Mumbai – the City of Dreams

It has been a couple of years and still, my memory dwells upon every single encounter we had in Mumbai, the city of dreams, the palace of pies in the air.


The perfect place to tumble the princess of seraph her selves. But, the only thing that kept my Atlantis at bay was the warm evening in that loathsome journey from the desolated, morphine castles when you unanticipatedly bloomed into the dominion of mine, walking through the aisle to return the propitious book that lucky bastard who had the liberty of being fully gone through by the very likes of you.


That was the wink of the juncture when my eyes scrutinized the face prettier than the clad in the endless sea of adorableness, the cheetah skin top symbolizing intrepidity of one in billion, azure blue denim and those winsome dreamboat eyes, the luscious tone that one may listen to whole life without boredom.


And there I stood industrious in all that gazing, the allurement of that lasting exhibit, helpless indeed helpless, one who wanted to applause this winsomeness all day long ended with the word “aye, Welcome”.

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