Where Kro channels the inner inner-city hip hop artist slash rapper slash poet hidden inside all of us

Badonka donk donk donk donk donk donk donk

I could say that all day. Baa—-donka-donk-a-donk-donk donk

And shake ma head like Lil Wayne ya’all. Hands up to the ceiling and flash em phones coz the poh-lice are dirty and bitchez be like shorties.

I may have said this before (okay I have) but Bombay in the monsoons is different, different beast. The humidity and the sweat and the promise of rain. The damp, soaked sidewalks and puddles of dirty water. The hustle a bit muted under the rain, just a bit. And wherever you go (whatever you do), you are followed by the pitter patter of the rain. Drops against the window or fists of water slamming into you or little, polite whisps of rain dropping onto your chattri.

Aye wordpress stop correcting my hindi bhasha okay. Gaandu.

The distant familia has pulled up their orthodox trackpants (orthodox trackpants are imaginary pants which they pull up to their nipples before launching into some orthodoxian speech) and asked Kro about Kro’s marriage plans.

And Kro is like, fuck da poh-lice! In his head.

donka-donka-donk

Bootylicious Man. His theme song would be “I like big buttz…..” and his super power would be dropping his shades and going, “Daayam gurl!” Donka-donka-donk!

I took me a train the other day after more than two months. I always liked the idea of backpacking all over the place and train travel can be this perfect accomplice. Cause you spend the day walking and tramping from one place to another, the backpack on your back. And then you waltz into your bogey and slip the bag under the seat. Remove your shoes and stuff then in between the backpack and the bottom of the seat. And you can lie on your hard, boney berth staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the things you have done.

If I was to choose the one place where I could loiter endlessly, a moderately busy train station would be it.

There was this one moment where a train full of trucks were being transported. And it was raining and you could see these massive, massive painted trucks being hauled on carriers through the station. Carrying something which was wrapped up tightly in  blue tarpaulin. The drivers sitting in the cabin, staring out of the window and watching the world pass ’em by.

It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

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One Response to Where Kro channels the inner inner-city hip hop artist slash rapper slash poet hidden inside all of us

  1. Parama Ghosh says:

    This is one of the most beautiful things I have read today.

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