Bombay

A week in the city that never sleeps. Long late night walks by the sea. I still have sand in my shoes. Squashed between cars on the road from suburbs to town. Glamour and celebrities who are no longer just celebrities but almost friends. A book. And a book deal. Cafe Mondegar. Leopold. Ferry on the muddy brown sea. Heritage buildings and decaying facades. Kalaghoda. Jazzy taxis. Poison. Juhu. Mocha. Alcohol. Sex. Cosmopolitan. Sweet breeze. Siddhivinayak. Filmcity. Groovy music. Freaky people. Matted long tresses. Anorexic women. Haute couture. Jimmy Choo. Versace. Big office. White walls. Black hearts. Jealousy. Cold vibes. Ego's colder than ice.

Am tired.

As I stepped off the plane with my bag in my hand, the first gust of cold wind on my face made me realise that I didn't like the city of dreams. I was just so happy to be home. To be in my own bed. To just be here. Yes I know if I go back, I could be 'someone', but for now I think I can wait a little. I think I can just be myself and wait for it to come to me in its own due time.

What will be. Will be. Afterall.