Makar Sankranti—the time when Mumbai skies are dotted with kites and you get astonished at kids darting through busy roads, oblivious of traffic—was two weeks ago. Eating til-gud and flying kites are all people seem to think about when it’s Makar Sankranti. That the festival’s significance is lost in these rituals is sad.
I tried in vain to pull the cord and put it away, but it was endless. So I cut it by scraping it on the edge of the parapet and bunched it in one corner where it couldn’t obstruct anyone’s path. Had no choice but to let go of the other end.
Later, through the kitchen window, I found a pigeon swinging on a chord. Am no fan of pigeons, but the poor bird entangled in the sharp string was a gruesome sight.
It could have been me with my carotid artery cut.
In the name of tradition!