I see-

Grey sea

Grey sky

Kites fly

Wings spread like an uchiwa*, soaring high-

Above the twenty-second storey

circling the minarets of Haji Ali*

And I see

down below

A green halo

Forms a seam

in the city of dream

of shanties and glass towers

and streets with toy buses and cars

I see-

in the clearing

my eyes straining-

white wooden crosses dug into the ground,

and headstones at the top of each mound

the ultimate seam of six feet

From my perch on the window seat

• *Uchiwa- Japanese hand fan
• *Haji Ali- is a mosque and a tomb of a Muslim Saint

The beauty of Mumbai is that it’s impossible to forget those who are less blessed. It’s a city where the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’ thrive side by side. Its one place where you would find palatial homes beside shanties. You may drive a BMW but the road you use to get from point A to point B will be the same as the one which houses the homeless. No matter how privileged one is in Mumbai, the city does not let one forget the ‘other side.’ The burial grounds in the heart of the city are a reminder that in death we are all one.

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