An ode to Bombay

**This letter below was sent to a friend and is being published with his/her permission. His/her name means happiness in Persian, hence the salutation of the letter is that way.

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Dear Happiness,

Aadaab!
I can't really exactly explain what Bombay does to me, but somehow the beauty of the struggle and that-very-feel here is so inspirational. I tried a lot to explain this beauty to my friends here but like all previous times I found myself falling short of apt vocabulary and befitting sentences and thus ending up making a sentimental fool of myself. Somehow, I know that you would understand what I am talking about.

When  I was working in Bombay, everyday after the daily grind from a psycho boss and an equally heartless seeming girlfriend, I used to walk the whole marine drive from start to end with my iPod in my ears and my office laptop bag on my shoulders. I felt so alone that time. There were no friends except for the sea and my iPod. I used to walk the entire marine drive and in between the same walk, pass by an old lady who sat on the same spot on the marine drive. I am attaching the picture of that woman I had once clicked. Everyday I met the same lady and we both silently acknowledged the presence of each other with a smile. I never exchanged a word with her. Apart from the musical iPod and the turbulent marine drive sea, the old lady had become my silent friend. If you have read the Myth of Sisyphus, then you will understand that those were my Sisyphus days, the daily grind of psycho boss and an equally heartless girlfriend were like pushing that rock up the mountain and those walks & the acknowledging smile were the moments of the rock going down. And thus I lived my life midst all that absurdity, embracing it everyday more and more. I really treasure those days of my life.

After I left Bombay to Delhi, I have kept coming back to Marine drive quite often, taking the same walk from start to end, doing my own fashion show walk on the sitting area, with the infinite sea as the background audience and the earphones playing the background music. Somehow that lady has disappeared because I have never seen her since I left Mumbai. I don't know where she is now, left Bombay or left the living world. I always pass by the same area she sat at, and I even smile although now at blank spaces in her seat. She still makes me happy, my silent, old, smile-acknowledging friend of mine. Apart from the sea and the music, she became the third leg of my tripodic life.

Now coming back, I really liked your letter. Brilliant lines, brilliant expressions. One should embrace life, the beauty of life lies in its absurdity and the art.

About the book Dubliners, its important to associate with the characters but what is more important is to immediately dissociate and move on. Because if to me, although it is a very beautiful book in English language but it is also a very very sad book and a true one too. Joyce has showed the intensity of commonness, the sadness in every day Dublin life through beautiful wordsmithing and play of words. 

I am writing this mail from Mumbai airport, sitting in a corner, trying to escape the feeling of a sheep through this mail as there are so many like me sitting and typing codes, excels, presentations in their laptops while I write to you.

I want to write more and more and more. But somehow the lack of sleep and the last call for boarding the flight is asking me to press the send button.
Wish you all the euphoria, peace and the bliss.

Love,
vC