Dear Mumbai, your foundation is shaking, the columns that held you together have corroded.
My dear Mumbai,
Maximum city, resilient city, city of dreams, the city that never sleeps… all these sobriquets that have been bestowed on you seem like ghosts today, or at best, figments of our collective imagination. The past few months have revealed amply that all these lofty and pithy names given to you were a clever writer’s attempt to assuage his guilt at having survived storm after storm in a city where death and destitution prefer certain zip codes more than others.
Doctors, actors, labourers, writers, artists, teachers, poets and prostitutes – you who have welcomed people from everywhere with an open heart and given them a place under your open skies. Today, you appear to be a shadow of your former self.
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