I hate Bombay.
I hate Bombay because they call it the city that never sleeps. I always get a feeling it is the city that never stops struggling. Much like the beings of flesh and blood that inhabit it, it never stops struggling... merely to stay alive.
I hate Bombay because it reflects the disparity between the filthy rich and the filthy poor like probably no other city in the world can. Bombay is the city of dreams - LOST dreams, I say. Millions have come to Bombay to realize their dream and they havent given up. They still dream - sleeping on the streets.
I hate Bombay because it is the city that crushes human respect, it is the city that will never be mine, a city I will never adjust to, a city that my father struggled to get his first job in, a city that was always close to where I lived but invariably distant from where my mind lived.
I have been to Bombay dozens of times. I've hated it each time I have been there. I lived there for a few months. I discovered Marine Drive... all over again.
I am sitting here in my room with nothing to do and feeling like a real loser and somewhere I came across the word Marine Drive and it threw me back to the one or two times that I have walked along it with my friends. Believe me, its magic.
Suddenly I feel if I could walk along the Queen's Necklace every evening with my merry bunch of friends or alone listening to FREE BIRD, if I could buy my parents the most expensive house along that street, if I could sit down on the concrete separating the sea from the human ocean talking with someone I love - life wouldn't be so bad. Bombay wouldn't be so bad.