"We live in the world when we love it. "
~ Rabindranath Tagore

Little boxes, people on people, concrete humanity. A city where it all works, a city within which people strive for excellence or they could not stand the pace of desperate living here.

A city of crime, where the crime is not visible. A city where you feel safe no matter who, where or when you are. A city in India where a policeman will help you push your car if it stalls, but a city albeit where cars do not stall. A city that respects money...where to be a 'seth' (obscenely rich man) is not an insult, but a title that replaces any that the old aristocracy might have had on offer.

Bright lights, neon signs, fast cars, beautiful people, the city never sleeps. Mumbai, the commercial capital of India, the home of Bollywood that churns fantasies and dreams and unreality.

Local commuting trains that belch out people into the underbelly of the city. Sardines are packed less tightly. Street urchins so street smart they actually reach adulthood smiling. The dirt and the squalor...one giant slum of a city. And within it, each individual respects the personal space of another. There are no divisions, no differences, no advantages, no qualifications : only your ability to deliver.

Throbbing with the vitality of dreams and the will to realise them, of reaching for the stars, it is a city of instant changes, constant changes, a city of opportunities, a city of fortune. It is where tomorrow stands today. If you have the guts and the gall to live in Mumbai and survive, you have arrived. Welcome to the real world.

Mumbai is where the intrepid traveler sees yet another face of India...the catterpillar during chrysalis...the strange transition from the nineteenth century to the twenty-first.