"Pheroze, where were you last Sunday? I was hoping to spot you in the crowd outside Aarey who braved the rain to protest against the nod given to the felling of 2,700-odd trees inside the forest," Lady Flora asked her friend Sir PM, as soon as they met near the Kala Ghoda traffic island. Sir PM went silent. He knew it was a bad call to have extended his Sunday siesta at cousin Persis' elaborate luncheon that felt like an extended Navroze celebration. He couldn't get himself to make the trip to far-off Borivli after the hearty meal. And then, the incessant rain in the suburbs didn't help.

He was hoping that his friend Lady Flora would also give it a skip. Quite the contrary, the perfectionist that she was, she camped at Dr Viegas' sister's home in Bandra the previous night and made it in time to support the countless Bombaywallahs who turned up to protect their beloved forest. After all, she was one of the many aggrieved souls from the day the Metro work began on DN Road in her favourite neighbourhood. Life was never the same. From endless sinusitis attacks to the constant fear of developing cracks on her newly restored self, she had endured a fair bit thanks to the constant drilling and night-long work threatening the arteries and veins that ran through her dear city. And, then, there was her interrupted spells of sleep. She had to be there; she had made a promise, and hoped that her friend would not disappoint.