Edited by: Sanvi Rawat
Dear all of you,
This letter was meant to be about Mumbai. About the bustle, the sea breeze, the yellow-black taxis, and the iconic skyline. The cinematic charm of a city that never slows down — full of movement, ambition, and monsoon-drenched streets. And yes, Mumbai was all that. But somewhere along the way, this letter became something else. Because the truth is — it wasn’t really about what I saw. It was about who I saw it with.
We often go looking for a place, only to find people instead. The trip was supposed to be about discovering the city. But what made it unforgettable was each of you. Sometimes, the moments that stay with us don’t come from the skyline or the sunsets, but from a laugh shared at the right time, a detour taken with no agenda, a hand reaching out without needing to ask.
One of you stopped at a tattoo studio — not to get inked, not even for the art — just because it felt like something fun to do. We didn’t plan for it. But suddenly, there we were, in a spontaneous, joy-filled pocket of time that felt like it belonged only to us. The kind of moment that’s light and unassuming, but lives on quietly, because of who was there.
Another friend crossed the city — two hours each way — just to meet for lunch. A simple table, simple food, but conversations that made the time stretch and bend. When it ended, it didn’t feel like we were parting. It felt like a bookmark — as if we could return to the same page anytime.
There were walks along Carter Road and Bandstand that were more than just walks. They were personal tours — not of monuments, but of memories. I wasn’t shown a city, I was shown your city — the benches you liked, the cafes that held your stories, the places that once healed you. You made the familiar feel new again. And in that sharing, I found a sense of belonging.
I was invited into a home — a birthday that turned into a celebration that turned into a safe space. Cards on the table, music in the background, warmth in every corner. The kind of night where nothing grand happens, but everything matters. Where being included isn’t just an invitation — it’s an embrace.
There was a meal that felt like more than food. A mother who cooked like she had known me for years. A father who drove us across the Sea Link like it was no big deal — except, somehow, it was. In their presence, the city felt softer. In their gestures, I was reminded that care doesn’t need language. It’s in how rice is served, how water is poured, how silences are allowed.
Even the shortest meetings found their way into my memory. Just an hour — maybe less. But it felt whole. Because of the way we spoke, or didn’t have to. Because of how something in that small window of time felt honest and full. It’s rare, and you know when it happens.
Mumbai had its own charm — the kind that movies get right. The way the city lights blur through rain. The sound of waves crashing as locals walk past without looking up. The feeling that something’s always happening. But what made it matter — what turned moments into memories — was you.
You gave the city rhythm. A rhythm that didn’t come from traffic or trains, but from shared playlists, hot chocolate runs that stretched into hours, and night drives filled with old songs and sillier stories. The city didn’t feel overwhelming anymore. It felt known. Because you made it feel like a lived-in song, one I could hum along to.
There were fairy lights and friends. Auto rides and unfiltered conversations. Plans that fell through and turned into something even better. There were evenings that made time irrelevant. Laughter that needed no volume. And pauses that didn’t feel awkward.
This city showed me many versions of itself — but each version came through you. Through your eyes, your voice, your kindness. And in doing that, it gave me something more than any landmark ever could.
So thank you. For showing up. For making space. For sharing your time, your places, your people. For letting me in without conditions, without explanations. For giving me a version of Mumbai I didn’t expect, but now can’t forget.
Thank you for the quiet generosity — the kind that stays long after the trip ends. For the way you waited. For every shared cab, every shared silence. For making the unfamiliar feel familiar. For reminding me that sometimes the best parts of travel aren’t where you go — they’re who you go with.
This wasn’t just a trip. It was a reminder of everything that still feels good in the world. That cities are just cities — but people? People make them matter. People make them home.
To the ones who became the city for me — thank you. For being the skyline I looked up to, the side streets I wandered, the cup of hot chocolate I didn’t know I needed.
With all my heart,
From the version of me still holding onto that cab ride, that corner table, that one-hour lunch.
Thank you for being the Mumbai I didn’t know I was coming for.