Its been a while since I have penned my thoughts. So this evening as I drifted onto my terrace looking for an escape; my mind stirred onto things I had left behind.
The stirring winds & fresh air brought to me memories from the deepest corners of my mind.
I was born here in Bombay - bustling, burning, bursting Bombay. A city of tiny homes inhabited by people with tenacious hearts...
I grew up to the soul stirring songs of our very own Indian cinema, to the sound of my family's laughter, to the aroma of the fried fish on Sundays & the infectious scent of the colourful flowers that my mom placed in our temple every morning.
I practiced lessons on the black walls & made card castles on the checkered floors, with colorful toys & stupid dolls.
I grew up with ink stained fingertips, paper cuts & dreams of escape swimming in my eyes, with the wild in my bones scratching it out.
I grew up while the floor was changed, walls were moved & heart was discovered.
I grew up in that room, the first time I fell in love and the time after that & much after that.
I dreamed standing on the open terrace of my 3 storeyed building gazing ahead this brilliant beautiful city, weathering the waxing & waning of the moon, watching the other little boxes, people across the street, wondering…
"Here comes the feeling, I thought I’d almost forgotten."
"Here comes the feeling, I thought I’d almost forgotten."
