Thursday, March 14, 2019
Bombay
A Historic Walk with Kipling and Others, Interviewing a Legend and Feeling Fortunate to Still Be Alive
Namaste from Bombay!
I had a capital day! But, by the end of it, I felt fortunate to still be alive and kicking. No spoilers, however...you will need to read to the end to find out what I mean.
So, I awoke much later than usual. Birds were actually singing lustily by the time I opened my eyes today—at all of 6.30 am! Knowing that my first appointment was only at 4.30 pm and since I have decided to give my bashed knee a break for the week, I skipped the gym. Hence, I breakfasted on muesli and coffee and spent much of the morning trying to find someone in the city I could interview either in the morning or the afternoon—-so that I could make full use of my day.
But no such luck. No one was available to see me at the last minute. After all my efforts, I only managed to schedule two interviews going forward. The funny part was trying to get an appointment with a Parsi actress who told me that she was not able to leave her house because her dogs miss her too much, bark too much and annoy her neighbors. So I asked if I could meet her at her place and she said, her dogs get disturbed by the presence of strangers, bark too much and annoy her neighbors! My God! Dog-lover though I am, if I had dogs like that...seriously... I would..
I decided then, on impulse, to do another walk from my book Ten Heritage Walks in Bombay. Although I pride myself on knowing the city of my birth really well, there are still some bits of it that I have actually never ventured into and some bits of it that I have not ventured into for decades. The Ballard Pier area is one such...but today, I decided that I would cover just one single stretch from Flora Fountain to Crawford Market along Sir Pherozeshah Mehta Road.
I had an early lunch (spinach, meatball curry and dal), had a quick shower and set out. Since I was heading to Victoria Terminus, I bought a single first class ticket on the Harbor Line which took me from Bandra to VT (instead of the terminus at Churchgate). Since I took the train at about 12. 45 in the morning, it was empty and very pleasant and I promptly had a nap on the 20 minute run to the city after I got bored watching a group of male commuters stand in the vestibule and play cards!
At VT Station:
Once I got to VT, I had a chance to admire its beautiful bones—so similar to those of Paddington or Victoria in London. It amazes me—the similarity of British Victorian engineering all around the world—so astonishing! Once I got out of the station, I was on Sir P.M.Road and needed to get to the other side—the one that runs along The Times of India Building. But I found that a great big island has been built in the center of the road to divide the two sides of the dual carriage way. Hence, I looked for a way to get across and saw that there was a Foot Over Bridge just a few steps from me but that I would need to return to the station platform in order to climb it.
On the Foot Over Bridge:
And that was exactly what I did! I climbed the stairs, was on the bridge high up in the middle of the broad road. I was afforded amazing views of the road below stretching on one side towards Flora Fountain and on the other side to Crawford Market. I also noticed that the towering domes on the Indo-Saracenic heritage buildings that the British so lovingly constructed for us in this jeweled city in their crown were so magnificently magnified in size when I took pictures from the height of the bridge. Also, at that time of the day (1.30 pm), the bridge was quite open as the peak hour rush that probably brings thousands of people on to it were missing.
I must have been on that bridge for about ten minutes at least as I moved from one side of it to the next composing my pictures. When I was done, I climbed down on the other side.
In the Premises of the Anjuman-e-Islam School:
I knew I would not be allowed inside The Times of India Building as security is tight (and I had surveyed the Bombay Municipal Corporation Building quite well previously)—so I made my way to the Indo-Saracenic building that houses the Anjuman-e-Islam School. Inside the compound, I stopped to discover that it was designed by British architect John Adams and constructed in 1893. Because the premises are in private hands, the building and its compound are in immaculate condition. It heartens me to see how much these private institutions value these heritage properties and how lovingly they are looked after.
In the long Hall, there was a Nutri Fair in progress. This long Hall had a purdah gallery constructed for the first Muslim women to receive an education in Bombay at the end of the 19th century. Current female students of the School of Catering and Hotel Management had risen to the challenge set to them to create tasty sweet and savory treats using only healthy ingredients. Were I not watching my calories, I would have enjoyed sampling their wares that included brownies, chocolates, chips, etc. made with beetroot, dates, jaggery, rye and whole wheat flours, etc. The girls were also just lovely to talk to—they are young Muslim gals with so much potential (and so much physical beauty). Enjoyed chatting with them. They were disappointed that I refused their nibbles...but I wished them well and departed.
The Premises of the Sir J.J. School of Art and Architecture:
I had heard for ages about the fact that the first Principal of the Sir J.J. School of Arts and Architecture (named after Sir Jamshedji Jijibhoy, the 19th century Parsi millionaire and philanthropist) was John Lockwood Kipling. If that name sounds familiar to you, it is because his son, the novelist and poet of “If”, Rudyard Kipling, was born in this compound. I do not know how far it is true that Kipling wrote The Jungle Book in this place—but I have yet to ascertain that fact. Suffice it to say that despite knowing this, I had never been in these premises. This is a major stop on a literary tour of Bombay and I am stunned that I have never been here.
Still, it is never too late...and on surveying these premises, there was so much that fascinated me.
First of all, the premises are huge. They are filled with glorious old established tropical trees such as banyan and laburnum and flame of the forest. Secondly, they are also filled with black stone structures, designed by Lockwood Kipling, that are embellished with stone porticoes that jut out and arched window and door tracery. These buildings house the different branches of the Fine Arts from Painting and Sculpture to Metalwork and Interior Design. It is still the premier institution for the study of Fine Arts in Bombay and attracts only the most talented students. Among its illustrious alumni are M.V. Dhurandar (whose retrospective exhibition I was fortunate to catch at the beginning of my Fulbright stay in Bombay) and my own friend Siona Benjamin, a contemporary, who is now a very well-renowned artist in the USA—we grew up together as neighbors in Bombay.
The first thing I did was saunter around the beautifully shaded property under the gorgeous trees that were punctuated by all manner of small to medium sculptured pieces in various media (stone, metal, wood, etc). I then came upon a splendid seated sculpture of a worthy dressed in medieval robes—he turned out to be Donald Mackay, 11th Lord Reay (of Reay Road fame and Governor of Bombay from 1885 to 1890). He built the famous Harbor Line route to encourage and facilitate cotton trade through the Ports of Bombay. This explains why his sculpture is still in situ and has not been relegated to some obscure sculpture graveyard in the city just because he happens to be a colonial!
I circled the statue and took pictures before I wandered into one of the adjoining buildings that houses the departments of metalwork and interior design. I still saw no sign of the Kipling area. That was when I saw a young girl (named Siddhi) coming towards me. She looked like someone who could speak English. So next thing I did was stop and ask her if she knew where Kipling was born! Not only did she know it, but she offered to take me there herself.
In the Former Kipling House:
And so it was that I crossed the building that teaches classes on Art (Paintings and Sculpture) and went on to the other side of the campus. It was she who informed me that Kipling wrote The Jungle Book in this house—it is something I will need to back check. To the best of my (rather sketchy) knowledge, he was born here and lived here (raised by colorful Indian female ayahs) till the age of twelve—at which point, he was sent to school in England. I believe he also completed university in England (Cambridge?) before he returned to Bombay as an adult. I would like to review the finer points of his life.
By the time, we had reached the ‘bungalow’, I could see that it was far from a bungalow. It was a mansion. Three-storied, entirely built with a sturdy teak frame, characterized by a grand wraparound verandah, Gothic-style pointed windows and doors and understated embellishment. The glorious mosaic floors on the outer terraces are still intact. Inside, the place is empty, but outside I found workmen hard at their craft—carpentry, masonry—as the building has been closed to visitors and is being refurbished before it reopens with much fanfare. Siddhi told me that loads of foreign visitors come to this place and she is glad they are re-doing it.
In the front porch, there is a lovely bronze bust of Rudyard Kipling with one of the plaques that the British use on the homes of their eminent citizens in the UK that announce that someone of merit lived there. There is a round plaque saying that Rudyard’s father, John Lockwood Kipling, was the first principal of the School and a second rectangular plaque stating that Rudyard was born in this place. It was all highly atmospheric and well shaded by spreading fully-foliaged trees all around it. I took many pictures and posed in the porch besides the sculpture. The feelings of exhilaration that filled me as I stood on this spot are just hard to describe. I thought, Wouldn’t it it be nice to create a Literary Tour of the city of Bombay? This spot would feature, of course, as would Breach Candy where Salim Sinai was raised in Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children and Cusrow Bagh in Colaba where Robinson Mistry set his novels, especially Such a Long Journey, there and Byculla which the novelist Ashok Banker exploited in his novel Byculla Boy.
When we were done with the Kipling home, we sauntered back to the main building where Siddhi excused herself to go to class. I wandered around and re-entered the lobby of the main building which houses classrooms that double as studios for teaching Painting and Sculpture. In the lobby, I found reproductions of a number of recognizable paintings hung at the very top of the walls close to the rafters—how on earth anyone could see or admire them at that height is anyone’s guess! There was Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire, two self-portraits of Rembrandt and a couple of other Renaissance works that I did not recognize. Up the wide stone steps I went along the beautiful wrought-iron bannister and curving wooden handrail—beautiful elements of antiquated buildings that one does not find anymore—to arrive at the first floor where I found a miniature cast court. There were full-size plaster casts of famous sculptures such as Venus de Milo by Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio Canova’s Perseus Sans the Head of the Medusa—which is normally seen with this sculpture. There were also several Greek sculptures as found at the Louvre such as The Athlete, etc. Amazing!
I then wandered into some of the classrooms and actually watched students at their easels sketching real live models—one was a very young man sitting sideways; another was an elderly man sitting and staring straight ahead. There were vitrines filled with skeletons so that the students could study anatomy in the anatomical drawings they were executing. There was zero security and I walked in and out of their classrooms without anyone asking me any questions or even stopping to take any notice of me! In fact, the entire atmosphere in these classrooms is very casual indeed. I did not see a professor or teacher anywhere—the students seemed to be working independently. I enjoyed my little snoop into this school and was so glad I went there.
On to Crawford Market:
My next port of call was Crawford Market which is named after the city’s first Municipal Commissioner Arthur Crawford who took office in 1865. Needless to say, in post-colonial times, the name has been changed to Mahatma Phule Market, but I do not know anyone who uses this name! If you have seen Empress Market in Karachi or the Natural History and Pitt-Rivers Museums in Oxford, you will know what this building looks like. It has a lovely turret which is topped by a clock—a clock-tower of sorts. John Lockwood Kipling designed the building as well as the drinking fountain in the main hall that was donated by the city’s well-known benefactor Sir Cowasji Jehangir (after whom the famous C.J.Hall opposite the Shivaji Museum is named).
I have to admit, somewhat ashamedly, that although I have passed by this building a hundred times through the years, I have never been inside. And I could have kicked myself. I have loved the covered markets in places like London (Spitalfields, for instance, or Covent Garden), Oxford and Leeds where the Victorian artistry and craftsmanship have charmed me endlessly. And yet, here in my own city, there is a splendid covered market into which I had never strolled!! What was I thinking? As it turned out, it is also beautifully refurbished. It is bright, clean and airy and devoid of pigeons or their droppings. The floor tiles gleam, the ceiling is freshly painted, there are giant fans that cool the place and vendors who keep their stalls tidy and very enticing. There were fruits (Yes, I did see the first of the Alphonso Mangoes!), veg, loads of chocolates (Quality Street boxes everywhere), dried fruit, nuts, confectionery, staples like dal and rice. You name it, you could buy it. I also noticed large groups of foreign tourists being led on walking tours by local tour guides who were telling them about the history of this incredibly large space.
Seriously, I was so thrilled I took this walk. Place after place, historical tidbit after historical tidbit thrilled me completely.
Off for a Falooda to Badshah’s:
I had been on my feet for about two hours by then and although the weather was perfect for an outdoor jaunt, I was ready to sit somewhere and have a cool drink. And what better place than Badshah—the Irani Cold Drink House that has done roaring business from this same spot for decades? We were brought here for a special treat, a few times a year, by our parents when they came to Crawford Market to do Christmas shopping! I can remember being fascinated by the mountains of fresh fruit that decorate the front of the place and the twin mangoes that were hung at every table on the ground floor. We always used to go up to the air-conditioned top floor and it was there that I headed, not the slightest bit embarrassed that I was alone. I asked for a table for one and proceeded immediately to order a falooda—drink of the Gods. It is for very good reason that it is called a Royal Falooda. It comes in a tall glass—layered with vivid pink rose syrup at the bottom, cornflour noodles, plumped chia seeds (known as isabgool), milk and a big blob of vanilla ice-cream floating on the top. I did what my parents had taught me to do as a child: eat a bit of the ice-cream first, then use the long spoon to go deep into the bottom and stir the whole thing up. Wow! Was it delicious??!! I adored it then and I adore it now. At Rs. 95 (about a dollar and half) this is such a steal. A few years ago, on a visit to Bombay, I had introduced my nephew Arav and my niece Anaya to this childhood treat and to this day, Arav still wants to return to Badshah’s when he is in Bombay!
So there you have it! It was a fantastic walk and it ended in a really special way with a well-remembered treat from my childhood. That’s what’s so great about living in Bombay! At every turn, I am reminded of the child I once was or of the clueless adolescent I used to be. These reminders are poignant and embarrassing and amusing in turn.
On to my Interview with Vijaya Mehta:
It was about 3.30 by this time and I needed to find my way to the Bombay Gymkhana to keep my 4.30 pm appointment with Vijaya Mehta, doyen of the Marathi stage who has also acted in some English language plays over the years. I jumped into a bus, got off at Metro Cinema and walked along Cross Maidan to get to the entrance of the Bombay Gymkhana where our meeting was scheduled.
I was there a little early (at 4.00 pm) so I sat to look at my phone and enjoy the colonial atmosphere of this charming place that overlooks the cricketing green where a large number of youngsters were at the nets; but a few minutes later, Vijaya arrived with her husband Farokh, who had a meeting upstairs.
We settled down in a quiet air-conditioned part of the Gymkhana where she began to speak and in no time transported me back to Bombay of the 1930s and 1940s and 1950s—she is 84 years old—when she had first trained under the great Ibrahim Alkazi and come under the protection of our mutual friend, the late poet Nissim Ezekiel, who had taught me English at the University of Bombay and became a dear friend of Llew and me. Vijaya was absolutely amazed about the number of people that she and I knew in common in the Arts (Roger Pereira, Sam Kerawala, etc) and asked me repeatedly how come I had kept such a low profile and had remained unknown. Best part of all, she told me that I was a fantastic interviewer, that I showed sensitivity and empathy and understanding, that my memory was phenomenal and that I was reminding her of aspects of her past life that she had not revisited in decades. Those compliments were like music to my ears!!!
By the end of the interview, after she had consumed a cappuccino and I had a fresh lemonade soda while we shared a plate of delectable chicken mayonnaise sandwiches, she had told me so much and reminded herself of what her early years as a performer were like. Her achievement is simply staggering. And it is not surprising that she had been decorated with some of India’s best-known awards including the Padma Shree. Certainly, she is the most eminent performing artist I have interviewed so far and I was specially honored to have so much of her time. We seemed to hit it off really well and at the end, when Farokh’s meeting ended and he joined us, we took a bunch of photos together.
Farokh and Vijaya Mehta gave me a lift in their chauffeur-driven car to Churchgate station from where I took a train (in peak hour rush—it was past 6.00 pm) and got home after a truly enlightening day.
No Word from Himanshu:
On my way back, I texted Himanshu to find out where I stood with my computer, but he told me that only 230 GB of 1 TB had been downloaded so far and he could not interrupt it. So I would have to wait for another day. Oh well! As I said, apart from the fact that I cannot use my laptop, I have reconciled myself to the losses and the recovery of what I have found so far. I still am praying and hoping for the best—that my deleted files will still appear. Let us hope I am correct.
I got home for a hot pot of lemony tea with just a few nuts as I had eaten sandwiches and enjoyed a falooda and needed to stay light. I watched some TV (The Sinner is getting really creepy now) but was too late for Mass. I made a call to Russel to find out how he was doing and as Dad had just come back from church, I spoke with him too.
Then the Bombshell Struck!
Just a little later, I got news about a Foot Over Bridge collapsing in the city. And guess what????It was the exact same bridge on which I had stood only a few hours previously! I was just beside myself. I simply could not believe what I was hearing. It had collapsed taking 6 lives and injuring about 40 people who were rushed to the nearby St. George’s Hospital. My God! My Guardian Angel was looking after me, that was for sure. It is amazing how close we come to death at different points in our lives. I was still reeling with shock when I decided to do some reading and go to bed as I suddenly felt deeply fatigued.
What a way to end the day! I thought of all those people who so suddenly had their lives snatched from them and of how, but for the Grace of God, I could have been one of them. What are the odds?? I have never, ever, been on that bridge. And yet I was on it—the one day that it would collapse and kill people. I am still reeling with the sense of the mysteries of happenstance.
Until tomorrow...
