Cutting Chai, Rain & Mumbai!
The first shower of rain is grace, it’s the sky descending to the earth, when rain kisses the basalt arch of Gateway of India and it beats upon your head with silver liquid drop, you hear it singing you a lullaby. Also it may be saying- Kasa Kai Mumbai! Mumbai to me, for some reason seems appropriate name for a city in which though I lived only for three years but fell in with (bitter sweet) love. I can’t love the city the way I love Jabalpur, because Mumbai doesn’t admit of mushy romance, her love is kind of tough love. It has no place for weak kneed. To even live in Mumbai, one has to exchange most of the dreams for some cynicism. Degrees may differ but everyone from a laborer to a modest clerk; artists, academicians, bourgeois, even the filthy rich have to learn their lesson. The Tinselcity called Mumbai cuts no slack for those who are not up to it. It is a testimony of countless disillusioned poets and bitter poems. Yet the cynicism of city is not morbid, it has ...