The journey from,
But today everything sells there.
Bombay is not Bombay which it had been once,
A changed city is it,
Where the primitive cluster of villages
Dotting the island?
Where the real Bombayans, the Marathis, not the duplicate filmwallahs,
Copying music and cinematography from Hollywood
And telling it own,
Where that natural scenery by the sea?
They make you dream of the colourful city asking to come by train
And you go there to be dislodged,
All drunkards, drunk to full,
I mean the cinema men.
The playboys, the drama men, the theatre men,
The sons of simpletons calling themselves
Great heroes,
How can it be?
Taking daru, one calling oneself a big actor,
Loving and dumping girls,
Is this the Bombay that talk you,
Is this the Bombay that want to see you?
Bomabay is a city of the natakwallahs and the natak company men,
The drama men, the drama company, coloured men, just showing the dreams
To ruin and spoil someone,
Blackmailing easy emotions and feelings.
A life raked by wine-taking, extra-marital and live-in relationship,
what can be more filthy than this,
Say you?

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