Mumbai has been more than city. She is more human than any of her inhabitants. She is more virtuous than any saint. More womanly than any woman & stronger than any of her counterparts across the globe.
She has identity for herself, an identity which is an amalgamation of childish innocence, serene calmness, spunky sexiness, brazen boldness , head held high confidence, troubled soul sadness, intense passion, gentle love, tender care with a hint of street smartness.
But my unflinching, selfless lady still lives & dies at mercy of vicious wolves pawing her from all sides. She lies in slums slathered with layers of sickness & filth. She chokes in clouds of poisonous clouds that burns her green. She lies rotting within heaps of garbage piled on her rivers and ponds. She lies bleeding in every blast and they pass her by without a second glance. Everyday a new wound opens in her body, her every feature lay twisted & the necrophile feasts on her.
She is ruthlessly provoked, tortured, lynched & slaughtered & left to die every single day.
STILL SHE BREATHES, STILL SHE NEVER SLEEPS
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Bombay Dying...
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