Sir PM appeared to be in a cheery mood; he was even humming to a popular western classical melody. Lady Flora could easily gauge the positivity from his body language. Their Sunday hangout trail had become a ritual now, where the duo would meet, to discuss their favourite city in their own worldly-wise way.

This Sunday was no different. “Why the spring in your stride with Mozart on your mind?” Lady Flora smiled, with her usual gusto. “I instantly slip into a good mood when surrounded by books. I just returned from a thoroughly engaging time at the literature festival nearby. Yesterday, the missus was in a mad rush to catch one session that featured her two favourite bawa–I mean Parsi–authors. It slipped my mind to inform you. My sincere apologies. She read about it in this newspaper; Farrukh Dhondy and Murzban Shroff were going to be in conversation, and insisted that I accompany her. The endless queues caught us off-guard. I’ve never seen anything like this before, especially for a literature festival. Eventually, I had to…errrr…use my connections to enter. Many had to skip the session because it was a full house, like so many other sessions. The session itself was delightful: there was laughter in the house, witty repartees from both the writers, anecdotal gems and delightful chatter about Poona and Bombay’s metamorphoses,” Sir PM carried on.