...this is what she called Home.

I love this city...I love it to its deep core. I love the warmth of this city, its chilly and biting winters, its summers, its dust, its challenges, its fast life, its calm and serene evenings, its dewy nights...

You see people walking on street wearing no slippers, and their feet don't get dirty. The children play around till midnight and not study, and they are not called dumb. People don't look at you and judge you from the latest model of your black block of plastic named after a fruit. You walk around in your jammies and messed up hair, and people would still smile at you, and not laugh on you. You don't cry in a movie here in this city, but looking at the sunset. You dance while walking down your building, and chances are, your neighbour would shout at you, "Hey! once more!" The women probably aren't the miss worlds and miss universes, but they still look like they can win the world and the universe with just a smile of theirs!

And, as far as my memory serves me right, this is the city where she has always been, and still is. In the heart of the city, yet so far away from it. She loves this city as much as I do. Maybe even more. Mornings are calculated. Every minute counts. Every second endured, is a second lesser. She walks with such pride in her eyes and elegance in her walk, it is hard to say she is just a beginner in the race of life. But she tumbles; falls down too. Gets hurt. Bleeds. But before you know it, she's up and walking again.

And she still walks, and walk on, she must..