Yesterday, I heard the sound of the wind, a gentle wailing for a few seconds before I plugged the handsfree into my cellphone. I tend to be so divorced from all that’s natural and simple since I came to this city of shockingly high decibel levels, that those few seconds of pure, unadulterated sound made me stop dead in my tracks. I stopped to listen to the wailing of the wind. And then it stopped.
I switched to Tori Amos’ Big Wheel. She role-plays ayoung Southern girl who drinks too much and who asks someone (maybe the Good Lord) to turn the whiskey into rain. Wash it away, wash it away, she says, with a tinge of desperation and hope in her voice.
How are you madam? Hope you are fine. I am hoping you are remembering me. I am thinking you are in Bombay now?