Right Left and What Was Lost
The rain had stopped just before dusk, leaving the streets of Mumbai slick and glistening like a memory half-washed. Inside the lobby of the five star Trent Hotel in Nariman Point, the air was cool, perfumed faintly with lemongrass and polished leather. Marble floor reflected the soft yellow lights above, and the quiet hum of conversations floated like background music. Raghav spotted him first—leaning against the concierge desk, scrolling through his phone, dressed in a pale blue linen shirt and beige trousers. His hair was thinner, his shoulders broader, but the face was unmistakable. “Arjun?” Raghav said, unsure if he should smile. Arjun looked up, blinked, and then smiled slowly. “Raghav Patkar. From Nagpur. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.” They shook hands, awkwardly. It had been nearly twenty years. “You’re here for the conference?” Arjun asked. “Yeah. Policy and Infrastructure. You?” “Same. I’m with the Gujarat Urban Planning Board now.” “Delhi Development Aut...