She had believed that the heart was like a house and when you let someone in, they were only a guest. You could entertain them in the living room while keeping the bedrooms shut. You could limit their footprint to a minimum. But she had not suspected that Kaiz was a shameless, over-familiar guest who took a tour of the house on his own, opening doors and walking in unescorted, uninvited.

Passion was the opposite of power. Passion was the forsaking of power. In passion, she had offered herself as a canvas for somebody else’s pen, mutely receiving his designs on her skin. In passion, she had allowed herself to dream of a new name, adding his name to her own, chopping off a part of herself as an offering. In passion, she had cut herself up, lost herself, lost days, lost months.

It would make sense to her much later, that you needed some distance from a city to be able to worship it the way he did. It had also been his way of belonging: learning its mythology was one of many paths to calling a city home.

It was easy to believe that a mother’s love was unconditional, which made it alright to challenge her, correct her, laugh at her. Fathers were more complicated. Their love, once earned, had to be sustained. It had to be sheltered from the glare of truth.

It’s a city of refugees, one that is still hurting from the wounds of Partition. We take time to trust people, to let them in. As for this friendly city of yours, Bombay is a place of pleasant aloofness, full of small talk and token kindness, but selfish and closed when it really matters. But Delhi, it lives on abrasive warmth.

When you looked at yourself, you saw a tangle of fiction and feeling. You only began to make sense under the lingering gaze of another.

So for most practical purposes, the communal violence that started after the Babri Masjid fell came to an end after the blasts, but the spell of peace that followed felt like hate was only shedding its milk teeth.

It was a gentle assault that chiselled at your will, and chip by chip, your resistance fell away, sculpting a new you. When you acquiesced, you were left wondering why you had ever resisted. In some moments you were even convinced that it was your decision, that you were acting of your own free will – that mirage of a notion – because after all, any pressure on you had only been mild, albeit persistent.

Learning its mythology was one of many paths to calling a city home.

It will be okay, you will be okay. They call this the spirit of Bombay.