It was impersonal, but liberating. Tough, but welcoming. Diverse, but tolerant. A culture of hard work was too central to its existence to be side-tracked by communalism. Here you didn't have to be someone, you could become someone. Bombay was a throbbing, thriving global metropolis that was unfazed by its stifling humidity and unperturbed by months of relentless rain. It was a melting pot that had devised its own language, constructed its own cultural communes, and where, irrespective of class, caste, sex or bank balance, everyone constantly engaged with the city instead of receding into insular silos. As Gregory David Roberts wrote in Shantaram, more dreams were dreamt, extinguished and realised in Bombay than in any other place in India.

It was a land of heroes and villains, characters and dialogues, music and lyrics, verses and beats. To live in Bombay was to celebrate it; to know it, was to love it.

...

Bombay, or Mumbai no longer just for the locals, has been going through a troubling transformation. A city running out of space, bursting at the seams, it has grown on the Y-axis for too long. It has pushed a majority of its residents-both old and new-outwards to the periphery. This reimagining of personal and public spaces has led to a competition for comfort and proximity in which communities have slowly lined up against each other. The rise of communal politics, the resurgence of Maratha pride, and the railing against Muslims and migrants by parties such as the Shiv Sena and its offshoot, the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, is a perilous by-product of this geographical realignment. It has replaced constructive competition with reductive rivalry, pitting locals versus migrants, Hindus versus Muslims, the rich versus the middle class. This is manifesting itself in incidents such as the ink attack on Sudheendra Kulkarni, the storming of the BCCI office over the cricket series against Pakistan, and in a general rise in political thuggery.

Being driven out of the city has also made it difficult for people to interact with Bombay like they once did. It is necessary but no longer "cool" to ride in buses or local trains, which today appear both archaic and unpleasant. In fact, one simple measure of success is being in a position where you don't have to use them any longer. The drying up of open spaces has reduced engagement even further. At Marine Drive, the great open alcove by the sea, you still see industrialists, intellectuals, actors and sportsmen out for an evening walk, mingling anonymously with everyone else. But such settings are no longer the norm.

In some ways, Bombay has been let down by its residents. There has been a general lowering of standards over the decades-on infrastructure, on open spaces, on the interaction between communities, on the spirit of entrepreneurship, on transport, on healthcare, on nightlife, and on basic freedoms such as what to eat and where to live. The acceptance of these lowered standards, even if under protest, has led to a general decline in the lifestyle and the values that the city once lived by.

Of course, Bombay has a streak of rebellion in it. Seven months after a blanket beef ban in the state by the BJP-led government, buffalo meat is clandestinely available across the city. For 10 years during the ban on dance bars, which was lifted by the Supreme Court this October 15, they still ran in hidden nooks. But it is unfortunate. For Bombay was the one city in India where you didn't have to rebel for small freedoms-where you did things over the table, not under it.