Satyajit was still single. He was getting older by the day. There didn’t seem to be anyone close to him bothered enough to persuade or pres...
Satyajit was still single. He was getting older by the day. There didn’t seem to be anyone close to him bothered enough to persuade or pressurise him to get married. For nearly twenty years, he had changed many jobs and flats in this city. There was probably no Mumbai suburb he hadn’t lived in and no streetside food cart he had not eaten from.
For some time he had shared rooms with other bachelors who were not really his friends, but as he grew older, he got tired of living with strangers and took up quarters on his own. He used to wonder why he needed an entire room to himself when all he used it for was for a bath in the morning and six hours of sleep at night.
But when he realised that even with people he had known for years he could not share the sort of easy camaraderie that bus drivers had when they met momentarily at the station, he had given up that kind of living, and now for the last four years, he had occupied a small room by himself on the terrace of an old building.
The room had a small square window. On the...
