The city that is Bombay...

I call this city my home…I’ve been away too long though, making visits like a guest…yet I don’t get treated like one…everything about this city is welcoming…the pot-holed roads…the tortoise paced traffic…the dust that rises from the ground…the din created by life…the stir created by constant movement…the sweaty crowd whose origin is unknown…the smells that define its existence…the grime from the alarming rise of pollution…the trivia of its unorganized ways…the intricate existence of its being…the way things are just because they’ve always been…there’s no denying its individuality…nothing can ever compare to its uniqueness…no matter how much we crib and complain about things, this is the way we like it…cause this is what defines its presence…the city which represents the whole nation…the city that has always fought back…the city that stands its ground…the city that has made its mark…the city that doesn’t need to prove itself…the city that has become a statement of lifestyle…the city that never sleeps…the city that is like no other...the city that is Bombay…