Bombay – is chaotic at its worst but a composed unit at its best. It’s a city where we try to be everything and everywhere. The city lives in the extremes and on the edge. It’s on the edge between violence and dreams. This disparity is all consuming, and yet that is exactly what connects us.
The monsoon rises over the seas and has its reach beyond the high rises. The city that is a home away from home. The rain in Bombay is like that poetry book you revisit repeatedly and find yourself feeling new things every time. Just like any good poem, these feelings can sometimes be dreadful. The sea is the only empty space and source of solace. It’s a stark contrast from the layers and layers of people and buildings, like castles in the sky, that could come crumbling down any moment.
At the same time, when you think of it, Bombay is nothing but a huddle under an umbrella, a glass of cutting chai, and maybe, if you are in the mood to be a romantic, a sutta* or two.
No matter what anyone thinks, the romantics will always romanticize this city.
(Images shot on Pentax MX and Kodak Portra 160.)
* sutta – cigarette
