Bus at Fountain

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where the words come out
From the depth of truth
Where the tireless striving stretches its arms
towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its
way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
In ever widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my father
Let my country awake.

by Rabindranath Tagore

Rolling Traffic

Handcart puller

Waiting for Godot at the BEST Bus stop

You'll never die again,
I'll never cry again - Baccara

Bluecity

It was so long ago
But I've still got the blues for you

Golden days come and go
There is one thing I know
I've still got the blues for you

-- Gary More

Study in Blue on Canvas

Study in Blue on Canvas

City at night

BEST Bus

Neon Lights

Milkman in the neon lights of the city


And I'll look back on Venus
I'll look back on Mars
And I'll burn with the fire of ten billion stars
And in time
And in space
We will all be stars

- Fame.

When time slips away

Raincity


On the Border.

The strollers go out across the evening rain
Struggling over the splashing boarders
The mind whips up the waves so loud
The lost moon sails among the dark clouds
Runs the blue siren on the wet monsoon roads

On these wall the colours of the cats are running
From the train of minds, they talk of changes coming
The torches flare up the wet street in the night
The eyes that sets the hearts alight
Has spread the word to those who're waiting

In the city where I grew up
Nothing seems the same
Still you never see the change from day to day
And no one notices the time slip away

Late last night the rain was splashing at my widow
I moved across the darkened gloom and in the street light glow
I thought I saw down in the flooded street
The spirit of the mumbai city
Telling us that we're all standing on a Island

In the Islands where I grew up
Everything seems the same,
But it's just the patterns that remain
An empty shell
But there's a strangeness in the damp air

The best buses go out across the evening roads
Struggling mums and kids across the chowpatty bridge
The mind whips up the waves so loud
The lost moon sails among the clouds
Turns the broken trifles into silver sand

- MS

Traffic Jam at Bombay Central

Some hang on to what used to be
Live their lives, looking behind,
The road is long, there are
traffic jams in our way

Bull and the oil cart

Bombay Dreams

An artists dreams of a city named Mumbai (Bombay) in India,
of colours and rain. The images on this blog try to capture
the images of his dream, of the strong summer colours of the
city that was his home.