From a grumble at half a precious Sunday wasted in social niceties, the memory of a ten-minute walk past the main road in Matunga is redemption. You walk past rows of hawkers with heaps of color-matched fruits, greens and vegetables; drink in that fresh-bread scent from the bakery with the quaint roof and ancient wood-fired ovens; gaze wide-eyed at the inspired rose-and-jasmine garlands at the roadside vendors; peer past the clouds of incense and devotees at the South Indian temple; notice how second hand copies of books by Nick Carter and Theodore Roosevelt are lined up for sale on the cobblestone pavement at exactly the same cut rate price; watch the serpentine queue outside Café Madras and then make your way to the highway, you go home. Suddenly, the day seems much more interesting than it did earlier.