Kiran & Sanjh | Mugs | Set of 2

A Love Letter to Mumbai
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

With his backpack slung over one shoulder,

he glanced up at the clock at CST,

The timekeeper, a reminder of the city’s relentless pulse.

The trains roared beneath it, carrying dreams, struggles,

and the stories of millions from station to station.

His workday had ended, yet the city's hustle hadn’t,

its heartbeat persistent, unyielding.

But Mumbai, in its wisdom, knew when to soften,

offering spaces where even time seemed to stretch.

He found his way to the Eros Theatre,

its Art Deco floors a serene contrast to the city’s unstoppable pace.

Here, he let his thoughts unravel

in the stillness between the film reels.

Later, at the Queen’s Necklace,

the endless stretch of the Arabian Sea kissed the sky,

and for a moment, he could feel both small and infinite,

a part of the city, yet apart from it.

Mumbai, where ambition races through crowded streets,

but stillness lingers at the edges,

waiting for those who seek it.

His day, his life, a love letter to this city—

His city of relentless ambition and fleeting stillness,

Where every second is a story waiting to unfold.



A Love Letter to Kolkata
She grew up in a city where time lingers,

where history settles softly into the present,

wrapped in the quiet grace of simplicity.

With wet hair tied in a square-patterned red and white gamcha,

she’d admire the transom windows—

age-old, weathered, whispering forgotten stories.

In the gari-baranda, chai in hand,

she would drink in the stillness of the city’s hidden corners.

North Kolkata’s addas, where farmers, artisans, thinkers

let conversations flow like endless streams of tea,

the gamcha draped over their shoulders,

a silent witness to thought, creation,

and the rhythm of life in pursuit.

Her mornings stretched into evenings,

fingers tracing the worn carvings on the window frames,

each groove a testament to the city’s roots,

where the past isn’t just remembered, but cherished,

alive in every touch, every breath of the old city.

Her heartbeat found its rhythm

between tradition and the city’s pulse of progress.

Her memories became a love letter—

to a city where history rests close,

but change walks in freely, with open arms.

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