Bombay not Mumbai!

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?!