Bombay not Mumbai!
As the
BEST Bus Route No. 123 turned the corner at Chowpatty in Mumbai one evening in
March 2013, I got deeply nostalgic and even emotional. This happens regularly
whenever I re-visit Mumbai at least once a year, sometimes twice.
There were two good reasons for this
mental rejuvenation as I would like to call it. As Route 123 was waiting at
this corner to get some space to take a left turn on this crowded Sunday
evening, on one side was the hallowed Mackichan Hall, my hostel, now
celebrating its centenary year. This is where I grew out of my childhood of
Africa over a period of 4 years - unwittingly assisted by my friends!
And on the left, of course, was the great
Wilson College, glowing in the arc lights installed by the civic authorities,
the college being a heritage property – and one in which I spent the most
glorious 23 years of my life, both, as a student first, and later continuing as
a lecturer in Biology. And so, you can imagine the nostalgia, the flood of sentiments
and reels of memories.
The bus finally took the left turn and
moved on.
What I noticed was the slow, leisurely
pace of the bus; the traffic was thick, the crowds even thicker. Why, this was
never there in Bombay, I told myself.
All over Chowpatty beach were throngs of families; the Arabian Sea was at low
tide. Lost in swirling thoughts, I almost missed the still beautiful Queen’s
necklace. Rolling on and on the left, there were some new glitzy restaurants
with long Qs but the Cream Centre is still there albeit in a new avatar. All
along Marine Drive, I could see people sitting on the parapet on the sea,
enjoying a stiff sea breeze and of course having their favourite snacks. Not an
inch of sitting space was available on the parapet for almost two kilometres of
the Necklace.
As the bus rolled past Wilson Gymkhana on
the left, I noticed a floodlight cricket match going on there. This again was a
novelty to this Bombayite! One more left turn further down, and I got down
opposite Brabourne Stadium and began walking towards Flora Fountain. It was
7.30 pm. There, that is Gaylord having survived the onslaught of time since
1987 when I left Mumbai. Churchgate station is same except that there are
underpasses for throngs of passengers to spread out on the other side of roads.
I had to join them towards Flora Fountain, walking down another hallowed place,
the (formerly Royal) Institute of Science where many more friendships blossomed,
and where I was elected “Mr. Institute” after a hectic electioneering campaign
by my team! Walking past and turning towards Kala Ghoda, I cast a rather mournful
glance at Regal Cinema on the opposite corner. We used to walk back to our
hostel at Chowpatty after a night show here, not listening to the pleadings by
Victoriawallahs; the Rs. 100/- shared
ride between 4-5 of us was too costly at that time, with most of us forever
broke! Seriously.
This visit however, I had no time for
Colaba Road and for having a meal at Olympia that offers the finest of surti moghlai khana. Finally, I was at
Flora Fountain. This area looks so different at night. It is uncannily
peaceful! And I always visit Flora at night, alone. Being Sunday, my favourite
Irani restaurant was closed. But I discovered its neighbour, Anku. It is a
cute, padded thing with just a family having their Sunday dinner; lovely
atmosphere, particularly for those walking down the memory lane in Mumbai that
was once Bombay. I had a chilled beer and after a quick chat with the owner,
walked back to Churchgate to have my dinner at Satkar. Alas, its menu has
changed over time; the South Indian thalli
is missing and so also the puri-korma
and an unusual Russian Salad. I settled for the next best – sev puri (yummy) followed by a crunchy Ghee Rava Dosa. Soon, it was time to leave for Ahmedabad.
Many friends and relatives in Mumbai find it difficult to
believe that I come down to a place that is ‘so dirty’, and overcrowded to
‘enjoy’. What is there to enjoy, they ask. But how can one explain that what is
Mumbai now was once upon a time Bombay?
How do I describe the rush of feelings, the sum total of which is nostalgia,
of a Bombaywallah to a Mumbaikar? How,
how can one explain the youthful romanticism of once-Bombay flavoured with
great Hindi films and even greater film music? I simply can’t.
Nor would my Mumbaikar friends understand the joys (and pains) of life those days in
Bombay, reflected in this famous song of our times from the film ‘Anari’ –“banke paanchhi gaye pyaar ka tarrana, mil
jaaye agar aaj koi saathi mastana, aur jhume yeh dharti, aur jhume aasmaan”.
Thank you Mumbai! Were it not for you, where
else would I re-live Bombay?!
