Countless disguises of the sky
No two ever alike.
Sunrises dressed up in purple and gold,
And sunsets with pink and copper streaks on the blue.
The dreary monsoon greys,
Indigo velvet scattered with pearls,
And white clouds dotting the blazing azure, too.
Every mood mesmerizes me
So I stand witnessing the beauty each time.
And then if I close my eyes and keep real quiet,
I hear Him whisper, I love you my child.
I like the sound of “Bombay”. It has more class than “Mumbai”. Or maybe it’s just me, nursing a colonial hangover.
You’ll be lost here, a dot in the crowd.
Anonymous among a billion souls.
You’ll envy the the rich, walking so proud,
Pity the beggar, toss a coin in his bowl;
Catch a whiff of the perfumes,
Smell the dirty and the gritty,
There’s nothing that you won’t feel in my city
A bullock cart on the road next to a Porsche,
Nine yard sarees, tiny hot shorts,
Hand carved temples, spiralled mosques,
Shiny new buildings, ancient forts
Street side food that’s whipped up in a jiffy;
There’s nothing that you won’t see in my city.
Croc-skin bags and sparkly jewels,
An original Gucci and a fake rolex,
Tin roof shanties,
Hash, cocaine, absinthe and sex.
Phony passports and fake identities,
There’s nothing that you can’t buy in my city
Doesn’t matter if you love her or hate her
Once you’re here, you just can’t leave.
Here your life’s just a busy blur
And you got no time to grieve.
But a hundred dreams come true here, everyday;
Because nothing’s impossible in the city called Bombay
This is the first time that I am writing a blog.
I have been maintaining a personal journal for years, but I never thought of starting a blog. There have been many reasons for my delayed foray into the digital writing scenario. One of them is that I like to write. The old school way. With ink and paper. There is a certain charm about blotted ink-pen stains on paper. The nib scratching on paper is music to my ears. Striking out words is more human than the backspace and delete key. You can always go back and see what mistake you made and then improved on it. Typing does not give me the same satisfaction. But I feel it’s time for a change. I could try to befriend the sound that my keyboard makes whilst I type.
The title of my first entry is inspired by a story that a friend told me. It was a very mundane conversation till he started narrating the story of how he smoked a cigarette for the first time and what he felt like when the first “kick” hit him. The narration was quite entertaining on its own. But what I deduced from the story is that one never forgets the first time. It could be anything;
The first time you kiss
The first time your passport gets stamped
The first time you lose someone close to you
It will make you feel agonized, angry, hurt, betrayed, joyous, awed, excited or delirious . But any emotion you feel at that point is unadulterated. You know it has never happened before and wont happen ever again. You will not have the exact same experience. You just have one chance to live it and then file it away in your memory. What you feel for the first time are such genuine and intense emotions that they leave you amazed. Baffled.
So with that knowledge, today I sit and do nothing but savor the feeling of writing a blog for The First Time.