Mumbai Quotes

“Fate gives all of us three teachers, three friends, three enemies, and three great loves in our lives. But these twelve are always disguised, and we can never know which one is which until we’ve loved them, left them, or fought them.”
― Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram

“the flames are silent,
Peace is violent,
Tears are frozen
’cause massacre was chosen.

~~ 26/11– Mumbai terror attack memories”
― Ankita Singhal

“I know now that it's the sweet, sweating smell of hope, which is opposite of hate; and it's the sour, stifled smell of greed, which is the opposite of love.”
― Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram

“God has it in for the poets, that's obvious, but the Bombaywallahs hold a special place in his dispensation.”
― Jeet Thayil, The Book of Chocolate Saints

“This city was our common ground, I want to tell Kaiz. Not simply its soil, nor its salt or tides, not lines on any map, nor buildings and streets. Something else entirely. An image, a dream, an idea that beguiled both of us: a magical place with chaos in its code, where our stories collided briefly. That romance with the city he carries with him wherever he goes. What it means to me, though, goes beyond what we had in common, it can’t be packed up and transported tidily. Mumbai for me is two people who moved from small coastal towns to this metropolis by the sea and made it their home. My home. And that is how the city is different for the two of us: for him both Mumbai and home were abstractions. Abstractions are at once more fragile and more hardy than reality.”
― Amrita Mahale, Milk Teeth

“The city continued on its way. Boys tried to sell me drumsticks, girls played hopscotch, the Bihari badly worker carried his gathri of ironed clothes to the homes from which they had come, and the buses honked at suicidal cyclists. At one level this was vaguely confusing. Surely, something should acknowledge how much things had changed? At another level, it was oddly comforting.”
― Jerry Pinto, Em and The Big Hoom

“Manhattan across the water, the glittering towers. I was working, but I didn't have anything like enough to do, and the bad times came in the evenings, when I came back to my room, sat on the couch and watched the world outside me going through on glass a lightbulb at a time.”
― Olivia Laing, The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone

“If you stay long enough in a city, it reverberates inside you as both a celebration and a mourning.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“With time and consistency, we can teach our mind to see the world the way we want to see it, my dear. That’s one of the beautiful things in life. It’s all an illusion.”
― Tim van Es, The Chaiwallah

“People say, ‘more dreams are realized in Mumbai than in any other city in India.”
― Akash Rathod, Ice Town

“Comfort zone is a delusion.

#ComfortZone #Brain #Motivation”
― Fahim Khan

“Cheating is not just about fucking someone, karan.”
― Hitendra Solanki

“You could put all the French or Italian you wanted in their names, but you couldn't take Mumbai out of the buildings: the clothes drying outside the windows would remain, and so would the mud streaks from flowerpots on windowsills.”
― Amrita Mahale, Milk Teeth

“There was plenty of anger on offer in Mumbai and it was easy to look away. But every once in a while, someone with imagination crafted their fury like origami into something delightful.”
― Amrita Mahale, Milk Teeth

“Being born in Mumbai, I inherited the syntax of its distinct vocabulary. The undulant range of people as vibrant as the thrum of the Arabian Sea, smells of mogra, gulab, and champa from Dadar market, and songs of fisherman as Marine Drive gleams with the first light of dawning.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“When I was a young girl, my parents often visited a temple from where the Arabian Sea was visible. I accompanied them only to look forward to the few moments where sea mist and a widening orb of space juxtaposed.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“The city where I was first acquainted with divinity—where the refract of sky between its open-mouthed invitation had been slowly turning into a paradox of ecological dwindle.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“When memory is a veil of exposure through which the fullness of tides is visible, I can still sometimes smell the radiance of flowers. I argued with friends that Mumbai does have seasons—if one bothers to watch closely. Now I trace the months on a calendar like a distant call, the sound of a train whistle or fog that engulfs before the onset of rain to participate in a collective mourning.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“When memory is a veil of exposure through which the fullness of tides is visible, I can still sometimes smell the radiance of flowers. I have argued with friends that Mumbai does have seasons—if one bothers to watch closely. Now I trace the months on a calendar like a distant call, the sound of a train whistle or fog that engulfs before the onset of rain to participate in a collective mourning.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“another nameless dusk
passing over the Arabian Sea

last rowboats
dimly visible

at the sealine hem
you, reading

from a holy book
syllables as crisp as the oncoming rain.”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“At her final dinner in Imperial Heights, she notices afresh all that a week has made familiar: the silk runner, the brass casseroles, and the many little bowls on her plate that Sita, already turning invisible, keeps refilling. The meal is elaborate. There is saag paneer because it is her favourite Indian dish; corn bake, should the curry get too spicy; what she now knows is dal, not soup; yogurt, rotis, pilaf rice and pickle. Her first night here, she asked what order to eat things in, and everyone laughed like it was the most charming thing to say. Tonight, she folds her roti into a roll, one bite for each spoonful of curry, and as the subject of her new rental in Santacruz leads to a discussion on the city's suburbs, she feels reassured that Nana is right, people are people; no matter where you go and how confusing or daunting or hilarious they seem, there is always room to be kindred.”
― Devika Rege, Quarterlife

“If Bombay is India's New York-glamorous, glitzy, vulgar-chic, a merchant city, a movie city, a slum city, incredibly rich, hideously poor- then Delhi is like Washington. Politics is the only game in town. Nobody talks about anything else for very long.”
― Salman Rushdie, Step Across This Line: Collected Nonfiction 1992-2002

“In retrospect, perhaps Dawood’s status as a fugitive and an outlaw beyond the reach of the Indian legal system suits many back home in India. Empires built with his money would collapse and many skeletons would tumble out of the closet if he was ever brought back home. The powers that be would rather have Dawood Ibrahim stuck in Pakistan. And so the cult of Dawood will be perpetuated. Movies with his trademark moustache and the cigar tucked in between his lips will continue to be made, and Dawood will be discussed between India and Pakistan forever. The man, of course, will forever be elusive;
the real Dawood may remain a myth. This book is an attempt to understand what is known of him and his world.”
― S. Hussain Zaidi, Dongri To Dubai : Six Decades of The Mumbai Mafia

“There’s no city like Mumbai because it is a shahar built of millions of dreams.”
― Ekamjit Ghuman, Train to Mumbai

“Mumbai is the shahar of dreams to which thousands flock every year. Its beauty and glory are both enchanting and enticing. It’s a city of fortunes, a city of poverty, a city of hope, a city of pain, a city of success, a city of loss, a city of stories, a city of games, a city of fate, a city of destiny, a city of love and a city of heartbreak. Changes occur in Mumbai minute by minute, mile by mile and inch by inch. Some dreams gain flight, while others burn in despair.

Mumbai is a city that never sleeps. It is always abuzz. Its inhabitants are multilingual and of different faiths. Some come to Mumbai in search of their passion, while others come in search of an identity. The shahar’s glamor, fashion and film stars attract people from all over India. The ameer, the gareeb, all come to Mumbai to search for their niche with the umeed of making it big someday. Hence, the hustle and bustle of the city makes its inhabitants feel both unimportant and significant simultaneously.”
― Ekamjit Ghuman, Train to Mumbai

“I dreamed of returning to my beloved Bombay—not Mumbai—and kneeling to kiss the tarmac as I came down from the plane, but when I looked up there was a crowd shouting at me, “Dafa ho.” Begone.”
― Salman Rushdie, Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder

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