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If you alight at Dadar station and exit through the west side, then walk parallel to the highway towards Matunga, through the mish-mashy salad on the ground, leftovers of the morning wholesale sabzi bazaar, then you will pass beneath the iron bridge.

Much tear has flowed under this bridge. Handkerchiefs come out of their solitudes from pockets and purses to protect the pollution weakened lungs’ of their masters and mistresses. This is the adda of the green chilli wholesellers.

They sit behind the mounds of green.

The lord of the tear drops.

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