When Bombay called, and you left the room
To answer, I could have told that we were
Not going to make it. To be put through
Such exorcisms every time we put our clothes
On would have put an untenable strain
To our back-breaking and untenable ways.
What was indeed commendable, at first
Was the way the entire bubble burst–
Of the allure of Bombay and its glamour,
Leaving out questions that led to clamour.
Indeed, the weather there was accursed
To have seen us at our very worst.
How such a deep, passionate appeal
For love could not have moved you I can
Never fathom. To be able to move at once
From the penury of Borivali, with Malad
Rearing its head up from its own worries
To pay one’s respects at Kandivali.
How could life have treated us this way
That we could not tell night from day?
What was so special in this city of dreams
That blood seemed to burst at its seams?
There was, in fact, not a lot to say
When those sunny eyes had turned to grey.
Both the halves of Goregaon seemed to
Merge in one before we had the sense
To understand that it was not really the case.
Santacruz could have shown its face but
Khar made sure that it did not have to.
We woke up to see Bandra at its finest.
Bombay had eyes at the back of its head,
Audacity making jaws drop by a thread.
Life seemed to have come full circle now
That to its vicissitudes, we could allow.
You could only visit, never sleep in its bed.
Get too comfortable, and you end up dead.
Mohul Bhowmick is a national-level cricketer and passionate writer. He has published three books of poetry and one travelogue. His latest work ‘Seeking Kathmandu: Travails of a solo traveller across Nepal’ is now out.