Mumbaiair

One can’t be described as walking through Mumbai. It’s not quite that simple. Thus far, i’ve managed an awkward swimmingstumble. The stumble of uneven surfaces. (Potholes, puddles, and a puddle). The stumble of poop avoidance. (Dog, cow, and a human). The stumble of a justintime swerve. (Cars, motorbikes, and a bus). The stumble of looking up for too long. (Black kites, bats, and a macaque). And the swimming. Through the air. (“Air”). Mumbai air is a mixture of hot air and warm water. The air is all-encompassing. The air envelops you. It hugs you with the sincere warmth of an old friend. A new friend. A friend that you know well enough to hug, after a night of talking and staring and awkwardness that is laughed upon and smiled at. But you don’t hug often. It's a special hug, a mumbai hug. Sincere, whole, loving. And you love it back.

That city. That old friend.