to its, utmost capacity with sturdy jolly Khoja youths, with their mouths all red with betel-leaf chewing. Soo-oo-oos!! There flashed a swift Red Maxwell. Who were in it? Here rattles a fourth-hand lorry-like nameless Car, with its shabby and dirty driver struggling with the rusty and unwilling engine, enthusiastically giving lessons to some ambitious students within, on " how to keep the engine and the car in good clean order."
The soul of Bombay concentrates itself on Back Bay and the Malbar Hill every evening. Who can tell what all these innumerable people might be carrying in their heads? Surely some may have no heads at all; but certainly many must have many things rolling in their heads. We can easily find a lean and solitary mill-hand, with his frozen gaze fixed on the limitless horizon, finding out a remedy to escape the constant tortures of his pathan creditor. We cannot lose sight of a moderately dressed unit of the clerical Drudgery brooding over the prospects of “the next promotion” in view. Who has not seen a wealthy Bhatia, with his sullen face, clearly indicating his labours within to find out some sure way to recoup his financial losses during the last Sutta transactions? There they go; some men dressed like thorough gentlemen, posing themselves as undisputable units of the “pick of the society,” but hiding within their breasts the most disgusting plans of some conspiracy, murder or even incendiarism. Who can, therefore venture to diagnose the various currents which run through the minds of the people, who generally make a common cause to throng the shores of the Back Bay and the heights of the Malabar Hil1, with an ostentatious excuse of enjoying the bliss 0f evening seabreeze
Bombay the Beautiful always carries within it the seeds of the foulest crimes, which when developed demonstrate their true nature, with Niagara-like impetus, somewhere amidst the throngs which congregate on the Back Bay every evening and linger till midnight. Viewed from the hill-top, Bombay certainly appears as attractive as some fabulous heavenly City on the earth. But behind her fair face lie hidden and unseen, thousands of heinous things which shock humanity, when revealed. As there is nothing unusual in her outward. pomp and beauty, there is nothing surprizing to trace the worst of things in her bowels.
This is in short the stereotyped nature of Bombay life. It has so much anesthetized the mentality of the people that nothing breaks its tiresome monotony. Bombay values pleasure alto misery at an uniform rate of disinterestedness and indifference.
There is no pleasure which is not tinted with intense' no silver lining in its. darkest clouds.
The tragic event now well-known as Bawla Murder ; which took place on the evening of 12th. January 1925, had in fact nothing unusual in it. Is Bombay quite immune from murders and similar ghastly acts of atrocity? Not a day passes without a murder in Bombay. Then why so much sensation and excitement over this murder? 'Why should the whole of