Bombay. A midnight rediscovery of the city.

In the dead of the still night, I walk into darkness. The city lies stretched out before me in obscure circles. I spiral downward with the elevator as cold fingers rub the sleep off my eyes. I stare and find myself seated in a cocoon that reeks of leather and old spice. This beast that encloses me, it wraps me in the safety if its arms. The glass window rolls down and I finally smell Bombay. Yes, this is my Bombay. The Bombay I have waited for all my life. A Bombay that is soft and decadent, full of secrets like a demure bride. This is in contradiction to the Bombay of the day- wanton, crude and unrelenting. Tonight, I feel a part of her, my soul seeps into her veins and I think to myself. I think even if I die one of these days and the world moves on like I never existed, this city will mourn for me, always remember me and maybe a part of me will live on through its memories. Time feels like dewdrop upon a blade of glass- unmoving and contemplative. The rain has slobbered the entire city with its eager, wet tongue. The streets glisten with a satisfaction that could almost be post-coital. As we gather speed, the engine hums a melancholic lullaby and I feel the wind stroking my hair. I stretch my arms out to soothe its wild desires. This is a city of shadows- silhouettes that grow, suddenly acquiring rigid, rectangular shapes and then rapidly dissolving into a haze of neon. Strange yet familiar faces pass by in a distinct blur. If the city were a song, it would be ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. It’s devastating, overwhelming and deeply operatic. As we accelerate forward, the sea-link begins to make an unlikely appearance. It has somehow negotiated the wide vacuum between two islands, floating lightly above the untamed swirling waters. Even from far, I can see its absolute miracle. It’s poetic in its precise engineering. I marvel at the humans who saw it in their minds and were able to transform that obscure dream into architectural plans and blueprints, using nothing but science and some cranes to turn it into this. I see clearly the thin strands of white- elusive and slippery. They seem to magically hold the giant slabs of concrete. It reminds of a spider’s web as the cars from afar look like tiny insects caught in its invisible fold, unable to even stir. These white threads, they start at the same point, from the same elevation, stretched in a perfect symmetry from both sides of the giant pillar. However, they end up angled at regular distances from each other, its proportions strangely equidistant. Upon close inspection, it is revealed to me that these threads are reinforced by other threads placed at parallel degrees. As you move between them, they give the illusion of intersecting at various points. These points are somewhat transitory, as you tilt your head from one side to another. And again, the threads do their wild dance. They run towards and then run away from one another, tracing straight lines against the black sky. As the music rises to a crescendo, I think of a guitar somewhere, its strings being plucked by impatient hands. We don’t stop. We just keep going till we reach queen’s necklace. I remember my first tryst with Bombay and that one evening when I fell in love. I just sat at Marine Drive and I gawked, at everything- the people, the dogs, the cars, the buildings. The sun turned from white hot to golden yellow to burnt amber to crimson red till finally embarrassed at my overtures, it resigned and drowned itself in the Arabian Sea. Suddenly, I am shaken out of my stupor. The beast screeches to a halt, the traffic light says red. Red- it is definitely the colour of Bombay. Defiant. Passionate. Seductive. I now know the reason why I am so greedy for Bombay. Because she is mine, all mine.

Posted By

Swati.

Your friendly neighbourhood copywriter.