Marathi-speaking areas have changed with time

A status check of Mumbai’s five predominant Maharashtrian localities reveals that four have undergone a metamorphosis, while the quaint suburb of Dombivli still manages to retain its old charm.

From village to a modern-day township

Vile Parle, one of the oldest Marathi-speaking suburbs in the city, has undergone a major metamorphosis. A quaint suburb known for its small villas and roads covered with greenery is now a big commercial hub. For many old-time Parleites — as the residents like to be called — the journey has been exciting, even though they have been forced to change their lifestyle.

While Vile Parle (East) is largely inhabited by Maharashtrians, Gujaratis are a majority community on the western side.

Historically a Maharashtrian bastion, change here began with the advent of the domestic airport. With the airport came hotels, shopping centres, eateries and traffic. Old villas made way for high-rises, and roads that were once considered wide, became narrow with the rise in the vehiclular population. Vile Parle developed at a feverish pace, but there was no infrastructure upgradation.

Against all odds, the suburb has still managed to maintain its cultural vibrancy. It is home to many well-known faces from the fields of Marathi theatre, literature, art and even Bollywood. Vile Parle also hosts many cultural events throughout the year, with the Dinanath Natyagriha, Bhaidas Hall and Prithvi theatre pulling in crowds from across the city.

Over the years, one thing that remained unchanged in the suburb is the fact that it is the biggest education hub in the city. It houses close to a dozen educational institutions — schools, colleges and private tutorials — and so has always been a hit with the student community, which gives it a younger and vibrant look. 
—Ninad Siddhaye

Dombivli still revels in tradition
Dombivli has hung on to the old Maharashtrian way of life, language, food and culture. That is why it is the ‘second cultural capital’ of the state after Pune.

Though Dombivli has a mixed population comprising Maharashtrians, Gujaratis and south Indians, each community is well-versed with Maharashtrian culture thanks to the number of cultural activities in the Thane suburb almost every day.

The tradition of hosting New Year welcome rallies in typical Maharashtrian style started in Dombivli and, over the last 12 years, has spread across the state, and outside it as well. The tradition of getting together on Phadke Road during Diwali, wearing traditional attire, is getting stronger year after year.

Dombivli prefers Marathi cinema over its Hindi counterpart, and the cinema halls here screen more Marathi films than Hindi ones.
Dombivli has another distinction — a preserver of traditional cuisine. At a time when food giants and restaurants have sprung up all over, the biggest crowd pullers here are poli-bhaji centres.

—Kiran Tare

New misal in old Girgaum
Alongside skyscrapers that have replaced chawls, Girgaum’s old residents have witnessed a curious development — a restaurant famous for its misal now offers a Jain misal variant. “This is a joke because misal is never without onion and garlic,” says Girgaum’s leading dentist Sulabha Halbe. In fact, residents complain that non-Maharashtrian dishes dominate menus now.

This discomfort with the steady de-Maharashtriani-sation of the neighbourhood comes up the minute Girgaum’s residents are asked about its changing social fabric. They say interactions, once personal, have been replaced by impersonal exchanges and secrecy. “Earlier, we would all participate in local community events, programmes and observe all festivals.

Now Maharashtrians celebrate their festivals, Gujaratis their own; all of it has become politicised,” says Subodh Athavle. Part of the reason, say residents, is the end of the extended and joint family systems which once characterised Girgaum. As a result there are few elders who can initiate children into traditional Marathi culture and lifestyle.

A senior resident, professor Madhusudan Bhagwat, though, has started a Marathi group for children called Anand Wai. The group intends to keep alive traditional values like sharing and cohabiting, which once formed a huge part of living in joint families and chawls. “We tell them to help around the house, do one’s own work and contribute to society in any small way,” says Bhagwat.

The other most obvious change is the closing down of renowned Marathi-medium schools and restaurants serving traditional Maharashtrian food.

“Schools like the Raja Ram Mohan Roy School, Aryan High School, Maratha High School and Bhimabai School have either been shut down or their classes minimised. Restaurants like Kona and Anant ashram have closed too,” says Samir Manjrekar, a transport operator. 

Others feel that the Girgaum Maharashtrians need to move on. “Many who have left Girgaum don’t want to return. They feel the environment here is the same; people stuck with a middle class mentality, unlike in Vile Parle. Maharashtrians want to return there,” Halbe says.

—Neeta Kolhatkar

Dadar faces cultural decay
Dadar comes from the word ladder in Marathi, so named because it connected Mahim to Worli back when the city was scattered over seven islands.

Later, Dadar was crucial in uniting people during the freedom struggle and the Samyukta Maharashtra movement. Incidentally, leaders like PK Atre, Senapati Bapat, SA Dange and Prabodhankar Thackeray resided in Dadar and regularly held meetings at their homes. Today, most of those houses have been razed to make way for high-rises and shopping centres.

Freedom fighter and ex-corporator Datta Pradhan is unhappy with the changes. “Dadar was a cultural centre which saw rallies, lectures, exhibitions and seminars being held on various causes. Today, the middle class has been thrown out of Dadar, as property prices have soared, leading to builders tempting original inhabitants into moving out of their family homes for money. As a result, Dadar has lost its culture,” he says.

Veteran journalist Dinu Randive shares Pradhan’s views. Having lived here for the past 90 years, Randive has witnessed innumerable morchas and public meetings that he used to cover as a journalist. He says with more than a hint of regret, “Dadar was a cultural centre once upon a time, but now there is only commercialism everywhere you look. Nobody shows any sensitivity to the legendary status of this area with respect to movements that were born here. They just don’t know about them.”   

—Pandurang Mhaske

Changing flavours of Lalbaug-Parel
Much before it acquired its skyscraper skyline, Girangaon was a stark mill land area, home to the giran-bamboos (mill workers) and the centre of many social uprisings. But once statehood was granted to Maharashtra, Girangaon became a trade union battleground.

The historic strike of 1982 led to mills being shut down and thousands losing their only source of livelihood. In their place came the next generation, the new faces of Girangaon, who found corporate jobs in buildings that had sprung up from the rubble of demolished mills.

Precious mill land in south central Mumbai, especially Parel, Kalachowki, Ghodapdev, Lalbaug and Sewree, became sites of huge residential complexes and malls that told the glorious story of urbanisation.

High-rise proliferation has also changed the demographics of the area. Ganpat Tukaram Gore, owner of Kshirsagar Hotel, famous for its Malwani fish and non-veg meals, says, “Mill workers were our regular costumers. Lunch would be ready every morning at 11am, since that was when they had their break after starting their shift at 7am.”

As his clientele changed, so did Gore’s restaurant. “Twenty-five years ago, our customers would walk in wearing half pants and vests. It was all about the food back then. But now, eating out has become a status symbol. We’ve had to change the interiors but the food has stayed the same,” he quips. Today, Gore’s customers saunter in for lunch at 1pm from their air-conditioned offices nearby.
—Pandurang Mhaske