I'm currently learning how to drive. Everyday from 12 to 1 I honk my way through the cow ridden (ahem ahem), footpathless streets of Bombay with my beloved, ever-patient (LOL, JK) driving instructor. His name is KK, and he calls himself a 'ladiez special', *wink wink*. Luckily, he is a 65 year old Gujarati grandpa with an extreme devotion to God and his wife, so this doesn't worry me. As we drive the city, learning how to park badly, curse vividly and spit paan out the window with great accuracy, KK screams at me in flowery Gujarati whilst i fume at my inability to retaliate. With screeches of 'Petrol dabbah dikra!' (press the petrol, dear!) or 'Oun poppat thai jussun!' (I'll turn into a parrot!), he and I are working towards making me a brash and lawless enough driver to succeed in the streets of Bombay. Yippee!
On other topics, here are some pictures of Byculla Market, a chaotic, delicious wholesale vegetable market-