I miss waking up in my double bed.
The big comfy one that I can roll around in.
I miss looking out of the window the moment I wake up.
The smog and the grey clouds seem so beautiful now.
I miss waking up to my mom's voice.
I miss wishing my dad a good day with sleepy eyes.
I miss the beautiful dark wood in my room.
I miss the dusty old books on the shelves.
I miss picking them up.
I miss the old-book smell that comes from their yellowed pages.
I miss curling up next to my army of cuddlies
and reading my favourite books.
I miss the forever-busy kitchen.
Full of vegetables and interesting smells.
I miss seeing my dad as the ill-tempered Head Chef.
And mum, poor mum, always the Sous-Chef.
I miss the awkward elevator rides with people I don't know.
I miss meeting the beautiful pets that live there.
I miss my white building and black car.
I miss my neighbour - so crazy and so awesome.
I miss the daily ordeal of getting to my College.
The auto-calling, the bus-riding days.
I miss my college friends,
the young, fresh, intelligent kids, set to take over the world.
I miss my Travel-friend and my Screenplay-partner.
I miss writing with one and talking with the other.
I miss the places we would frequent.
I miss the Lays and the Gelatos and the Panipuris.
Oh how much I miss Powai!
I miss walking around Hiranandani.
I miss the beautiful buildings and the little roads.
I miss losing myself in the Powai crowd.
I miss my favourite places.
The wonderful crossword bookstore.
The lovely little L'Amour library.
The dreamy Bread Talk cheesecake.
I miss going to Galleria.
Finding knick-knacks, haggling.
I miss sitting in Aromas,
the very best part of my day is spent there.
I miss my school.
It seems so long ago.
I never thought I'd miss those I wanted to forget.
But I do, I miss them all.
I miss going to Vashi.
The dirty roads, the loudmouths, the stench.
The warmth, the comfort, the joy.
The joy of belonging to some place.
I miss going to Sanpada and Koper Khairane.
I miss walking into my friend's house like it were my own.
And it was my own.
Oh how I miss them, my soul sisters, my best friends.
I miss going out with my mum,
having lunch and talking,
I miss visiting my dad at work.
I miss hearing him lecture me.
I miss the fear and dread monsoon used to bring.
I miss praying for floods, just to get out of going to school.
I miss the torrential rain, the muddy roads, the angry crowd,
the happy children, the pakoras, the books, the coffee and the umbrellas.
I miss Crossroads (RIP), Haji Ali, and Bandra.
I miss Worli and Its busy roads.
I miss Colaba and its aging buildings.
I miss my favourite restaurants.
I won't be able to celebrate my birthday in Gaylord.
Or go to Tea Center for the tea.
Mahesh Lunch Home seems so far away.
And Oh Calcutta? You will never be as good as my dad.
I miss watching people at work.
I miss admiring the residents of Dharavi.
I miss seeing the dabbawallas on their daily route.
I miss the colourful people, cultures and places that define Mumbai.
I miss knowing my place in the world.
I miss being a part of something.
I miss my home.
I miss my city.
No matter where I stay or what I do,
No place would mean half as much as Mumbai does.
It is the city of Dreams and the city of Reality.
And I miss it so much.