I was in Bombay- Maximum City- on Saturday. The city belonged to the hazy patchwork memories of my four-something-year old self. I'd cried when we'd moved, un-understanding of the whys and the wherefores.
A few years later, I asked my mother why we'd left. I told her that I'd loved Bombay, and hated every place we'd been since.
I still remember how she'd laughed- not unkindly, but not particularly with kindness. 'You don't know Bombay'.
She's right. I didn't know Bombay any more than I knew how to multiply. And I still don't know much about either.
I do know, however, that Bombay will always haunt my dreams; will always charm me every time I visit. I do know that Bombay will always be Bombay, that she will always make my heart swell, and even my four-something-year old self knew that.
Somewhere near Dadar, Bombay (Mumbai). Clothes drying on the pedestrian railing, children playing on a tricycle.
An MNS party flag in Maharashtra. Right-wing politics are alive and well in India.
I haven't been on a train like that since I was 19.
I (kind of) made up for it by getting on Bangalore's brand new metro line. It's only 15 minutes and has 5 stops, but it makes up for not being on an Indian train in more years than is right.
There used to be a time in my life that I used to take a train ride at least once a year.
Meet Diana's new friend, Flash.
When you feel a little defeated by the world we inhabit, you need to find something to push you to soldier on.
For me, that's a cup of tea at my desk, surrounded by stories of women that are never heard...and a mug that reminds me of how to make sure that they are.
