A love letter to Bombay

Dear Mumbai,

My toes are swollen and purple, my nails bruised into dark crescents, and I’ve shed more sweat in four hours than I imagined possible. I lost a night's sleep, two days of appetite, months of meticulous discipline, and thousands of rupees—yet somehow, amidst all of this, I found one of the most blissful moments of my life.

Mumbai, I’ve been preparing for this marathon for the past two months. Signing up was an act of audacity, the kind I’ve always craved. I knew there would be no better companion than you to help me through it. I gave up my favorite biryanis and samosas, powered through half-asleep days and perpetually sore legs, all while juggling a full-time job—because I was preparing for you.

That Sunday, I woke up at 2 a.m. to chase a distance that has humbled and broken countless others. The first 21 kilometers flew by with a kind of rhythm I didn’t think possible, but as the next three crept in, my back reminded me of its presence. The pain became a constant companion, but I bit through it and ran, because how could I ever give up? The word doesn’t exist in my dictionary.

Along the way, a kind uncle on Peddar Road held a sign that read, "Tears or sweat, people won’t know—just run." My heart listened, and I pushed forward, clutching my back and pressing an ice pack I’d scraped together from a volunteer’s station. Strangers—your people, Mumbai—lined the streets. Residents came out of their homes with peeled oranges, salt water, chocolates, and even just claps, offering anything they could to help us finish those daunting 21 kilometers.

To the little kids on the sidewalks shouting, "Almost there!"—no, I wasn’t there yet, not even close, but your innocent cheer carried me forward. You woke up early on your Sunday, your one day off school, to cheer strangers like me through this madness. You, yes you, kept me going.

Mumbai, you understand pain in all its varied forms, and yet you always find ways to lift people’s spirits, even in their toughest times. You transform struggle into resilience, hardship into beauty.

As I crossed the finish line, drenched in sweat, water, and tears (maybe), I fell in love with you. But it didn’t end there. As I strolled my way out of Grant Road station for a post-run breakfast at B. Merwans, my exhausted legs stumbled into a ticket checker. She looked straight at me and firmly asked for my ticket. I smiled guiltily, muttered a breathless sorry, and braced myself for a reprimand. But she smiled back, her eyes softening. "Congratulations, sir," she said, moving on to check the others.

Thank you, Mumbai. Though I’ve never believed in love at first sight, you’ve made me reconsider.

Forever yours,

The Runner Who Found Bliss in Your Chaos