Dust, a lot of dust kisses the shimmering concrete roads.
Sun reluctantly ascends in the horizon as a very mild wind helps the dust
along.
Some behind the time school children run to catch a bus that threatened to leave; a few drops of sweat drenches the otherwise parched surface, a few milk men cycle silently to their various destinations. They spilt milk with every bump, exciting the stray dogs for whom it was just another kind of a liquid.
Some cigarette shops wish that they could sell tea, some tea stores wonder about their stock of biscuits. A bus stand boasts of a sizable crowd, hoping, perhaps for a new love story to begin. A man fights with a rickshaw driver, reminding him of his awareness of the fare system, while the driver rebels for being the proletariat in the situation.
Some behind the time school children run to catch a bus that threatened to leave; a few drops of sweat drenches the otherwise parched surface, a few milk men cycle silently to their various destinations. They spilt milk with every bump, exciting the stray dogs for whom it was just another kind of a liquid.
Some cigarette shops wish that they could sell tea, some tea stores wonder about their stock of biscuits. A bus stand boasts of a sizable crowd, hoping, perhaps for a new love story to begin. A man fights with a rickshaw driver, reminding him of his awareness of the fare system, while the driver rebels for being the proletariat in the situation.
A girl jogs listening to “A Beautiful Day”, oblivious of
some pairs of eyes and their longing desire to meet hers. A faint sound of the
waves crashing against a melancholy, but dirty shore, the air has a hint of
salt, and an everlasting smell of fish.
The sun rises higher, waking up from its partial slumber, even as the streets crowd. Haphazard honks for no apparent reasons, some people trying to get on a moving train, flirting with lives that they so ironically tried to keep happy, some cobblers observing shoes all round, while some others trying to blacken the faded.
A few newspapers, two tabloids, some sudoku, some half finished crosswords, and a very interesting game of rummy. Few college students with fancy backpacks, some curious faces gazing through the stock prices, and noise, a lot of noise. Some stolen moments of romance, along a stretch of road, while a forgotten queen’s necklace awaits its evening to shine. Some very fast cars, and a few claustrophobic taxis, some overpriced restaurants, claiming that they play Jazz by the Bay.
Some very efficient signalling system, and even some close circuit cameras, some police men with sunglasses, and a roaring walky-talky. Motorcycles and double-deckers without roofs, and people all around. Strangely well planned slums, and some plastic shades as excuses for abodes, some cut hands, some ugly diseases, and some children losing their innocence. Some intimidating eunuchs, some extremely kind vagabonds, and a few bent with the burden of age.
Dreams, accompanied by some nightmares. Some realizations, some disillusionment. Few starting all over, and some premature ends. Pride, enmeshed with tears, with some sprinkling of smiles, and that odd, and abrupt laughter. History, singing songs of legacy, which told stories of art, literature, cinema, science, crime and punishment.
Love, in the midst of everything that threatened to defy it.
The sun rises higher, waking up from its partial slumber, even as the streets crowd. Haphazard honks for no apparent reasons, some people trying to get on a moving train, flirting with lives that they so ironically tried to keep happy, some cobblers observing shoes all round, while some others trying to blacken the faded.
A few newspapers, two tabloids, some sudoku, some half finished crosswords, and a very interesting game of rummy. Few college students with fancy backpacks, some curious faces gazing through the stock prices, and noise, a lot of noise. Some stolen moments of romance, along a stretch of road, while a forgotten queen’s necklace awaits its evening to shine. Some very fast cars, and a few claustrophobic taxis, some overpriced restaurants, claiming that they play Jazz by the Bay.
Some very efficient signalling system, and even some close circuit cameras, some police men with sunglasses, and a roaring walky-talky. Motorcycles and double-deckers without roofs, and people all around. Strangely well planned slums, and some plastic shades as excuses for abodes, some cut hands, some ugly diseases, and some children losing their innocence. Some intimidating eunuchs, some extremely kind vagabonds, and a few bent with the burden of age.
Dreams, accompanied by some nightmares. Some realizations, some disillusionment. Few starting all over, and some premature ends. Pride, enmeshed with tears, with some sprinkling of smiles, and that odd, and abrupt laughter. History, singing songs of legacy, which told stories of art, literature, cinema, science, crime and punishment.
Love, in the midst of everything that threatened to defy it.
Yeh hain Mumbai meri
jaan...
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