My heart still longs for those letters that came by post. In remembrance of the letter writing ritual, decided to post some of the conversations that happen to follow more of that ideal format of letter writing. This section is for all those letter lovers.
Ana, Bombay
Saturday May 17th, 2025
“A Letter from Bombay
It has been raining since I opened my eyes this morning in Bombay. I have been here once before back in 2009 for a family wedding. On that trip, I had seen Shahrukh Khan, the man of my dreams.
I love cities with seas. Seas listen even in the dark, the dark of the sky, the dark of my inside. Sea decides to drown out all your cries, reverberate your laughter, accentuate your anger, calm your senses, perfumes your leathery sweat, caresses you in her sinusoidal cradle.
The city is how I had imagined after watching "Life in a Metro" the movie I had watched thrice in the theatre, back when I was hardly 25. I wonder what I thought then of life, love and longing. I had wanted Shilpa Shetty to let it go, I remember. I remember Konkona's cry out, I envy that. I realise I miss Irrfan a lot.
The staff at the hotel has been so warm. Mritunjay had told me, warned me of Bombay, he stayed here for 13 years and yet couldn't make it his own. Why do I feel otherwise then? Is it because I fancy the pain that life bestows on you as soon as you see light.”
We head out for the day soon with maps in our hands like we always do in a new city and savour the feeling of being a tourist. Sometimes insiders feel better in their cities when tourists ask them about their town. They love their city a little more. I do.
Kavita, Bangalore
Saturday May 17th, 2025
“
To Ana, from a Mumbaikar who always carries Bombay in her veins
Ana,You had me at “It’s been raining since I opened my eyes”. That first line alone was enough to bring the scent of wet earth and cutting chai to my nose. Bombay rains — they don’t just fall, they arrive, no? Like an old friend who never announces their entry but fills the room with memories anyway.
Your letter felt like a whisper from home. And as someone who has grown up with the sea as her neighbor, let me tell you — you’re not imagining it. The sea does listen. She holds our secrets like vada pavs hold spice — tight and unapologetically alive. She’s moody, loyal, and unrelenting. Just like Bombay herself.
You saw Shahrukh? In 2009? Arey waah, kya naseeb! Only in Bombay can you spot a superstar and a street poet in the same lane — both equally dramatic. That’s what this city teaches you — that dreams and dust walk hand-in-hand here, and no one is too big or too small to belong.
You spoke of Life in a Metro — perfect pick. It captured the pulse of this city without pretending to decode it. We don’t do tidy stories here. We do overlapping ones. Stories that stop at red signals, share umbrellas with strangers, fight for auto-rickshaws, and fall in love between Andheri and Churchgate.
And Mritunjay? Poor guy. Bombay doesn’t let everyone in the same way. You can’t brute-force her. You have to let her slowly sneak into your bones — through a cutting chai at a tapri, through a local train conversation, through the kindness of a cabbie who knows shortcuts no GPS ever will. She’s not everyone’s love story. But if she’s yours, she never leaves you.
So walk with your maps, Ana, but also lose them once in a while. Let the city carry you. Let her show off a bit. We Mumbaikars love our city loud and proud — even when we crib about the traffic or the rent or the rains that flood everything but our spirit.
And wherever I go — Dubai, Delhi, Durban — all it takes is a whiff of petrol in the rain or a salty breeze and I’m back. Back to Bombay. Back to me.
Come again soon. She already knows your name.
Love,
”
Kavita
A Mumbaikar, always and forever.
Neelam, Mumbai
Sunday May 18th, 2025
“All the Mumbai talks made me pick up my fav books, all odes to the Mumbai city.
Thanks @Anasuya Ray and @Kavita for the nudge,
This is my weekend poem date with my city.😍
Mumbai: A City Written in Many Hands
( A random verse inspired by Salman Rushdie, Jerry Pinto, Suketu Mehta, and Arun Kolatkar)
⸻
Mumbai,
you are a palimpsest of longing,
written over and over,
never erased.Where every window is a telescope
into lives unlived.
Where the footpaths know
before you tell them.
⸻Rushdie’s Mumbai—
a myth, a mosaic,
swallowing seafarers with outstretched arms.
VT spits out a million bodies every day—
some with lunchboxes,
some with fists clenched around meagre belongings.
Midnight’s children are still running,
dodging destiny and dabbawalas alike.⸻
Suketu Mehta talks to the underbelly.
He knows:
this city doesn’t fall apart, it adjusts.
It basks in slum smoke and neon lights.
It runs on jugaad—
of borrowed dreams.
Hope lives here—
in 8x10 rooms,
and in the silence between car horns.⸻
Kolatkar’s Bombay—
it doesn’t perform for tourists.
It smokes beedis behind Jehangir Art Gallery
and murmurs,
”Poetry grows in alleys”
Bombay crows write couplets
on electric wires.
Flora Fountain laughs,
flashing cracked marble teeth.⸻
Pinto’s Mumbai hums in minor keys.
Where aunties bless and gossip
in the same breath.
Where sin and song
walk hand in hand to Mass.
Where vulgar becomes verse
when spoken in a Bandra drawl.
Where love won’t heal—
but it will try.⸻
And then, there’s is Mumbai
Mine
OursDreams in umpteen languages,
curses in more.”
Pavements turn into pillows.
Towers scrape the sky, reaching
for something they’ll never hold.
The sea is never silent.
It breathes. Heavy.
Its heart swollen with secrets.Here,
”
we are all trying
to make a home
in a city
that belongs to no one—
but takes everyone in.
Mritunjay, Bangalore
Saturday May 17th, 2025
“It’s so weird, I posted about Kolkata a while ago…and it showed up in memories today. I reposted that and here I am, reading about Bombay
There is no confusing Kolkata! She slaps you in the face the moment you encounter her. You know you’re there. She’s not for the faint of heart…or short of patience. She’s unlike any other metro. She is polished and rugged in her own ways. The sights, the smell, the noise, the chaos, the people — each very ‘Kolkata’ in their own way.
The moment you leave a plane — heck, much before that — when you board one for Kolkata, you know where you’re headed.
The moment it lands, the sight of ground personnel from those tiny windows, showcases what lies ahead — confusion, chaos, and a different pace.
As soon as you deplane, the buses towards the terminal start zigzagging — much inspired by Sealdah-Howrah buses and honk no less, if not more (measured in honks per metre travelled!).
The staff in washrooms is unlike the ones you’ll encounter in a Bombay or Bangalore, maybe even Delhi airport! They’re not subtle by any means.
And certainly the scenes and smells inside the terminal carry the theme forward.
But give her a bit of time. Have some patience. Let her take your life over and you’ll not go back! She loves you like no other lover. The loud noises soon fill your like and turn into a rhythm that is warm. Those seemingly hostile people are just trying to help — well, mostly 🙂 And a walk in her streets is enough to create core memories for life.
So, just like Bingo, an ITC brand — a company that calls Kolkata home — says: No confusion. Great combination — Kolkata, you’re a beautiful mess ❤️!
”