Bombay

Spent a few days in Mumbai and it felt a little too much like a place I knew.

Sweat riffs through the hazy Bombay night skies. The days have been filled with an emulsion of sounds — hooting scooters and hawkers running eerily close to their target clients carrying all sorts of goods as their feet drag across the pavements. Car horns fade in the distance and gel with the city’s heartbeat — a crying baby being soothed under the midday sun. A sweet and particular sensation overwhelms me while sipping hot chai — an acquired habit. I am reminded of the feeling of home and how it can be found being so far away from what I think it is. So many search for this sense of being a part of something — grand or minute. To lose this is maddening; finding it can be healing. One cannot lay in between for too long. Lest they be wripped apart. How aware is the soul of this dissonance? Unable to rest. This woman adorns the shadows of her past with her tender heart, wipes off tears with her soul only for her to seem to take it all in-stead without hesitation. She offers chai flavored with an aging smile and offers me to sit “dear son” — she beckons. In the distance the pigeons bathe in the water-filled tray layed out on the balcony, then fly away. Sunshine advances its inquisition into the corners until it reaches its limits on those unseen edges. We talk about the places we love, our pasts, present and indulge in things we share together. Her daughter colors the scene and tells me of lands far away, of her world here, offers to be a friend. We traverse this maze of a city. She occupies this space among her people with the language, ease of going to places I cannot fit, knowing. I think of where I have come from and the places I am going and my heart lifts. Goodbyes are easier when I know I will see them again.