Dear Mumbai,
I would love to call you Bombay for how much the word has been romanticized and yet, I feel bound by a guilt of patriotism. It is, after all, a colonial term. Although I cannot use the romantic term, I shall not lie; every corner of you reminded me of SRK spreading his arms as if he could make everything in the world right with just his one hug.
I was always scared to run into yours. Would you welcome me with open arms as SRK does? Would you accept this girl who always drew parallels of romanticism with you?
As I walked into your arms, it turns out that you almost felt like a home that I had never known existed. You embraced me tight like an old friend and showed me how much beauty you had to offer, if only I took a chance. I suppose, in a way, you are the perfect metaphor for life, aren’t you?
I have a habit of feeling the need to see everything when I first visit a place. But like Naina said, “kitna bhi koshish karlo Bunny, zindagi mein kuch na kuch toh choot hi jayega”, you showed me that at times, leaving things behind can be quite liberating. I suppose, I have always had a hard time to let go. Be it places, people or memories.
So, there I was, trying to accept that running into the Mumbai locals could sometimes be all I was doing, and I need not run in my head constantly. Accepting that your ‘Bombai ki barish’, no matter how much inconvenience it could cause to your dwellers was just a way to show the world that in the middle of a fast-paced city, where everyone around you is trying to outrun time, you can just stand still and let the rains wash away the numbness you have been bottling up.
I am not sure if I have ever had so much fun in such a short span of time in an unknown city and yet, felt so disconnected from the whole world, including the people I thought I was close to or who knew me. You reminded me that maybe, Celine was right when she said, “I guess when you’re young, you just believe there’ll be many people with whom you’ll connect with. Later in life, you realize it only happens a few times.”
I watched you being dolled up for Ganpati while those who love you just couldn’t stop dancing. Nothing, including your incessant showers could dampen their spirits. And with them, mine. I constantly kept humming the tunes of “tujhko phirse jalwa dikhana hi hoga, agle baras aana hain, aana hi hoga” in my head. I watched people stand in queues for hours to get a glimpse of the biggest festival in your heart and just like, I became one of those people.
I couldn’t have enough of you. As I walked past your streets and buildings in Indo-European architecture, the remnants of the colonial rule, I could almost see history in making. I imagine this was what a replica of London in the pre-independence era would look like. The British did quite a job with you, that we must admit. They took a few islands and made one of the world’s most populated and busiest cities out of you. From strolling on the streets of Kala Ghoda to marveling at the lanes where the buildings still have names engraved as ‘Forbes Street’, ‘Lanswoone House’, ‘George’s Street’ etc, it was a marvel to see how you are an ode to the past and the present, an ode to how we have learnt to live with all your quirks and nuances.
You, just like everyone else, have your red flags. Extremely high rents could easily scare one off. And yet, those who have once run into your arms do not seem to want to leave. And then there are two worlds out there: one where one of the world’s richest men lives, Antilla and just a few kilometres away, where Asia’s largest slum is located, namely Dharavi. It is amazing how everyone resides within you, co-existing constantly between two worlds and without blinking an eye.
Everyone seems to be in a hurry, as if they are constantly checking off something from their bucket list and yet, in the middle of all the chaos, you can see love taking its own sweet time. You can see a couple sitting in the Marine Drive, trying to keep themselves dry within just one umbrella while ‘Iktara’ played in my head or a teenage love trying to steal a kiss in their lovers’ arms.
And then of course, is your food. I know they have hyped out vada pav and for good reason but hey, I am still not over everything else like missal pav, Marathi thalis, pav bhajis, piyush and what not. Your cafes stole my heart, as did your murals and graffities spread across all over you. I imagined that those would be where people would dream, and many would have their dreams come true.
I am girl who is a hopeless romantic. I fall in love quite easily and not just with people. I fall in love with books, with cinema, with places, with memories, with a painting, with a corner of the street, with a song that reminds me of how the sunlight would reflect off the eyes of someone I had once loved. And this time, I fell for you like one falls asleep: quite slowly at first and then hard. As I stood at the Marine on my last day, staring at your skyline, I knew I was a girl, standing in front of a city which I never thought I would accept, asking the city to accept me. And somewhere, within the span of those nine days, you did.
Until we meet again, Mumbai.
Love,
The girl who promises to return
chroniclesofteesta 
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