There was once, a woman, whom destiny took by hand,
and led to a city of a million dreams.
The city welcomed her, with the gift of insignificance –
the bliss of being a drop in an ocean.
The roads, streets, buses, and trains – full of people
of all kinds, took her in like a missing puzzle piece.
The wandering soul searched the city’s pockets,
seeking nuggets of joy in all things small.
Vada Pav, Pani Puri, brownies and hot chocolate,
colourful mocktails, and ice-cream by the sea.
A walk in the rain – shopping for kurtas and skirts,
a handful of books, shoes, bags and scarves.
A play at Prithvi, a movie at Regal, breakfast at Kamat’s
and idle book-browsing at the historic Strand.
For a single woman dwelling in it, the big city
revealed, little secrets in its mouldy recesses.
Shantaram, An Equal Music and books many more,
read on board the office-bound 8:50 local;
several city-inspired tales scribbled on paper
in the 6:35 local on the way back home.
Her words glowing like fireflies, seemed to rise
gently and float nimbly over the city’s expanse.
Encouraged, in its multi-hued, ever-accepting
friendly arms, a storyteller was blissfully born.
Cities, she had heard, offered profound experiences –
Marine Drive showed her what that meant.
In a meditative trance, she discovered, the spontaneity
with which the sea could listen, unburden and heal.
In the maximum city, she discovered, the joy of solitude,
the joy of freedom, the joy of being herself.
And years later, while she left the city behind,
the memories stayed… resurfacing many a time –
sometimes taking shape as stirring, nostalgic poetry.
Picture by https://www.flickr.com/photos/dalkongmj/