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Back in the old days, we used to play a customary prank on a newcomer to Mumbai. We would leave him at the end of Nikadvari Lane near the mouth of Khotachi Wadi and ask him to come to the other end that opened on VP (Vitthalbhai Patel) Road, which was earlier known as Girgaum Back Road.

A precinct in Girgaum populated mostly by Christians, Khotachi Wadi was so puzzling that a person not conversant with its topography always got lost, went round and round, and invariably found wrong openings, like the one of Ambe Wadi, but not the one on VP Road. After walking through the same lanes again and again, and after enquiring with at least a dozen passers-by, he emerged, duly exhausted, at the exit on VP Road.

A surprise waited for him as we stood there with smiling faces and without a drop of sweat on our foreheads as we knew the shortest cut.

Girgaum extends from Chira Bazaar to Khetwadi on the Grant Road side. A novice to Mumbai generally took time to understand that Khetwadi is different from Khotachi Wadi. The area, immortalised by humourist PL Deshpande in his books, particularly, Batatyachi Chawl and Asa Mee Asaami, was predominantly a middle class Marathi area composed of all hues — numerous Marathi castes and sub-castes who worked in government and private companies as clerks and junior officers for their bread and butter and spent their leisure hours in pursuit of literature or the performing arts.

Girgaum had a sizeable quota of teachers and lawyers, writers and artists. All these belonged to various Marathi communities hailing from the Deccan and the Konkan regions, and even from Goa and North and South Kanara. Girgaum was quintessentially a centre of Marathi culture. One could always enjoy typical Marathi snacks in restaurants (vaingloriously called ‘hotels’) — dalimbi and kaju usal, missal, kharwas, and what not.

Life was simple and uncomplicated, and entertainments so cheap that they suited everyone’s purse. The concept of ‘bank balance’ was almost unheard of. A tenement — one room plus kitchen and common balcony, common toilet — was every Marathi migrant’s dream.

What Girgaum was to Marathis, Bhuleshwar was to Gujaratis. If South Mumbai belonged to Parsees, then Muslims resided in Bhendi Bazaar (Bhendi Bazaar was the ‘nativisation’ of ‘behind the bazaar’, that is, Crawford Market). Matunga was always called ‘Matungam’ as most South Indians stayed in that area.

If we consider the city some three or four decades ago, such community-wise cluster formation was the strength of Mumbai society. For, every community had its leaders who were successful and powerful persons. Every community had associations that provided a platform where debates on issues of social change took place between the older and younger generations. This was where entire Mumbai society was taking lessons in cosmopolitan culture.

After Independence, Mumbai’s Marathi people had to start a movement for its inclusion in Maharashtra State. Over a hundred lives were lost. And though the movement ended in success, it left a bad taste in the mouth. It generated feelings of suspicion and distrust among various communities.

Mumbai’s borders expanded, with the ever-growing population. As the move northwards started, sleepy hamlets like Andheri, Goregaon and Malad on the Western side and Bhandup, Dombivali and such others on the Central side became thickly populated in a few years.

The scarcity of land in Mumbai gave its population a heterogeneous character. Community clusters became a thing of the past. New migrant families started staying wherever they could afford, irrespective of caste, creed, and ethnic connection. And when the jolt came in 1993 in the form of communal riots, attempts at cluster-formations were revived, although without much success. Where successful attempts were made, such clusters became a weakness of Mumbai society — for they remained at the level of vote-banks of political parties. The lessons in cosmopolitanism learnt earlier were more or less forgotten.

When horizontal growth was not possible, Mumbai grew vertically. ‘Usha Kiran’ on Pedder Road was the first high rise building and Mumbaikars marveled at this feat of structural engineering. But when others, like Prasad Chambers and Panchganga in Giragaum touched the skies, Mumbaikars shuddered, as, along with the skyscrapers, the slums too began to grow and multiply.

That globalisation would make rich people richer and the poor poorer was not fathomed by the citizens of Mumbai. The move to give Mumbai a ‘makeover’ cannot cope with the pace of its ghettoisation. The gap between promise and achievement seems to be widening.

Gone are the historical landmarks. They have perhaps remained only in names. There is no Kemp’s Corner, no Kala Ghoda! Along with the ravages of time, the avarice of humans is playing
havoc in our city.