The Margarita Man by Adiana Ray

Life was crazy and I loved every minute of it. It was the end of the month and work was more demanding than usual. I was mulling over some design issues in my head as I walked down to the sea-face for some ‘me’ time. I badly needed to recharge my batteries; the evening had all the makings of an all-nighter. The promenade in front of the Taj Hotel had to be just about my favourite place in Mumbai. I sat on the parapet, staring out over the water as the evening sun turned the sea into a sheet of gold. The gentle feel of the salty spray on my face never failed to release me and send me soaring up on a carpet of bliss. Evening was always such a beautiful time; the trials of the day were over and you had the thought of relaxing in your mind’s eye as you hurried home. Tomorrow was another day, this evening was yours. Mumbai has millions living together and for many of these millions the Gateway was a wonderful spot to visit. Young couples surreptitiously saying goodbye before having to head off home, others just sitting and unwinding; glad to be together. Children running around, not sure if they would rather look out longingly at the mysteries of the water or at the monolithic Gateway and all the hustle and bustle around it. It was my favourite time of the day and I was in my favourite place. The world was good and there was a God up there who was looking down on me.

That was when I met Mario. Did I say met? Let me amend that: at that moment it was more of a rude intrusion. There I was floating along on my velvet cushion of well-being when I suddenly heard this gratingly, jovial voice beside me,