This has been doing the rounds in facebook for a couple of days now. 50 reasons. I don’t need them. We all have our own reasons to love Bombay.
Its the city I was born in. Its where I learnt everything that was worth learning. It is where my father, who arrived way back in 1981 with nothing but an appointment letter in his hand made his life. It is where I said my first words. It is where I first learnt the concept of a crowd, of slums, of reality.
It is where I went to school and college. It is where I made my greatest friends. It is where I marveled at the co-existence of enormous wealth and utter despair. It is where I saw people who usually never wasted their breath on meaningless pleasantries, go out of their way to help a lad get back on his feet after a bad fall from his motorcycle. It is where I saw people go berserk when Misbah played that fateful shot.
It is where I learnt that no man is an island. It is where I came across the most genuine people in the world. It where I experienced the crests and troughs of life.
Now that I live thousands of miles away, where the thought of going back one day is the only reason for me to see the day through, I ache for it. There is a part of me in Bombay. And a part of Bombay in me which will never be happy in these clean streets and among the friendly people. It will always crave for the rudeness of the conductors and the honking of the car horns in traffic.
Simply put, there is no place like home.