A dowry for a princess was a city called BOMBAY with green fields, open spaces lakes and seas, tramcars that were a child’s delight horse-carts drawn by liveried men the streets were clean, wide and green with cobbled footpaths dotting the streets.
It once was a dream city for many a men, women and kin thousands flocked to try their luck at plucking stars from this city of dreams many stars were born and many were soon forgotten and those that remained only dot our TV screen for the stars in the sky are no longer seen as they are covered with dirt and grime.
Several years down BOMBAY no longer resembles the dream city it once used to be along with the change in countenance there came a change in its name and now we call it MUMBAI And Mumbai no longer is anyone’s dream city for all have used it and abused it and raped it and left it mutilated and torn to shreds wherein lies the dreams of many a Mumbaites
Weep my fellow citizens for this once beautiful city of dreams enveloped you and me in its arms Today you can, and I can, give it back its glory care for it, nurture it make it once again your dream city you and I need MUMBAI, to be as it used to be.
I am a person with lot of positive attitude, very friendly, caring , understanding and i love to reach out to people and make a difference in thier lives.lOVE LIFE AND i LIVE IT TO THE FULLEST ON MY TERMS.
metaphysical impulse ensues through the flames of resistance shun its existence etched beneath the tapestry of loosened conclaves alone in desperation in the night heavy sounds of cosmic illumination in temples of fire reaching ever higher on point locked in
As I walked back to my house, i heard a stranger that passed me by mumbling numbly to himself about why a sidewalk will never unfold itself near the end of a routine and then become a fretwork of shadows.
It’s those sultry days that sooth my soul, In the searing heat, empty like after birth we would bath, Fear of appearing odd, the taste of the sweet waters, Oblivious of each other’s different destiny, Our foggy minds leading the
As the tram runs on the rails, Weather bitten houses emerge telling tales, Revolutionaries’ urge for freedom, Idealism in poetry and fiction, Reminiscent of immortal singers, Dancers in their grace, Tears trickle down in claustrophobia; yearning for a home which