I've realized one thing a while ago though I have never said it out loud. When I'm shaken to my core by a particular event I end up writing a poem about it or if I'm really pressed for time, I land up doing the same! Weird but true...This one came to mind while exiting the international airport at Mumbai, while making the transition from air conditioned calm to complete chaos and cacophony. And essentially a transition from Africa to Asia, to the Indian sub continent to be very precise! (I've already stolen a line from the poem to caption a picture I had posted on FaceBook yesterday).
My husband was travelling when we left Nairobi so I had to actually figure out suitcase keys and lock each one myself, to say nothing of ensuring both the kids were in the Taxi I had ordered at the terrible hour of 4:00 am and then locking up the house too, after triple checking that the gas and electricity both were switched off. All on a couple of hours of sleep. So if you think this poem is boring or bad, feel free to say so, but do not blame me, blame travel lag or soppy sentiments that arise while setting foot on native soil after ten long months. Also I'm getting time to post it after two weeks in India but better late never.
How Mumbai Welcomes Me
We step out of the international airport T 2,
Straight into a hot, muggy day,
The smell itself tells you,
You are in Bombay! (Mumbai)
The last remnants of a fiery Summer
Red blossoms still bloom on the Gul Mohar tree,
Stretching out their boughs like arms, to welcome me,
To the city of my birth, my wedding and my first degree.
Red stands out against a bright blue sky,
'No sign of rain yet', the trees seem to sigh.
A whiff of the Arabian Sea,
Is enough to awaken a jet lagged me.
The minute I'm off the plane, I dissolve into the crowd,
I agree, the people and the car horns are too loud.
But like the rays of the setting sun merge into the sea,
I blend into Mumbai city, achieving anonymity...
The city is home to India's poorest and her richest people,
They worship in temples, mosques and under a steeple.
With each other their shoulders rub,
Some eat Five Star food, others pavement grub.
But together they make this city run,
You can't visit Mumbai and say,"It's not fun!"
Mumbai caters to not only the young and the old,
But also to the beautiful and the bold.
The City of mighty industrialists Tata, Birla, Ambani and Bollywood's Bachchan too,
Still has people who cannot afford even half a shoe.
And yet crushing blows their souls survive,
The 'Mumbai Spirit', somehow, they always revive.
Just walking along Marine Drive
Makes one feel glad to be alive.
The world is reeling from too much change,
I'm so glad some parts of Mumbai are still the same!
Gateway to Mesmerizing Mumbai
A typical Mumbai beach
The Arabian Sea
My husband was travelling when we left Nairobi so I had to actually figure out suitcase keys and lock each one myself, to say nothing of ensuring both the kids were in the Taxi I had ordered at the terrible hour of 4:00 am and then locking up the house too, after triple checking that the gas and electricity both were switched off. All on a couple of hours of sleep. So if you think this poem is boring or bad, feel free to say so, but do not blame me, blame travel lag or soppy sentiments that arise while setting foot on native soil after ten long months. Also I'm getting time to post it after two weeks in India but better late never.
How Mumbai Welcomes Me
We step out of the international airport T 2,
Straight into a hot, muggy day,
The smell itself tells you,
You are in Bombay! (Mumbai)
The last remnants of a fiery Summer
Red blossoms still bloom on the Gul Mohar tree,
Stretching out their boughs like arms, to welcome me,
To the city of my birth, my wedding and my first degree.
Red stands out against a bright blue sky,
'No sign of rain yet', the trees seem to sigh.
A whiff of the Arabian Sea,
Is enough to awaken a jet lagged me.
The minute I'm off the plane, I dissolve into the crowd,
I agree, the people and the car horns are too loud.
But like the rays of the setting sun merge into the sea,
I blend into Mumbai city, achieving anonymity...
The city is home to India's poorest and her richest people,
They worship in temples, mosques and under a steeple.
With each other their shoulders rub,
Some eat Five Star food, others pavement grub.
But together they make this city run,
You can't visit Mumbai and say,"It's not fun!"
Mumbai caters to not only the young and the old,
But also to the beautiful and the bold.
The City of mighty industrialists Tata, Birla, Ambani and Bollywood's Bachchan too,
Still has people who cannot afford even half a shoe.
And yet crushing blows their souls survive,
The 'Mumbai Spirit', somehow, they always revive.
Just walking along Marine Drive
Makes one feel glad to be alive.
The world is reeling from too much change,
I'm so glad some parts of Mumbai are still the same!
The Arabian Sea
Reminded me of'Jara hatke jara bachake, ye hai Bumbai meri Jan!' Very well written.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
DeleteThank you!
DeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteLovely. Reading one of your descriptive poems after a long time. It made me smile, how you manage to find the right words to describe your emotions so perfectly.
ReplyDeleteThank you sooo much!
DeleteProud to be Mumbaikar !
ReplyDeleteYou have truly done Mumbai proud Aarti tai!
DeleteYou have truly done Mumbai proud Aarti tai!
Delete