One gloomy afternoon, she entered a local restaurant for lunch. She smiled at the old man singing along to his radio track. He welcomed her with a smile and called for waiter. “Chhotu!” he called. “Clean the table for madam and take take the order.” He instructed the waiter who was nearly fifteen to sixteen years old young, malnourished boy. She selected Poha from the brunch menu along with a cup of tea. She was the only person in the restaurant as she awaited the arrival of her food while watching the children dancing the rain through the glass window. She was feeling good and confident about her decision of stop searching for him. It was her last evening in the huge, chaotic city of Bombay. Where hundreds of people come every day, some by chasing their dreams and some by chasing the pers
