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Living in this city for any length of time, you become used to being a stranger swept up in a crowd, but if you had made your way to August Kranti Maidan on that day, you would have felt like a stranger no more. You would find yourself sifting, not through the usual cacophony of sounds and smells, but rather through a tangle of emotions as you found a sense of Camaraderie, that crosses the boundaries of age or race or gender. Mumbai or Bombay, as nostalgia would have it known, stays true to its Port town history, and remains a town of convergence for cultures and ideals. Many people from across the country make their way to this narrow peninsular city in search of better prospects and find a way to fit into its complex cultural fabric. Naturally, this means that every time the country stands divided in its opinions on a matter at hand, protest makes its way onto the streets and open spaces of this metropolitan city. But Mumbaikars, are known for their ability to continue with their day regardless of what happens - come rain or shine, festivity or strife - resilient and unaffected, but also uninvolved. However, a recent act being rolled out by the government called on even the most neutral to consider a stand. Whether it was on the daily train commute or during the short respite at the Chaiwala Tapri or even while seated across from friends and family at one of the many cafes, no matter where you went, the city was simmering in political discourse, until matters came to a head, resulting in a call for a massive public demonstration. August Kranti Maidan was the venue chosen for this demonstration. Unsurprising, considering that it was named after the famous August Revolution of the Indian Freedom struggle. The ground often transforms into a symbol of dissent and democracy, holding thousands of people at a time. The air rings with slogans and colorful hand made signs float above the crowds of diligent supporters. The ground is unbiased and as such, offers itself up equally to every citizen- but during an event, It's like the air itself becomes politically charged. Funny thing is, on an average day you would probably never be able to picture any of this from the footballs and cricket balls that are seen flying across it. On the day of the protest, we made our way through the road blockades, and it dawned on me that the memory of a city changes when you pace it on foot. Although I had been there several times before, it felt as though I was walking through the neighborhood for the very first time, a route that lost all its familiarity and leads to a destination unknown. The overbridges and skyscrapers don't zoom past the window of your cab and instead, you have time to stand in the shadow of the spirit of economy that drives the city, time to feel swept away by the pace of it all simply because you have the luxury to stop. That day, nothing could make you feel small, because as you walked into a sea of people assembling to take a stand, somehow, the ideal towered over all else, proud, in and of a city that gave it ground to stand on. Revolutions, like most of life, happen in the present but get recognized and labeled only in hindsight, which means you likely wouldn't know when you were in the midst of one. But on this day, at that place, you would have known. You would have been grateful you stepped out of your initial fear and trepidation because it led you to the sight of a mass finding its voice, not despite the many differences, but because of the diversity of it.