To Mumbai, with love: A poem 

I can begin with your disappearing mangroves 

And the memory of all the cherished love’s 

dreams cluttered among the coconut palms 

The salt and sand all over my arms 

You were a loud movie in a packed theatre 

Where the applause was louder, without fetter 

And the streetside eateries caring not for hygiene 

You had enough appetite and immunity in your spleen 

My childhood play broken by the incessant rainy day 

It all begins at the end of the month of mad May 

Sweaty omnipresent queues for every little thing 

And the noisy festivities, and the cheer they bring 

I could hardly breathe in your sardine-packed trains 

And your resourceful hawkers with the unfailing brains 

The bus ride took me to a destination named cacophony 

I found the looming turbulence still always funny 

And they keep building and building and ever building 

Despite the annual deluge; the green fields yielding 

They keep coming to you with stars in their eyes 

Even the orphan beggar knows that hope in you lies