In another life, I'm still walking the shadowed streets back to my quaint apartment in the heart of Mumbai, From my place of worship, The only place where I'm convinced a god exists. In this reverend place, I know nothing of the life outside the Bleary grey walls and the long distorted mirrors, I know nothing other than the sound of the bass that shakes my very soul, I know nothing but the sweat evading my skin and soaking my shirt until it's nothing but a mangled piece of