My Auto was crossing a busy street in crowded Malad in Mumbai and I suddenly saw a home. Nestled amid tall buildings, there was a home. "Martha's Home", the nameplate said. A nice quaint little home with banana trees and gardens, bang in between claustrophobic tall apartment complexes, with peeling paint and monsoon eroded walls, ugly ACs jutting out and meshed windows to keep the world out. But this little house was standing its ground there. I don't know what it was about the house, but it got me thinking. What was the story behind Martha's Home? Maybe there was a lovely, happy couple that bought land here in the 1960s. Maybe the lady, Martha, drew out a plan for the house. Maybe she stood there in the heat everyday with a toddler kid under her arm, as laborers struggled to bring her dream to life. Maybe she handed them nice lemonade once in a while, to keep them on their feet. Maybe she touched a brick once in a while, and drifted into a dreamlan
A Worm's Eye View..