Born in Bombay, raised with wanderlust, in a love affair with life

“I confess Bombay has never failed to fascinate me. To walk along the streets of Colaba and to be wooed by peddlers of all trades, all motives, always imbues me with a measure of excitement. Could I possibly be a tourist in my own city? Could I shed my identity as easily as that?”
- Marazban Shroff, Breathless in Bombay

I stopped by the bookstore at the airport recently on my way to Bombay to buy a work of fiction about this city of many faces that a close friend had recommended. I had no memory of the title and instead of Maximum City by Suketu Mehta, in which I was supposed to be indulging my senses, I encountered a feast of words in Breathless in Bombay by Marzban Shroff. I know I will make time for Suketu because he comes heavily recommended, but for now Marzban has won me over with his beguiling way with words. It only took one and a half pages of the book’s introduction to make blood gush faster through my veins. I waded through it slowly relishing every line and description of what inspired the author to write short stories that reflect the vivid temperament of the city that is Bombay. And, I froze when I reached the lines above as if I had just caught the first sight of the mighty ruin of Petra’s Royal Treasury or the Taj Mahal’s reflection in the pools before you approach it’s grandness. They spoke to me directly.

Marazban’s words resonated with me with greater intensity than they would have otherwise because the past few months have given me an opportunity to visit Bombay, my birthplace, more frequently than ever in my life before. The past few months have also showed me repeatedly how much more closer to life I need to be to be one with it. Thanks to my grandma in Bombay who teaches me to love all of life's moments, a new close friend who finds new adventure for me in my own city each time I visit, and an old soul mate friend who with her challenges for me to keep coming back adds fuel to my burning new love affair between my love for life and my birthplace, Bombay. Could I just be a wanderer in my own birthplace? Could I shed my identity so easily to deepen my love affair with a place where life first came to me? Could I fall deeper in love with life?

As I enter my mid-thirties and bid good bye to a strangely beautiful year, I realize more intensely that one difficult but rewarding act that you can engage yourself in is letting yourself go and losing your identity to be one with an experience - just like you do when you travel to a new place and sit in a cafe as a tourist to watch people go by. There are many big and easy names for such an experience - Nirvana, Zen, Sufi, cosmic force, just being, chilling, ... you decide. It could be a heart-to-heart conversation with an elder, a walk through a new place you are visiting, a nonsense conversation with a child, or a shoe shopping escapade with your girlfriend that can bring you close to just being if you let yourself go. You’ve lived life and become one with the experience when you have shed who you are and immersed yourself in what you have done and done it to the fullest. 

So, as the new year knocks on the door again, I’ve come to a resolution. Some of you may have gotten there already depending on where you are in your life’s journey. For me it’s about letting myself go, being an observer not a judge, and becoming one with any experience that comes my way with the same fascinating intensity as how so many lives happen together seamlessly in Bombay.