During my first local- train journey in Bombay and I got caught by a ticket examiner at Dadar. I had thrown away my ticket after the one way's travel, never realizing that my ticket was meant for two way journey.

On my first attempt at an ATM near Wadala, the card was wrongly inserted and it was eaten up by the machine. On the bank, I could not reproduce my signature. Hence I waited till the card came back to my address.

The first ride on my brand new bike. I got caught at Kandivli, as the bike was not yet completely registered.

Making money comes so naturally as an instinct! From lollypopping boys to age-over uncles, every one is by default money-keen. We drink, we breathe and we money-make-think. Making money is a such an obsession for all of us, a fact I came to affirm yesterday.

Long time after posting my last entry, I have been awaiting such a good spark of inspiration.

I saw Pizza Hut guys making money out of their work within their work time. They made money with a simple thought, which I had to appreciate in mind saying Hurray!!

The two guys who go to the same route for home deliveries would meet at a certain junction after delivering the pizza. From that point, one guy would stop his scooter’s engine as the other one would push it with leg. Doing like this a dozen of times a day, they would save a whole lot in their petrol budget and pocket a good deal of money at the end of the day.

What else to say than Hurray!, when these guys are making money not only smartly, but greenly too?

Between Nisha and me, there was a hand.

It came so sudden like a bolt from the blue, then chomped the love in her mind and spewed the debris to a grimy land of contempt.

I have been silent all these days. But now I feel that urge within me to put down those magic moments here to have your sympathies on the same.

It was the fourth week of our ripened relationship.

I met her in Lintas, where I had been doing my training (trailing, as they would put it). In a jiffy, we became friends and a bit more than that. If I‘m spot on, she was a 'Coconut' by legacy but a 'Dosai' by nature. She spoke excellent Tamil but understood my Malayalam as well. Those were my first days in Mumbai and I was overjoyed to have a wonderful companion like this.

Like every other day of our sprouting romance, this awful day also came without any warning.

I was supposed to meet her at 10 near Churchgate station but I was late to start from home. Came to the Santacruz railway station, the queue before the ticket counter took my breath for a second. Like a leech of thousand legs, it appeared to me as frustrating my morale. I decided to go illegal.

Churchgate station came in half an hour.

I saw her standing way ahead biting her nails.

She saw me reaching her like a bullet fired late.

Then came this ghastly hand. Wrapped in black cotton sleeves, it was of a decent ticket-checking officer.

He snared me with this wonderful hand of him. Though I was sure I hadn’t bought a ticket that day, I searched through my clothes pocket after pocket. Finally, the ticket I got was of 3 days old.

He had options to relieve me! Either pay Rs 300 as fine or spend a quality time in the Jail.

The total amount that he could excavate from my body came up to Rs. 50. He did not seem to be adherent at all.

From a distance, some one was watching all these sudden ‘twists and turns’ in the story. She looked at me like how the inspector looked at me… same disrespect, same incredulity. I lost myself.

She came forward and paid the man and released me from his custody. I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t getting any.

What more to say, that was our last meeting. She never came in my way afterwards. She had never waited for me in the corners of Churchgate station… And I never had to skip the queues too.

The hand still remains valid in my memories; like the ‘hand of a God’

There is a great spirit for the people of Mumbai, which can be seen nowhere else in the world; the spirit of harmony especially between communities and beliefs.

I have got gladdened after remembering an incident happened last year...

As usual, Sri Ganesh Chaturthi and Mother Mary Feast came together. Above these two, there was a celebration of unanimity between the two communities.

As the Church of Mother Mary and Temple of Lord Ganesh are situated nose-to-nose, believers of both stood close to each other, facing their respective divinities. But what has surprised me is that, whenever there was an open prayer in the Church, the temple loudspeakers would be shut down so that there wouldn't be any clash. In the same way, the churchgoers would soon finish their open prayers so that the others could continue their hymns through loudspeakers. This used to happen several times a day and most surprisingly, without any prior agreement!

It was really a feast to the 'socialheart'

And whenever the prayers happened to be uttered in both the shrines at the same time, what came out was an amalgamated, inexplicable blend of devotion...may be something the God really understands...

You don’t know. But I have done that.

It’s simple. Fairly like a story.

During the last Easter, I was going home to meet my parents. It was a train journey.

The snake-like train resembled a pregnant belly but full of nostalgic wistfulness. The old man who had colonized my side seat never seemed to be friendly enough to get up and offer the seat to me. I tried to disregard it and settled myself on the upper birth.

The train reached Pune. The rest of the journey seemed to be an unending twine of hour-like minutes. By this time, some Police Officers came in patrolling with their noses spread and eyes wide open like church bells.

Like every other passenger, I too was asked to show my luggage. The inspector’s face bloomed with a disgraceful interest when he found the newly bought trolley-bag. Suddenly, he asked me to open the bag.

Some smuggling racket had been seized during the day and thus the inspectors were checking each and every package they found nosy (sometimes cozy too).

A pack of cotton kerchiefs, specially bought for my Papa, two crates of Dairy Milk chocolate, a fine leather bag for my mom, clothing kept for my brother and sister…the inspector was finding himself amused while pulling the neatly packed items one by one, wondering he was in a ‘tug-of-war’

Now comes our ‘hero’, the wine bottle. Like a dog snatching a bone, the police man picked up the bottle. By this time his fellow police men also joined the bandwagon. I was called towards a private zone on the train. Taking my greenness with Hindi for a ride, they could convince me to pay 1000 bucks in order avoid a police enquiry and subsequent legal actions. ‘If you go by the law’, the lead officer mumbled, ‘you will end up paying 3000 bucks’

‘1000 bucks fine for a 300 bucks wine??’ Irony scowled at me.

‘No sirs… I don’t carry that much money...’ But I had, I knew.

‘Shhh….. quietly’…. The officer reminded me. ‘Show me your purse’ … He added.

My purse betrayed me and I ended up paying 1000. Money works wonders….; the unlawful bottle returned to my bag in no time.

I couldn’t believe myself. Distracted and the most distressed, I reached my home.

But by that time, I had realized that my petty wine had transformed to a pricey Champagne.

Happiness spurs your moods up! Even the smallest things would feel the greatest. Then you will feel like talking to people and sharing that great reason of being so happy and charged up.

A Rickshaw driver is my hero today. I just got him yesterday from Andheri. I had to go to Santacruz.

‘I have to reach Santacrus urgently’ , I told him.

Unlike most of the other drivers, this guy has got me through the shortest distance possible, where traffic hardly annoyed.

At the end, the meter read 40. I gave him 50 bucks and he returned 11. By this time, the meter had jumped to 41. I gave him back the 1 rupee. With a pleasing face he hesitated.!

‘39 is the exact fare and you already gave me that’

Amusement widened my eyes, though there was nothing to be amused so much. But hearing something like this, from some one like him had a special charm of itself!

Now I’m happy because I got him to take me to and from my office every day.

I have got cheated. A lot of times; by friends...fate...and even sometimes by formless feelings too. But yesterday's one was a little chimerical.

After meeting a guy in the Yahoo Lower Parel office, I went to a nearby Fresh Juice Stall. From the menu items recited by the waiter, I picked my favorite, Mango Milk Shake.

Ji Saab Thoda Rukhiye.. (Please wait sir) He told me.

I saw him jumping here and there with a little uncertainty across his face, and he disappeared for the next ten minutes. Then he appeared with the Mango Milk shake.

With the first sip, I felt something strange on my tongue. 'No, this is not the Mango Milk Shake I wanted.' With one more sip, this strangeness reverted to a kind of nostalgia, which reminded me of my glorious days with my father who used to buy me the blissfully tasted 'Mangola' whenever I used to go out with him.

I looked into the drink once again. The real shake came then. Instead of a real Mango Milk Shake, he poured in some local mango drink and a scoop of milk powder. Mango Milk Shake or Mango Milk Shock?

Anyway, with a fresh sip, I concluded that it was a Mangola Milk Shake.

I just called up the waiter and asked for the bill. He said 40 Rupees. Great entertainment! 8 rupees Mangola + 2 rupees milk powder = 40 rupees Mango Milk Shake. I couldn't help asking him, 'How many Mangolas' have you poured in?'

He did not have answer for that, but had a solution; 'Sir please gimme 25 rupees only'. Ceasefire! He made a new bill.
(By the way, guys this can be a great advertisement for Mangola)