My affair with Mumbai begins the minute I set foot into the train station. The smell of vada pav and samosas mingled with the sweat of a hundred thousand people rushing to work, from work, to home, from home, to a client, from a client.
Every city is depressing. But none smell of hope as much as Mumbai does.
Only in Mumbai can I meet a hardcore business boy, an insightful writer, a magazine girl, an engineer for a top telecom company, a freelance artist, a student and another intern, each with the same opinion of the place, the same thirst for the city.
Nobody lives in the ideal house in Mumbai. Everyone wishes they were in a bigger place, or a place closer to work, or one where the sea was visible. But mention that they could leave Mumbai to get all this and more in another city, and everyone’s eyes mist over. How can we leave Mumbai? they say. How can we leave the place that led us to find who we are? How can we leave the one thing in our lives that demands nothing from us – only for us to be ourselves? Impossible.