Mumbai is in constant collision with itself.
It is a hub of ferries from the sea,
a necklace of long lines of traffic
around tree-lined streets.
It is cacophony
and chords of quiet beauty.
It is washed by the same, rich sun
that bathes India
in a golden-hour glow.
It is dreaming and desire.
It is yearning and home.
We see it through distant eyes, fleeting,
and still, we find subtle kinship
in its cafes and clear-eyed chaiwallahs.