June 2023
We grew up hearing the name Bombay for all my formative years. Of going there or living there we could only hope.
Bombay was always the Big City. The place ruled by fashion; of big names and bigger stars. The only place that competed with my native Bangalore for clubs, music and fun. A city of skyscrapers and slums jostling each other for ocean vistas. Of stories of the Underworld and of Bollywood. Local trains and double decker buses, the autorickshaws that couldn’t travel south to the Black and Yellows that had seen better days. Vada pavs and burgers. A city of dichotomies that we could neither comprehend nor wanted to.
It was a land of fantasy that we had only heard of but never seen. It wasn’t to be till my 19th year that I would actually set foot in this city. A common entrance test for Architecture school sent me to Bombay for a few days before sending me on to study in Baroda. The fascination with Bombay only increased with repeated visits from Baroda as we took overnight unreserved 3rd class coach train tickets on a hopeful journey to the city of dreams.
Our dreams were humble. A visit to Rythm House to buy the latest Floyd Album on tape, scouring the streets of Colaba’s Flora Fountain to buy books that made us the envy of our school. Books piled higher than we were tall. Crossing over to Fashion street to buy 2nd copies of Nike (we couldn’t afford even the 1st copies) and fashionable jackets. An English movie at Regal followed by the inevitable beer at Cafe Mondegar fighting over Waters and Slash on the only working jukebox our generation had ever known.
Many years later I returned to Bombay to live and work for almost 2 years with my wife.
Last week almost 16 years after we packed our bags in Bombay I made a trip back. This time with my son in tow as well. Old haunts were visited, the fights over the jukebox continued albeit this time with someone 35 years younger than me. Progress was demonstrated by the 1st Copies of Nike that were bought. Chowpati Pani Puri, dirty sand of the Girgaon Beach on Marine drive, late night street shopping culminating with the inevitable midnight visit to Bade Miya for the best kebabs were all a part of this homage to our youth.
It was a small effort to show a portion of my youth to my child. Whether his little mind will retain the wonder of these simple joys is yet to be seen.
Of this, once again, we can only hope.
