City of dreams. City of night.
The city that never sleeps.
If Mumbai had a personal tagline, it would without fail be ‘Fall down seven, get up eight’. From Bomb blasts to floods, it has seen it all and survived it all. Every time the city takes a hit, it rises up, stronger and better than ever.
But what about the personality of this ever so changing city? From Colaba to Dharavi, from Sion to Mira Road, the city takes on a different character effortlessly. She comprises of billionaires who live in high rises to a family of 10 cramped in a tiny space. She’s multilingual, multicultural and ever so evolving.
Her religion? She belongs to all yet belongs to none.
Her lifeline? The local trains.
The women’s compartment. Men’s compartment. First class. Second class. Every wagon a different story. Every wagon a struggle on its own.
Just like the Mumbai rains she’s a little over powering, endlessly incessant and sometimes serene.
I might have grown up in Dehradun but I GREW UP in Mumbai. From experiencing the struggles and cold, harsh realities of life to
finding friends like family away from home.
The late night walks at Marine Drive. The dizzying crowd at the train stations. The brownies from Theobroma. The forests of Array. The tower on the top of the hill. Late night bike rides home.
The first shower of monsoon.
The first apartment.
She’s difficult to get used to but once she reels you in, there’s no going back. Ever.
For you can take a person out of Bombay but you can never take Bombay out of them.