The stage for the present narrative is in my personal private bar, affectionately called "The Sahib's Watering Hole". Here, in the dim and comfortable atmosphere, we sometimes forgather in the quiet evenfall to inhale a couple in congenial company.

There's a sprawling lawn, stately trees, shaded walks and secluded garden seats; all in the midst of Altamount Road in the heart of Bombay City (that's now known as Mumbai). That's the unique point of the place. The fact that all this greenery, trees and quietitude is available to us, walking distance from the old building.

Here many a new friendship has grown and many old ones have been reinforced. Persons who have had a falling out or a lovers' quarrel have often made their individual ways here in order that the salve of solitude and the healing balm of time be applied with gentleness to soothe the frazzled nerve endings.

So that's The Sahib's bar. A place where the care worn traveler can get a sympathetic ear and a glassful of the finest. A place that offers a safe heaven after the most trying day ill spent in the tireless and frustrating pursuit of commerce.

Good friends, basically being obedient men, often heed the cry of nature, pour themselves a whisky and water, and dutifully watching the colours change. The airconditioner whispers softly in the background.

The soothing and melodious strains of a sadist twisting the tails of about four hundred cats and pigs (some hard rock music), simultaneously, issues forth from about eighteen speakers, powered by three amplifiers, manipulated out of a ten band equaliser controlled by a single control amplifier, and the ice cubes in the glass, if they could be heard, must be making a merry tinkling sound. Peaceful.