Bombay, the city where I was born, in more ways than one, where I grew up, discovered myself, and one day, I hope, I will lay my weary head for all eternity (a not so subtle hint to who ends with the mortal me).
A city to whom I lost my heart to, no matter how dirty, stinky, crowded and humid it may be, no matter how much I may complain about it. Bombay will always be in my heart. (Note: I call it Bombay and not Mumbai, cause that’s the way I will remember it, though I would always call myself a Mumbaikar.)
It is a city where I lost my heart more than once but in the bargain found myself. A place where I hope for love and companionship for all eternity. It is the place where I discovered a me that was hidden from myself and through me the world I had suppressed within me. But it helped me find a true meaning to life.
No matter how much it has been stabbed, shot at, blasted, the envy of politicians and ministers of neighbouring states, treated like a stepchild, it always finds away to bounce back. This may not just be the resilience, just that life has to go on, cause if we stop, we stop living. A heart can never skip a beat or it may stop altogether.
Bombay may seem heartless and cruel, slow to cope with and fast to crush hopes and dreams. But beneath that tough exterior is a beating heart, a warm fuzzy centre, that embraces you like the humidity of the weather.
It may seem overpopulated, polluted, bursting at the seems with people coming here with stars in their eyes, hope in their heart and a wish on their lips. No matter how much we complain of the crowd, we can’t forget that it’s Bombay that provides not only to these people but to the country, in more ways than one.
Bad roads, bumper to bumper traffic, potholes the size of craters on the moon, the roads here have it all. Caught in it and you will be rueing your reasons for taking the roads. But then the alternatives are the crowded trains, where people risks their lives and limbs just to make to and from work (ever tried a Virar local or any local on the central line). No matter how packed they may seem, people will always try to get in.
And then you have the politicians. They are like the Eid ka Chand, never to be seen, only when elections come around or they want rename some place for political mileage, or the city is struck by natural or manmade calamities. Other times they let the city bleed, turning a blind eye to the woes of the city in favour of their pet projects, cities and states.
You often hear people on platforms, in buses, on roads, in trains, talking i their native tongue, how the city is going from bad to worse, with bad infrastructure and rising cost, and how the cities in the neighbouring states are much better. But inspite of all these complaining they still continue to live and earn their livelihood here not once thinking of migrating the place which they are so full of praise (I wonder why).
Bombay is the city with one of the highest tax returns and one of the biggest contributor to the country’s income but a city that get very little in return. Like that child that slogs hard just to be overlooked in favour of the prodigal child.
No matter how ever it may be, however it may change, Bombay, Mumbai, whatever you may call it, is a city like no other, a one of the kind. The city always on the move the city that never sleeps, the city that makes you... YOU.
Ae dil hain mushkhil
Jeena yaha
Zara hat ke, Zara Bach ke
Yeh hain Bombay Meri Jaan
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