I’ve always heard that Mumbai was a brave city. News channels told me that Mumbai always springs back to life after every tragedy, and everyone talked about the great soul of Mumbai. So once when I had consumed two drops of a magical potion that my friend gave me, I decided to have a heart to heart talk with the very soul of Mumbai, which was situated somewhere in Andheri west. Here is how the slightly unnerving conversation went:
“Haha! Spring back to life! That’s my favorite fucking phrase! What else you expect me to do? Devour you fucking imbeciles and dirty my tummy? You really think I give a fuck about you, the so called Mumbaikars? Bloody idiots!”
I tried to calm her down and asked her to be composed as we have known her to be. Also, I told her not to use the F word so many times as it didn’t really look appropriate.
“Fuck you! I’m just as pissed and frustrated as any of you guys stuck in the traffic that you, yourselves create.” I asked her what was she so upset about. “What am I upset about? Is that even a question? Some times I feel like a bloody whore, everyone just keeps fucking me over.”
Then I told her what we think about her, and how great we think the spirit of Mumbai is.
“Yeah right! Give this shit to some other noob city. Every year I’m water logged all the way inside my rectum. And what do you guys do about it? Dig more holes to fuck me in many more places.”
As I was trying to frame a reply to this, she goes “And just when nature was done banging me, there arose the greatest army of retards, these marathi manoose political parties, hell bent on raping the shit out of me. Wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t fallen for that Bihar fellow when I was young.”
When I told her that I didn’t quite understand what she meant, she said:
“Years ago, I fell in love with the state of Bihar, although Gujarat and Tamil Nadu were always hitting on me, I was always attracted to the shaggy, dirty Bihar; also he had a very potent tongue. We made love once and now I’m littered with the progeny.”
I still didn’t get it, who was she talking about?
” Everyone you see around during riots and pointless violent protests. They get their violence from their father.”
Awestruck, I asked her if the “sons of her soil” were actually the sons of Bihar.
“Haha righto! You tell them that and they’ll eat their livers and commit mass suicide. Beside, they wouldn’t give a shit about me if I wasn’t the financial capital—the stupid tag of which was forced on me.”
I tried to dig more into her feelings being the financial capital.
“I never asked for it, it has destroyed my life and many of my friendships, I was close friends with Pune when I was young, but ever since I became the financial capital she started feeling jealous. Now she wants to become like me, even though she doesn’t have the talent. Plus there’s this Thane bitch forced on my head, she is so young and so good at everything. She just makes me want to give up.”
She broke into tears and I tried consoling her.
Wiping off her tears “It’s all because of those rich fuckers staying near the south of myself, a place they smugly call “town side”. Don’t they know what’s there south of a woman’s body? Yes that’s right they have built their expensive little homes on top of my vagina. Why else do you think the britishers kept that area so clean? They’re living on pussy land, Cuffe Parade is the clit! How fucking orgasmic! Bwahaha!”
I chuckled at the idea of some of the richest people staying on top of a vagina and feeling so proud about it. When she said: “Also, these south Mumbai kids really piss me off. It seems none of them can wear full pants and for some reason all of them have to talk in English, like they have swallowed some leftover british cum in that area. They sit in their little coffee shops feeling really proud about being so rich. How can you be so proud of where you are born? It’s a genetic accident, you didn’t do anything about it, didn’t pass an entrance exam! You fucking humans just won’t get it.”
I wanted to know if it is only the rich she hated.
“The poor were fine, they really were, until you decided to make phones cheap and cut call rates. Now these poor idiots go about playing the shittiest bollywood music or talking non-stop to someone equally dumb about the most trivial shit no one cares about.”
I asked her if there is anything she likes about the Mumbaikars.
“Yeah just one thing. The Mumbai slangs and hindi gaalis, that shit is pretty cool. Bhosdike is my favorite. Good shit.”
Any final message for the Mumbaikars reading this?
“Yeah, a big fuck you to all of you. I hate you guys and one day I’ll just splash some of the Arabian sea all over you and end it all. I’m getting old, tired and I’ve had enough.”
“Thank you Mumbai” I said ” Thank you so much for this rendezvous.”
“Kya? Randi bola mujhe?” she shoved me into her filthy armpit and the next thing I knew I was in Kurla.
