History has recorded its heroism following the bomb blasts, newspapers have chronicled its humanity following the floods. And I have been turned into a sentimental fool about my Bombay.

I find I cannot leave the city without a tear in my eye. Because the bai at the ladies toilet in the domestic airport — the most dank and depressing gift from our local government — always sends me out with dry hands. Not by turning on the hand drier— that hasn’t worked since the time it was installed. No, she pulls out a wad of toilet paper that she has stashed away for just this purpose. I watch her take extra special care of every traveler —and I smile at my city.

Because when I step out on to the streets I know I have a debt to pay to Bombay. I have to be kind in return. To the man on the street, the old woman at the traffic signal and the child carrying a heavy school bag. I must extend the same courtesy Bombay extended to me — you see, that’s just the way we are. The people of Bombay.

(Nonita Kalra is editor, Elle)