car was stuck for almost one hour and the wheels turning into a ship flowing in the water.

The deserted road resembled the cramped space in the city pocked with vehicles, from cars to black-and-yellow taxis and a Best Bus all flowing together in a chaotic manner like the serpentine queue. Car drivers honked blaringly in sheer desperation. The vehicles were zigzagging inside the water from left to right and entangled in a circle. They were stuck inside the car, sandwiched between vehicles across all sides that felt as if a wall has been built.  It was impossible for the driver to thrust forward or pull back.

The car stood parallel to the platform facing gate and next to the yellow and brown local taxied on the railway track drenched into a vast pool of water. There was chaos inside the station packed with the seamless crowd mushrooming like eggs in a nest sprawled with tensed faces running amok and screaming for help. Battered faces, whispers and angry voices howled with palatable tension, wondering on how to get out of this mess.

Mann furtively looked around and his eyes cocked towards the road and railway station, silently longing for the sight of Sejal.  He fixed his gaze towards the train that was filled with commuters who couldn’t get out on the platform that was filled to the brink with water. A face struck him. He looked again and was bewildered. Sejal was sitting on the seat and her head buried inside a book. She was sitting in a casual manner and unperturbed about the city drowning and rain water spurting like electric waves.

He gently touched the shoulder of Sejal’s Mom, “Aunty, look there,” he pointed out to the train. She was flabbergasted and speechless. “Look at her. I can’t believe it.  We are so worried and she is casually reading a book inside,” she heaved.

“I wonder how we are going to walk past the water to save her.  Sejal! Sejal!,” her Mom lunged out. The voice went unheard and lost to the noise.  Mann yanked the door open, dithered at the water flowing till his inch and saw a long cardboard flowing in the water. He didn’t think twice and thrust his body that landed straight on the moving object. Mann held tightly to the cardboard and pushed it as if it’s the gear of a car, pressed hard planking his body on it to wriggle his way till the stairs of Churchgate station.

Mann stormed inside the station, battling the crowd of people and pushing his way between them to leap inside the train. She was oblivious to the voices and his presence. He pressed her arms and she almost yelped. “You! Almost scared me like that,” Sejal protested. Mann berated her, “You got the nerves to  complain when the entire of Mumbai is sinking under the water and the whole world is stranded.  Your Mom is in tears, sitting inside the car and I travelled on a dirty cupboard like a fish in water.”

“Oh! Yeah! That’s why you are completely wet. Dude! You are not wet. You look like a water man,” she appeared nonchalant. “Let’s go,” Mann dragged her out of the train. The tide was growing and spiralling like a tornado. Sejal and Mann clutched to each other, trying to get out through the main platform but the waves shook them as they took steps back and waded through the small door at platform No. 1.

The water was roiling like a steam bath on the road. Both of them were tensed and figuring out how to find their way inside the car that was stationed within a touching distance. They stood on the stairs and in the flick of seconds a flash of current waves knocked them off their perch that dragged Sejal inside the storm. She howled and shouted, ‘Help’. Mann flung his body inside the water and held to her fingers. The violent waves pushed him away from her and she was thrust to a faraway distance. His body spun in the water from right to left. He hollered, ‘Help! Help! Help!’

Battling the angry water that run above the knee, he struggled to stand on his feet in a stiff position to fight the angry waves. He lost control of his body that jerked backwards towards a hard object. A dash of hope surfaced. It was a motorcycle that lay abandoned against the wall. Mann removed the stand with force and held on the bike that stumbled inside the water and hit the pavement filled with water. He sat on the bike and pushed it with all his might.

Sejal was struggling inside the water and nearly tripped before getting up again. She was choking. Mann caught sight of her and was unsure what to do to save her since he didn’t want to lose the bike that would shield both of them.  He twisted his back in a reclining position and tightly held to the handle as he fell along with the bike inside the water and struggled to hold the fingers of Sejal.  The huge machine pressed his body. He was reeling in pain and stretched his hand to clutch her palm.

Sejal hands loosened away from him and he struggled to unfetter himself under the bike’s clutches. Mann limped his way towards Sejal and almost swam in the water covering the road. She was moving further away from him and was carried by the tide.  He pressed his hand to the ground to find his balance, wading through leaves and mud, battling his way and being hit by objects on the body.

It was a battle against the storm. Sejal’s body twisted and recoiled like a snake. Mann saw a wheel flowing and flung it towards Sejal who held to it by using the feeble force inside her. He finally held one side of a wheel flowing in the water and pressed her hands tightly. Mann shouted, “Don’t worry about me. Fucking put your head inside the wheel.”

He pushed the wheel and pressed Sejal’s back towards the wall, covered her with his body. She was choking. Both were tightly holding to each other. He kissed and hard pressed her back. The water has reached their necks and they exuded relief to see the rescue team of police and citizens taking a dive into the water. They were ushered towards a safe spot on the pavement coated with red bricks.

Their lips sat passionately tight on each other and curled together in the monsoon drip. They stopped in their track and smooched again. Sejal and Mann embraced each other and oblivious to Sejal’s Mom standing silently behind them. They smiled sheepishly. Sejal held on to her mother like a child guilty of a crime. Mother and daughter wiped each other’s tears with their hands.







Mumbai flood, accountability and passing the buck

Image sourced from Google.

We were taught our lessons the hard way in the older days by a tough master who spanked us down the bum that made us diligent students.  Times have changed. No quite so for the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC). The same administrators who want to turn the financial capital of India, Mumbai into Shanghai has simply lost the art of learning. It makes me wonder from whom the BMC, albeit, rulers of the city elected by the people, learned the A-Z of administration.

There is no excuse to justify the crumbling of infrastructure in the city that was brought to its knee on 29/8 when 30 lakhs commuters were stranded for an entire day and devoid of food or water.  The BMC is the richest body in Asia who has a budget of Rs 94.91 crores alone in 2016-17  and they simply cannot pass the buck or pretend it is business as usual. While we didn’t face a repeat of July 2005 when more than 1000 lives were lost and 944 millimetres of rain were recorded in the city, it could have been completely worse in Mumbai with just one-third of that rain on Tuesday. Everything stood paralyzed.

First and foremost, the helpline number 1916, fire brigade or all emergency numbers were choked and went for a toss as reported by the TV channel, Mirror Now coupled with the complete lack of facilities. There was raging chaos. It’s a matter of shame that it’s the commoners who mounted help on a colossal scale through Facebook and Twitter by publicly offering their phone number to shelter, arranging food provisions, rescuing people stuck in the rain or issuing advisory while political administrators simply went out of sight. It is the people that make The Spirit of Mumbai. A grand salute to the commoners who went all their way to help people, be it the cops, Navy, NGOs or women organizations or religious organizations who pulled all strings, and fearlessly strode their way to occupy every space in the city.  A special salute to the Mumo Mumbai moms that boasts of more than 1.4 lakhs members on their FB group and some 2,500 ladies, which a friend Neha Kare is part of, offered their personal mobile number to help citizens. It makes me in awe of Mumbai and its people who has never shied to help in the face of calamity.  The spirit of the city is all about the people and not rhetoric of pandering to political emotions. A complete revamp of infrastructure should be insisted upon.

Secondly, the lack of drain facilities, the careless manhole dug and potholes claimed lives. It seems like a déjà vu of 2005. This time, a doctor slipped inside the manhole that was uncovered and lost his life or for that matter, a young man choked inside his car due to the rising tide.  My friend’s husband like many commuters was stuck inside the local train for 18 hours, just to give an example. Who will be accountable for such dangerously lapses? It’s high time for the BMC to become accountable in the face of tragedy and as a world-class city, we cannot afford the infrastructure in Mumbai or any other Indian city to fall apart like that.

Image credit: Google

Every day, people flock to Mumbai to make a living and it takes a huge toll on the city due to the dearth of quality infrastructure or housing facilities. There is a lack of provisions to expand the city reach and creating vast spaces coupled with quality of life which is the need of the hour to avoid tragedy.  There is no point to mount a statue of Shivaji Maharaj worth Rs 3,600 crores when one third of that money could have gone to sort out the mess in the city and give the citizens state-of-the-art and safe infrastructure.  On Tuesday, we witnessed how disaster management control room went clueless in the face of adversity.

Thirdly, every time the mighty rain strikes, lives are lost and humans are buried under risky buildings like the 117-year-old Hussaini building at Bhendi Bazaar crushed like biscuits. According to reports, there are 25,000 dilapidated structures proned to risk in Mumbai. It makes one wonder on the state of such building spread in every nook-and-corner of the city. For instance, The Maharashtra Housing and Area Development Authority (MHADA) is responsible for the maintenance of the buildings and it begs the question whether a structural audit has been done by the latter or for that matter, offering alternative and safe accommodations for the people whose lives are in jeopardy. The city has reached a saturation point.  What we need is not throwing people out but court action against the culprits such as corrupt officials who are often in cahoot with unscrupulous builders violating Floor Space Index.

The role of the BMC is not to send notices for breeding of mosquitoes but be accountable to the tax payers and the people.  What have we learned 12 years later? Zero. Zilch.  The sad part is that it’s not just in Mumbai and Delhi but also in other parts of India such as Chennai , UP, Bihar, Uttarakhand or J & K. Life cannot go on like that be it Mumbai or any part of India.