A year In Bombay

I’ve been with my present employer for as long as I’ve been in Bombay as a resident. And it feels strange that even though each day is still a new challenge and brings new learning, I’ve never meditated on its effects on me – as a growing tweenager, as a woman, as a writer, as an editor, as a musician, as a foodie, as a daughter and sister, as a companion and friend, as a human being divided into so many parts that the whole, though greater than the sum of its parts, is unrecognizable. It’s like loving Salman Khan without so much as acknowledging that he’s a murderer – the assassin of not only speechless animals but also people. Not only has he broken law, but the law also chooses to turn its blind eye to his crimes.

I often wonder how many murders does god forgive. Where do we derive inspiration for punishment? Is Bombay my punishment or reward? Has it happened because Somewhere in my youth or childhood/ I must’ve done something good? Or is it the result of my many indulgences and bad karma?