Mumbai, early in the morning, tha cab is running...even my asshole is grinning.

Past the last richshaw. Past the last million of richshaws. Past the last incence scent and the last fruits stall. Past the last temple, the last reassuring Ganesha image and the last fat brahamin. Past the last sari which allows you a glimpse of the perfectly carved spine of a woman, past the last colourful queue, the last stained tissue, the last family preparing their beds for a starry night on a city sidewalk. Past the last hustle and the last incomprehensible honk. Past the last puddle of urine and the last filthy kid. Past the last filthy soul in a stainless body and the last stainless soul in a filthy body, past the last pair of worn-out feet in a worn-out pair of chappals, past the last mystery and the last doorless train, past the last nonsense and the last pain, past Baba selling flowers for the devotees at the temple, past his smile and my gratitude, past the last last cup of chai, I leave India.

And a smiling face remains printed in my mind because, in the end, people can find joy everywhere.