Lurkers

Lurkers.

They're everywhere.

Eyes boring into me as I enter the station.

Beady and intimidating, as though contemplating an attack.

They're everywhere.

Lurking beneath the foot overbridge I cross while going to work.

Daunting stares pushing me to be more wary than ever.

They're everywhere.

Friends here tell me I'm exaggerating.

'Oh what do they know,' I wryly think each time, 'These friendships were only recently formed'.

They are everywhere.

At the local chaat shop,

Inside the park I'm now scared to frequent.

They're everywhere.

From the bylanes of Elphinstone,

to the 'posh' suburbs and haunts in SoBo.

They're everywhere.

I wait for a bus to take me to the station, and, more often than not, they're there.

'Must be careful while walking,' I tell myself. Always.

They're everywhere.

Perpetually prepared to defend myself — fling my bag at them if needed.

I feel the muscles on the nape of my neck become tense.

They are everywhere.

I descend the staircase outside the station, and there they are — silent, watchful.

Making me acutely aware of their presence that petrifies me so.

Delhi was bad enough, but I knew Bombay would be worse.

Bombay, Bombay, Bombay.

With its salty air and fishing boat-dotted shores.

Bombay and its large, overflowing garbage dumps that almost - ALMOST - mirror part of the coast at Marine Drive.

"Stop worrying, I got your back," a cousin assures me as we walk along the promenade at Carter Road late one Friday evening.

I remember laughing nervously in response.

"Yeah, well, two 5-ft girls are no match for them," I say, as she rolls her eyes and throws her arms up in resignation.

It's a Sunday. I'm headed to work from Wadala today evening.

They are everywhere.

I don't stop fidgeting till I see my bus pull in to the stop where I'm waiting, visibly uncomfortable, I assume.

I dart towards the entrance, all the while glancing back at the stop. They have disappeared.

'Off to target their next prey,' I conclude.

They aren't here.

I feel somewhat safer here, in the confines of this BEST bus, than I was five minutes ago.

'Ahh, they aren't here,' I breathe easy.

Six stops till I resume fretting. Eighteen glorious minutes away.

I knew Bombay would be worse.

Oh, what an odd, discomforting feeling to be right about my intuition for once, I think, as the bus takes a slight detour and halts about 300m before the stop I need to get off at.

Bombay isn't better than Delhi when it comes to this,

I grit my teeth as I realise where we have stopped.

I brace myself for the slight sweat I know I'm about to break into.

'OH FARK, they're everywhere again,' I panic, gripping the handle above me.

Earlier perched on the railings at the roundabout there, the arrival of the bus seems to have startled them.

'And now they're really farken EVERYWHERE,' I mumble, almost out loud.

'Dadar Kabutar Khana' reads the sign at the bus stop there.

[Didn't choose a close up shot, because obviously.]

Bombay isn't better.

'Bombay is the WORST place for an Ornithophobe like yours truly,' I feel like screaming,

as a feather floats mid-air, perilously close to where I'm freaking the FARK out.