PF

ISSN 
1942-2067

Copyright © 2012 Pirene's Fountain.

TX7-018-906

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Mumbai

 

Mumbai is a city that does not sleep. To keep it awake we need peace.
Mumbai has many colours. The sky is dusty blue, the sea is faded green, the trees are droopy, the leaves are dull, the flowers are wilted and the wind is indifferent. On the other hand the signals are perky, the street lights are blatant, the markets are brazenly blazing, the billboards are dazzling. To keep up with these contradictions we need peace. The city is full of sounds and crowds. The automobiles, the trains, the aero planes, the telephones, the television sets, the loudspeakers, the temple bells, the calls from the mosques, the candle lit silence of the churches have to keep on. For this we need peace. The children running to their schools or school-buses, the fisher women hurrying with their baskets, the vegetable vendors pushing their carts, the office goers, the rag pickers, the prostitutes, the pious mothers, the idle adulterers, the beggars, the cacophonic lawmakers with garlands, folded hands and promises have to carry on. For this we need peace. Mumbai is a mirror- cracked, muddled like a polluted stream, vacant and swarming at the same time. But it reflects what we are. We are shallow, worthless, fumbling, shameless, dreaming, imitative, stammering and occasionally original. When we are unique we are like dew drops on still surviving grass carrying stars in our breast. We are a minuscule part of the enormous reality of the universe. We live. And in order to continue to live we need peace like any mortal any where in the world.