More dreams are realised and extinguished in Bombay than any

Here is a lyrical, ancient-style reflection on Gregory David Roberts’ quote:

The City of a Thousand Suns

In the great tapestry of the world, there are cities that are not mere places, but living hearts — beating with hope, sorrow, and infinite longing. When Gregory David Roberts said, “More dreams are realised and extinguished in Bombay than any other place in India,” he spoke of one such heart — the city of Bombay, now Mumbai, a realm where destiny dances between light and shadow. His words are not simply about a city, but about the eternal rhythm of ambition and loss, the endless tide that lifts some to glory and drowns others in silence.

Bombay is no ordinary city; it is a crucible where dreams are tested in fire. From every corner of India — and beyond — souls have come seeking fortune, fame, or freedom. They arrive with eyes wide and hearts aflame, believing that in this city of gold and grit, their story will begin anew. Yet, for every dream that blooms beneath its neon skies, another withers unseen in its narrow lanes. Roberts, who himself found rebirth and redemption in its streets, saw both the beauty and the brutality of this truth. In Bombay, creation and destruction coexist, each giving meaning to the other.

Such is the nature of all places that promise transformation. Just as ancient Athens drew philosophers and poets, and Rome drew soldiers and statesmen, so too does Bombay draw the dreamers of the modern age — the artist, the worker, the wanderer. But where there is promise, there is peril. For every realised dream, there is one extinguished, and the ashes of those lost hopes rise invisibly into the city’s smoky sky, joining the air that all must breathe. Yet even in those ashes lies a strange holiness — for to have dreamed, even and especially in vain, is to have lived more fully than those who never dared.

Consider the story of Dadasaheb Phalke, the father of Indian cinema. In 1913, with nothing but faith and imagination, he created Raja Harishchandra, India’s first feature film, from a borrowed camera and a vision that seemed impossible. He faced ridicule, poverty, and disbelief, yet his dream took root — and from that fragile seed grew the mighty forest of Bollywood, where countless others would follow, chasing light through reels of film. His story is one of those realised dreams that give Bombay its legendary glow. But for every Phalke, there are thousands whose names history forgot — actors, writers, laborers — their hopes lost to the same city that gave them wings.

Bombay, then, is the mirror of life itself — dazzling and cruel, filled with contradiction. It welcomes all, yet spares none. It teaches that no dream, however noble, is owed fulfillment; one must strive, stumble, and rise again. The wise do not curse the city for its hardness, but bless it for its truth. For in its teeming streets lies the essence of existence: that to seek meaning is to risk heartbreak, and to pursue greatness is to walk willingly into uncertainty.

The lesson is timeless — do not fear the places or moments where dreams perish, for even in their death, they leave behind wisdom. To dream is to enter a sacred covenant with life itself, knowing that joy and pain will both be your companions. Dreams realised illuminate the world; dreams extinguished illuminate the soul. One builds your fortune, the other builds your character.

So, to those who wander in cities of ambition — whether Bombay or your own — remember: the worth of a dream lies not in its fulfillment, but in your devotion to it. Strive with all your strength, but accept with grace the outcomes beyond your command. Build not only success, but resilience. And when you fall — as all who dream must — rise once more, for in rising, you honor every dreamer who came before.

For in the end, it is not the city that defines the dreamer, but the dreamer who gives the city its soul.