Like any other migrant in search of new opportunities I came to meet you alone. The fearsome monsoon had just broken; grey clouds were hanging low over the Arabian Sea, buffeted by sheets of rain. Unnerved by the aggressive winds I stood trembling outside the imposing RBI building. Today, as I bid adieu, I explore again the "Internalities and Externalities of memory". The Gothic columns of the Asiatic library, the spectacular building in the Fort area. The impossible sophistication of NCPA where I enjoyed so many theater performances, the Nehru Center with its classical music concerts, the old lady of Boribunder. The sweep of tall skyscrapers and wide roads fringed by palm trees which bend with the wind, teaching lessons of resilience and flexibility. The Double-Decker BEST bus whose stairs I eagerly clambered up to take in the sights of Mumbai. The Amul hoardings by Wilson College that always brought a smile to the lips, the familiar press of the surging crowds at Church-gate station. The narrow third seat on the local train valiantly fought for, triumphantly acquired.
     The Jahangir Art Gallery, the State Bank Of India building and the canteen close by which offered affordable fare, the amazing street fair, bhelpuri and vadapav. The joy of reading Bombay Times with its page 3 people one would never meet but who seemed like old friends. The Strand bookstore where one could brows for hours. And just when a books was longingly but firmly put down from nowhere, Mr Shanbagh would materialize magically at one's elbow with a special price. Not to forget the joys of trawling the book-lined pavements at Fountain, where one could watch the world go by. And wherever I chose to go, there was always my friend, the sea, oh, I loved her, in all her moods, but especially in the monsoon when violent and enraged she splattered Worli sea-face with walls of sea spray. My friends are lost, some passed way, some moved away, there were many whose names I never found out, through we took the train together, or met in the lift, every day.
      Like every migrant, I promise myself, someday I will return. I may, perhaps, return sometimes, but even so, I know, "that one cannot step into the same river twice."
      You seduced me steadily, O Mumbai, with your glamour and bright lights. City of dreams, tinsel town, I pay tribute to you. Today, I say good-bye with a heavy heart. 

                                                                                                       Deepali Pant Joshi
Vocabulary For The Article 'Aamchi Mumbai & I'