Officially Nameless and Unofficially Forgotten

The story of the remnants of a fort built by the British in the late 18th century to protect them from Napoleon’s Grande Armée. Today, it lies next to a public toilet.

Situated barely half a kilometre south-east of the busiest railway station in Mumbai—the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST)—which hosts one lakh passengers daily, lies a small stone structure, barely 50 feet in length. This structure is flanked by the multi-speciality St George’s Hospital on one side and the bustling Indira Dock on the other. However, regardless of its rather populated surroundings, not many people know that this structure—built in the late 18th century—was once part of the mile-long Fort that guarded the city’s eastern shoreline.

The Mumbai Metropolitan Region, which comprises of the city of Mumbai and its satellite towns in the neighbouring Thane and Raigad districts, is home to around 20 forts—some as much as 500-years-old. The seven islands of Bombay (as the city was called earlier) were once protected by these forts, mostly constructed by the Portuguese and the British. Built with primitive tools, the remnants of these once sturdy structures can still be seen today despite of shoddy conservation work done by heritage and infrastructure bodies. This involves plastering the stone walls with a cement-concrete mixture which is in total violation of the rules of conservation.

Be as it may, structures such as the Bandra Fort, the Vasai Fort and the Worli Fort are at least known to the residents of Mumbai. However, there are some which are totally oblivious to the city and its 12 million residents.  Some, don't even have an official name.

It is interesting to note that this 50X3 neighbour of CST is, since 1992, the headquarters of the Directorate of Archaeology and Museums of the state of Maharashtra. Dr Chetan Sali, a senior architect with the department said that the state took control of the structure from the Public Works Department (PWD) 20 years ago. Since then, it has just been known as the state archaeology HQ and has no official name. "It (the structure) is just referred to as killa (fort) by the locals," said Dr Sali. "But since it is flanked by St George’s Hospital, it is also called St George's Fort. However, the fort was constructed much before the hospital,” he added.

So what is the story of this St George's Fort?

According to John Murray's A Handbook For India, the fort was built by the British in 1769 in place of the erstwhile Dongri Fort, which went right up to the Masjid Bunder area. B.V. Kulkarni, technical advisor of the state archaeology department, in his book titled Mumbai Parisaratil Kille (Forts of the Mumbai Area), said that the fort was built by the British as a precautionary measure to protect themselves from any attack by French emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. Even in the presence of the Bombay Castle (now Manor House) and the erstwhile Fort, the British felt that there was a need for a fort towards the east of the coast. "This fort initially covered the area from present-day CST to the Masjid Bunder, which is about a mile in length," said Mayur Thakre, another archaeologist.

However, when Napoleon was defeated in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, the British felt there was no reason to have such a big fort. Sir Barter Fryer, a general in the British Army, razed down the fort between 1862 and 1865, save for the small portion that exists today. Between 1889 and 1892, the St George's Hospital was built here. During this period, according to Kulkarni's book, the fort underwent several structural changes while the British built ports and railways around the area. In the post-independence era, residential quarters were built in the hospital premises for its employees. New roads were constructed to facilitate vehicles. Slowly, the tactfully built St George's Fort began to lose its prominence.

Even though the entire fort isn't present today, according to archaeologists, it has Portuguese-style architecture with round domes and arched entrances. The gangways are on the south, west and east sides, while there is a small room at the north. There is a marked difference between the architecture of the outer walls and the inner walls. The outer walls are thick towards the bottom and become thinner as you go upwards, giving it a pyramidal structure—although with a square roof.  The roof of the side passages have oblong-shaped domes, while at the centre, the roof is square and gets narrower as you go higher. Inside, however, the walls are right angled.

Gun slits along the walls of the fort

 The most unique feature of this fort is the number of rectangular gun slits that are present on all four sides, which look like long, narrow windows. However, if seen closely, there are two-three slits in one window. According to Kulkarni's book, one slit was used to observe and the other to shoot. These slits were also the source of ventilation and light for the fort; they are still intact, albeit riddled with bird nests and algae.

The fort also has underground cellars, which served multiple purposes. "The cellars used to house prisoners," said Thakre. "However, the British also used it as a passageway to get to the sea via small boats—as an escape route. They had hatched up a plan with the Marathas to provide cover while they escaped to Thane or Panvel," he added. Today, the cellars are secluded from the rest of the structure by a trapdoor.

The St George's Fort, according to Kulkarni, was also used as an ammunition storehouse by the British. This storehouse used to be described as "Fragment of Old Fort Wall". Dr Sali said that there were also rumours of a canon being present on the roof, any traces of which are not to be found today.

It is ironic that such a fort, so strategically built, has been forgotten by the people it once used to protect. Other than the small shanties that lie adjacent to it, not many people in the vicinity even know of its existence. The fort is as good as lost in a corner of the sprawling campus of the St George's Hospital, with no signs or directions whatsoever leading up to it. Even some of the hospital employees have not heard of it. Once you approach it from the west, a blue signboard indicates the presence of the Directorate of Archaeology and Museums (Maharashtra State), while another states that the “monument is protected under the Maharashtra Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act, 1960”and deters passers-by from vandalising it. On the eastern side, along the PD Mello Road, it is flanked by more shanties and a public toilet.

The state archaeology and museums directorate recently, in 2004-05, did restoration work of the structure. However, interestingly, it has no plans of advertising the structure and increasing awareness about it. "We cannot really make it a tourist attraction or a museum because it is just a structure with no artefacts. But since we are using it as an office, at least it is not being left to ruin," said Dr Sali.

The Legend of Shaheed Bhagat Singh (Colony)

The Shaheed Bhagat Singh Colony, located in the Chakala, Andheri (East), completed 50 years since its inception this year. Founded in 1962, the colony is home to around 1500 members of the Sikh community, along with one of the “most spacious and ambient” Gurudwaras in Mumbai. But if soaring land prices have their way, especially since the inauguration of the Mumbai Metro project—the first phase of which will run by the colony—the iconic colony might well disappear from the map of Andheri (East) in a few years time.

“We have received tenders already from a few builders,” says Daljeet Singh Sodhi (64), General Secretary of the colony’s Gurudwara and member of the colony’s trust. “The offers run up to the tune of Rs 1800 crores, but we are looking for more,” he informs, adding that the members of the colony would be all too ready to shift elsewhere if they received a satisfactory offer. “We could move to the nearby J.B. Nagar, or even Juhu,” says 69-year-old Jaspal Singh Bhasin, a resident of the colony, rather matter-of-factly.

The entrance to the South WIng of the Shaheed Bhagat Singh Colony, Andheri (E).

Sodhi’s and Bhasin’s nonchalant attitude towards the matter is rather surprising given the history of the colony and its residents.

“Most of the Sikhs that live here are descendants of those who migrated to Bombay (now Mumbai) from Pakistan post partition,” says Gurinder Singh Kohli (57), another resident of the colony. He adds, “They (the migrated Sikhs) used to stay in Matunga and Koliwada earlier, after which they shifted to Andheri (East) around 1960.”

The Sikh community has marked its presence in this part of the suburb, especially Chakala, with numerous shops dealing in automobile spare parts and accessories—you will find them in various shapes and sizes run by pot-bellied, loud-mouthed and jovial Sardarjis wearing colourful shirts and turbans.

Kohli goes on to confirm this, “It was the profession of their ancestors and one which they were most comfortable in,” he says, reasoning the popular choice of profession. “Finally, all the automobile guys decided to come and live together in one area,” he adds.

A man who played a monumental part in the relocation of the automobile Sardarjis to Andheri (East) is a certain Dalip Singh Bali. While his family was also in the automobile business, Bali was a builder by profession. “Bali is the man who constructed the Sher-E-Punjab, Guru Nagar and Shaheed Bhagat Singh colonies in Andheri (East),” says Kohli. He adds that Bali currently resides in the Shaheed Bhagat Singh Colony with his family and is aged 85.

“After sanctioning a 9-acre plot from the Maharashtra government in Chakala, Bali began construction of the colony in 1962,” informs Amarjeet Singh a.k.a. Tony, of the famous Tony Punjab Caterers, adding that the construction was completed in a couple of years. Today, the colony has two wings—North and South—spread over 37,784 square metres. “There are 96 plots housing almost 300 families, mostly Sikhs,” says Tony, adding that almost 90 percent of the original residents are still living here today. The residents also lease out rooms and guest houses to students on a Paying Guest (PG) basis. “Nearly 20 percent of the families host students,” says Sodhi.

As the residents of the colony settled into life in Andheri (East) through the sixties, they set up a school in its premises where their kids could go to in 1970. The Shri Kalgidhar School conducts classes from Junior KG to Class 10 and is affiliated to the Maharashtra Secondary School Certificate (SSC) board. Today, the English-medium school caters to 2000 students annually, most of which are from economically backward families. “The colony’s trust gives scholarships, which are donated by the members, to the needy,” says Bhasin, who also informs with pride that the school has maintained a 100 percent record for all grades ever since its inception.

The Satnam Waheguru Gurudwara located in the colony

The crowning jewel of the colony for the residents is the Gurudwara—a towering structure in the midst of the one-two-storey bungalows and houses. Sanctioned by the trust in 1995, the Gurudwara was constructed in flat 14 months. “This is one of the most spacious and ambient Gurudwaras in Mumbai,” says Sodhi. “Members of the colony donated money as well as materials such wood, cement, etc. for its construction.”

Sodhi adds that the Gurudwara is often leased out for weddings and funerals free of cost. “Other than this, we have doctors—homeopathic and allopathic—who provide free medical care on the spot. We organize free lunches and dinners on festivals such as Guru Nanak Jayanti, Baisakhi, Lohri, etc. Last year, on Guru Nanak Jayanti, we catered to a crowd of 15,000.”  Sodhi also informs that the Gurudwara’ trust is registered with the Charity Commissioner and its members are elected every three years. “Everything is fair and legal,” he quips.

Celebrating its golden jubilee this year, the Shaheed Bhagat Singh Colony has been a “close-knit family” according to its members. Says Bhasin, “We are like a big family; we may fight among ourselves, but that’s just how we are.” Validating the Sardarjis’ love for brash, expletive-ridden jargon, he laughs and says, pointing to Tony, “If I don’t abuse him, then it means I don’t love him!” Adds Kohli rather nostalgically, “But it’s a close-knit family and very smooth running for all these years.”

Whether Andheri (East) will indeed bid goodbye to this close-knit family of Sardarjis is a question that would be answered in the near future. Residents of Chakala are almost dreading the prospect. "It will be really weird if a 1000-odd Sardarjis shift away from the area!" says Prasad Kamath (36), who has lived alongside them in J.B. Nagar all his life. 

I, for one, can only hope that Tony’s restaurant—located a stone’s throw away from the colony—and its delicious kebabs doesn’t disappear along with it.

Strand-ed in the World of Books

Online retail giants such as Flipkart and Amazon may be offering discounts in the range of 25-50% on books, but the Generation Z players are no match for the 63-year-old Strand Book Stall’s annual Book Festival—which offers a minimum discount of 40% and a maximum of…wait for it…80%!

The festival, running from January 5–22 from 10am-8pm everyday, is camped at Sunderbai Hall, near Churchgate Station, where bibliophiles can get lost in, literally, a sea of books with subjects ranging from art, architecture and interiors, philosophy, history, cookery, fiction, sport, classics, poetry, design, film, music, languages, romance, business and management, technology, biographies, comics and children’s books, among others.

“They have a very eclectic collection of books!” exclaimed Frank Braccia, 53, an educational consultant with Goldcrest High School, Vashi. Braccia had come to pick up books for his school’s library and was pleasantly startled by seeing some of the titles on display. “I was quite surprised to find some of the books available here, some which are not even currently publishing,” he said.

The Strand Book Festival is an annual 15-day event in January and has been attracting large crowds ever since its inception in 1998. “We get around 3000 visitors daily at the festival and sell close to 15,000 books per day,” said P.M. Shenvi, Manager, Strand Book Stall, Mumbai. “Our Bangalore branch also organizes a similar festival every October,” he added.

The festival attracts the usual suspects every year. Madhubala Ravitej, 42, has been coming to the festival for the last eight years. She is a member of the Trombay Club in Chembur’s BPCL colony and manages the library of the club. She selects “Rs. 15-20,000-worth of books” for the library, which is funded by the club. Children’s books filled a substantial portion of the three baskets-full of books she picked up at the festival. “Children read a lot! They are our most voracious readers,” said Ravitej, which is a heartening fact in today’s X-Box generation. “I’ve also picked up many cookery books for women and fiction for men,” she added.

C.S. Kavatkar, 75, is one of the oldest customers of Strand Book Stall. He has a personal collection of almost 3000 books and reads about 100 books in a year. “I was always a book lover,” said Kavatkar, a former employee of Abelin Polymers, Nashik. Kavatkar has been coming to Strand for the “last 50 years” and has read books from all genres—from science, to fiction, to art, to finance. He gives praise to Strand for having cultivated his reading habit. “Strand has got the best collection of books,” he remarked. “It’s a pity they don’t have a bigger place,” he added, referring to their store at Fort.

Giving Kavatkar some competition in book-reading was Prof. Rooshikumar Pandya, who packed two cartons-full of books. Pandya, 72, as described by his colleague Milind Nadkarni, is a management expert, trainer and consultant who reads “250-words-a-minute”. He is a regular visitor of the store and spoke highly of its staff. “They are very helpful! They know their books,” he said. Speaking of the variety of books available at the festival, Pandya described it as a “chaos”. “With so many options available, it’s so difficult to select!” he exclaimed with a grin.

It’s not just the old-timers who salivate at the festival. Kids were seen running around the children’s section, asking their more-than-obliging parents to buy them Enid Blyton and Spiderman, while their elder siblings were glued to Harry Potter, Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew.

The birth of Strand Book Stall is truly a remarkable story. It started as a small two-shelved kiosk at the now-defunct Strand Cinema in South Mumbai’s Apollo Bundar area. The man behind it all was a certain Padmashree T.N. Shanbhag, who was the first bookseller in the country to be given the distinction of Padmashree. Shanbhag passed away, at the age of 85, three years ago, but not before passing on the legacy to his two children—Arun Shanbhag and Vidya Virkar.

“My father was a post-Independence child who was fired by a passion of building a nation,” said Virkar. “He was an avid reader as a youngster and used to buy one Penguin (a publisher) a month, which was what he could afford. Once, a salesperson at a bookstore turned him out for browsing, which really humiliated him. This is when he decided to open a bookstall of his own where nobody would be turned away for browsing.”

In 1948, with just Rs. 450 in hand, the 23-year-old Shanbhag—who had studied Economics and History at St. Xaviers’ College, Mumbai—approached K.K. Modi, the owner of Strand Cinema with the idea of opening a small bookstall at the premises. Modi loved the idea and funded for two shelves himself, and the Strand Book Stall came into being. The cinema, at the time, was the only one in Mumbai which showed English films and was frequented by the crème de la crème of the city. “My father interacted with a lot of people, made a lot of friends, learned their likes and dislikes in books and made sure that his customers always got what they desired, for 20% less!” remarked Virkar.

Selling all titles at a minimum discount of 20% is a Strand policy since Day 1 and has been followed ever since. Explaining the reason behind the unique scheme, Virkar said, “Dad was a savvy businessman. He knew that he could not compete with bigger bookstores such as Thakkar or Taraporevala. This is why he decided to give a 20% discount on all purchases, keeping a negligible survival margin for himself.” “He was idealistic to the core,” added Arun Shanbhag. “He carried books on his head and walked from the stall to his home in Tardeo every single day.”

T.N. Shanbhag ran the small kiosk successfully for two decades. However, in 1952, Shanbhag felt he needed to buy a bigger place to sell books due to the increasing popularity and demand. Thus, the Strand Book Stall on Sir Pherozeshah Mehta Road in South Mumbai’s Fort area was born. Although the bookstall at Strand Cinema ceased to exit after the cinema shut down, the Strand Book Stall at Fort has been running successfully to date.

“Over the years, dad managed to educate three generations of India’s people,” said Virkar. “There are countless stories of children who grew up reading from Strand. Dad was very generous towards children. He often allowed them to take books home on approval—without asking for a single Rupee,” she said. “We have suffered thousands of Rupees of losses due to unreturned books,” said Arun. But that was how Shanbhag was. “He related with the children, who came back with a lot of gratitude as they grew older,” said Arun. “This is what a passionate bookseller should be like!” he remarked.

Explaining the inimitable modus operandi of Strand, Arun said, “We are not a charity, nor are we a pure business organization; we are a social organization. If we start making this a commercial enterprise, the whole brand would lose its charm. That is why Strand shines above the rest, because of the commitment to the reader.”

But sustaining such a large enterprise with such generous discounts must hardly be coming with any profits. Manager Shenvi elaborated: “We don’t bother how much we earn. We sell all the latest books at special prices—that’s our standard policy. We have to survive. But whatever we give (sell), we give genuinely. We don’t play any gimmicks.”

Gimmicks or not, the Strand Book Stall became such a big name as the years passed by that Virkar felt it was time they expanded to another city. Virkar started Strand Bangalore, in 1995—at the cusp of the IT boom. “The stall grew with IT, said Virkar. “Narayana Murthy, then-CEO, Infosys, soon became a regular customer. He used to come to the Bombay store as a kid. We were soon invited by Murthy to open stalls at Infosys campuses across the country. Today we have stalls at four Infosys campuses—Bangalore, Mysore, Hyderabad and Pune. We also received an offer from Wipro, Bangalore.” Strand now has seven stalls around the country. However, they do not wish to expand any further for the time being.

The annual Strand Book Festival was the brainchild of Virkar, who started it in Bangalore in 1995. “We wanted to expose more people to Strand. I wanted to bring in more titles at higher discounts. Initially, my dad was very sceptical about the whole idea. But I told him that thousands of people will be exposed to all your titles this way.” Eventually, Shanbhag agreed.

The festival started in Bangalore and grew “exponentially”. Three years later, in 1998, it debuted in Mumbai. Talking about the financial implications due to the huge discounts, Arun said, “We had to tighten our belts. But we knew that we were creating a lot of goodwill. We were not making a loss, but we were barely breaking even. Nonetheless, it did give us great joy!”

Today, according to Shenvi, renting the Sunderbai Hall for the festival costs Rs. 35-40,000-a-day. But Strand continues to hold fort. “Our turnover is more,” explained Shenvi. People wait throughout the year for the festival. Around five-six years back, The Times of India had reported long queues outside the gate for entry.”

However flabbergasting the model is, it works. Strand and their jaw-dropping discounts are here to stay. Online retailers such as Flipkart, who offer luxuries such as free door-to-door delivery, are fast growing in popularity. But as far as Team Strand is concerned, they will last the rise of the machines, so to say. Shenvi reiterated the Shanbhags’ mantra, “We are an institution, not a commercial enterprise.” He added, “We have thousands of well-wishers who will always stand up for us in times of need.”

Branding the online retailers as “short-sighted”, Shenvi said, “They store in bulk, which is why they can offer whatever discounts they are offering. They can afford to lose crores, but we can’t.” Delivering the knock-out punch, he said, “Still, we have better prices than all online stores.”

Prasad Kamath, 35, an IT security consultant and bibliophile, concurs with Shenvi. “I guess it all depends on what kind of a person you are. For me, the touch and feel of the book, the smell of the pages and browsing through the book before buying is very important. An online store cannot provide me that facility.” He added, “Stores such as Strand are like a candy shop for a kid, where you can just go berserk. That feeling is irreplaceable.”

The Strand Book Festival closes doors on Sunday at 8pm for the last time this year. Rush to the candy shop, kids!

Arnala Island

5-Star Chai vs. 5-Rupee Chai

I’m not much of a chai person, I like my coffee. However, I do enjoy a roadside cutting once in a while.

But I was really excited when my group was asked to sip tea as a task—first, from the Trident Hotel at Nariman Point; and then from a roadside tapri at Dharavi (the world's biggest slum area).

Like all JM tasks so far, I hadn’t been to any of these places before, neither had my two teammates. So we gleefully set out on what was bound to be yet another thrilling excursion.

As soon as we reached Andheri Station at 11am, we knew that the five minutes spent in front of the mirror at JM, readying ourselves to enter a five-star hotel, were going down the drain.

11am isn’t exactly a peak hour, but this was Andheri Station after all.

As the Churchgate Fast drew into the platform, passengers began hopping off the still moving train, which is a norm. One chap lost his footing after jumping off and went crashing into another one’s suitcase.

We squeezed into the second class compartment as the duo began describing each other’s mothers and sisters.

Mothers and sisters seemed to be the hot topic in the jam-packed general compartment as we shoved our way through.

The rule of thumb in a crowded general (men’s) compartment is to not come face-to-face (read middle-to-middle) with one another while squeezing through, for obvious reasons.

A young lad who flouted the rule was in for it as he got ridiculed by a clearly testy (excuse the pun) passenger.

The compartment began to clear up after Mumbai Central and we finally got a place to sit for the last 10 minutes of the journey. Drenched in the humidity and sweat, I decided to catch some breeze at the entrance of the compartment.

After getting off at Churchgate, with our shirts clearly crumpled and soaked in sweat, we decided to walk down the breezy Marine Drive to the Trident.

Marine Drive (click to enlarge)

Security was tight in the compound of the hotel, what with the Delhi High Court blast the previous day. It was then that we realized that this wasn’t the best day to visit a five-star hotel in South Mumbai which has been at the brunt of terrorist activity in the past.

We attempted to speak to a security guard who was screening the baggage outside the entrance. He was understandably apprehensive of divulging any information and asked us to speak to his duty manager. When we pressed him further, one of his colleagues came over and shooed us away.

Oh, to be a journalist!

After giving up on the security guards, we entered the main lobby of the hotel. The doorman and the concierge checked us out from head to toe and shot us condescending looks. What are these young ruffians doing here and what will Mr. Donald and Mr. Trump think?

We asked for the café and were guided to this ritzy lounge overlooking Marine Drive, flanked with comfy-looking chairs and couches. We placed ourselves by the window and were silently admiring the ambience of the place when a courtly attendant came to take our order.

The cafe lounge at Trident (click to enlarge)

When all three of us ordered tea, he was kind enough to offer two teas in three cups, seeing as we were students. He asked us to have a look at the breakfast menu on display, which was priced at a cool Rs. 900. We politely declined.

As we waited for our tea to arrive, we silently observed the patrons of the café. There were businessmen dressed in trousers and sports jackets, tourists in tee-shirts and shorts, and Indian families dressed for a wedding.

Whatever the attire of the patrons, it was an atmosphere that spelled out exclusivity.

Even we tried to gel in with the crowd and picked up the International Herald Tribune (priced Rs. 30) and one of the many pink-sheeted newspapers on display.

Our tea soon arrived in what looked like expensive china. All the ingredients were separated and were to be added according to your liking and taste.

The tea was served steaming hot and had a rich aroma. We downed five cups among the three of us, which was more to finish the whole pot, knowing that each drop would cost us no less than Rs. 50! But, it was good tea, nonetheless.

The attendant then came up and asked us how the tea was. After giving him a positive feedback, we chatted with him a little.

His name was Ravi Shankar (sans the Shri Shri) and he hailed from Kerala. He revealed that he was the senior supervisor of the joint and made Rs. 40,000 per month—a respectable amount. The 52-year-old travelled from Powai every day to the Trident. He was pretty amicable to us ruffians, unlike some of the hotel’s other employees.

We asked him if we could talk to some of the other patrons of the café. He refused, saying that it would disturb their privacy.

After thanking Mr. Shankar for his hospitality, and footing a Rs. 300 bill for a pot of what was, apparently, Assam Tea, we walked over to the reception, hoping to catch someone who was willing to talk.

We were met with the same reply dished out to us by the security guards—Talk to the duty manager. This chap was nowhere to be seen.

We let ourselves out of the hotel, a little flustered with the cold, inhospitable attitude tossed at us by majority of the hotel’s employees. But we could understand their stance, which was coming from a purely precautionary motive.

We saw a Gucci store in the premises of the hotel. Hoping to find some candidness in there, we walked in.

We were greeted by a smiling, pretty, young girl whose face was covered with 15 layers of makeup. After introducing ourselves, she willingly took us around the store, describing the products and sections on display.

The store was chic and oozed with elegance and class. The products and the fashion line was swankly displayed and made you want to try something on. Some of the tee-shirts were very modish, so I checked the label for the price. It took an admirable effort on my part to prevent my jaw from dropping after reading “Rs. 15,500” on the tag.

The young store-attendant, Natasha Andrews, told us that the store was frequented by many Indians, including the crème-de-la-crème of Mumbai. Surprisingly, very few foreigners visited the store.

Ms. Andrews was a little surprised when we asked her questions about herself, and not the brand. She only revealed that she was 25 years of age and worked there as a fashion consultant. Thanking her, we promised to put in a good word about Gucci.

We left the store admiring the elite culture in South Bombay, or SoBo. It wasn’t as if we never had an idea about it. It’s just that we underestimated their affluence, which could pay for a Rs. 900 breakfast and a Rs. 15,000 tee-shirt.

After grabbing a quick lunch near Churchgate station, we headed towards Dharavi for the second leg of our task.

We were asked to find a Papadwali chawl in Dharavi and have chai from a nearby roadside stall.

On reaching the Sion-Bandra Link Road, which is on the outskirts of Dharavi, we stepped into Dharavi’s main Police Station to ask for directions. A kind, old policeman instructed us on how to reach the heart of Dharavi.

We followed his directions and soon found ourselves in one of the narrow lanes of Dharavi. We spotted another small Police Chowki and asked for specific directions to Papadwali chawl.

The policemen there told us that there wasn’t any chawl by that name. However, there were chawls where people, more specifically women, laid out papads in the sun to dry.

Assuming it was the same place, we followed their directions deeper into Dharavi.

One of the first points of difference from the first leg that struck us, other than, obviously, the surroundings, was the accommodating and cooperative attitude of the people.

From the policemen to shopkeepers to random pedestrians, everyone took a personal interest in helping us find the way. We could see that it was a genuine desire in them that wanted to help us and not any monetary motive.

We soon spotted a few papads laid out on inverted baskets in the sun to dry. We followed their trail deeper into the Dharavi until we reached the house of Mr. Anil Karpe.

Papads kept out to dry (click to enlarge)

Mr. Karpe, 47, works at Omega Engineering in Andheri East and earns Rs. 7000 per month. His wife rolls out papads the whole day to make ends meet.

Mr. Karpe informed us that papad companies like Lijjat and RK supply the dough to housewives across Dharavi and collect the finished product at the end of the day. They pay Rs. 26 per kg as a standard rate across the area.

Mr. Karpe said that one kg could encompass 90 small papads and 64 big papads. Since his wife wasn’t in the house at the time, he took us across to his neighbour’s house where three women were rolling out papads.

Ambika Devi, one of the women, said she rolls out 5-7kgs of papads every day to make ends meet. The 23-year-old’s day starts at 6am every day and ends at around 11pm. After finishing the household chores by 10am, she sits making papads till 5pm and then gets back to managing the house. She is helped by her mother-in-law and her sister-in-law in making the papads and said that she earns around Rs. 200 as profit each day for her efforts.

Mrs. Devi then showed us how they used a stove to dry the papads in the monsoon when there isn’t enough sunlight.

Papads being dried by a  stove

After thanking Mrs. Devi, we chatted with Mr. Karpe some more. He informed us that many such households do not have a man to fend for the family. He said that many men lost their lives to alcohol, fights and the likes, and left it to the women to make ends meet. Ms. Devi’s was one such household.

We thanked Mr. Karpe for his warmth and hospitality, and left the premises with a satisfied, yet stunned, look on our faces.

As we sipped a refreshing five-rupee chai at a nearby stall to complete our task, we reflected on the number of times we had enjoyed a Lijjat papad, unaware of the arduous, monotonous, and highly unyielding labour and sacrifice that goes behind it.

The difference between a five-star chai and a five-rupee chai was almost insignificant compared to the experience of observing two extreme lifestyles in this baffling city of Mumbai.

Get Lost on Mohammad Ali Road

To complete the last leg of Task 2, we hopped on a train from Dadar Central to Masjid, which brought us near South Mumbai’s famous Mohammad Ali Road.

Known for its famous eateries, Mohammad Ali Road was buzzing with activity as iftaar time (during Ramzan) approached .

Restaurants were preparing their iftaar menu, people were busy buying clothes and gifts for Eid, children were already stocking up their firecrackers for Diwali, porters manning huge wheelbarrows full of cargo were yelling at people to get out of the way, cars were doing the same with their horns—there was just so much going on!

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One of the porters who was balancing two huge sacks on his head, accidentally dropped one of them on the ground. A passer-by was quick to comment, "Samaan gira, aadmi nahi gira! Bohot na-insaafi hai!"

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As we made our way down the noisy street, we noticed a young boy, no older than 14, sitting outside a hair stylist saloon. When asked his name, the boy was reluctant to provide it to us. After finally coaxing out “Ali Shaikh” from the boy and the fact that he worked as a hair stylist, we asked him his age. The boy gave us an apprehensive look and said, “20.” At this point, some of his older colleagues from the saloon had gathered around. We then asked him his monthly income. Before the boy could say anything, one of his colleagues said, “Rs. 4000.” We thanked them and walked away, wondering whether the boy actually earned that much and how long would it be before he turns 20.

Even though Mohammad Ali Road is a predominantly Muslim area, we did see a few non-Muslims wandering around. Some non-Muslims even work here, like Shambhu Yadav, who runs a nuts stall.

Yadav, 18, hails from Jaunpur in Uttar Pradesh and stays in Jogeshwari. He travels the 30kms to Mohammad Ali Road every day to sell nuts, and speaks Hindi and English.

We then noticed a young couple buying chappals at a small vendor. We approached the woman and introduced ourselves. When we asked her name, the woman remained silent and just stared at us blankly. Her husband then butted in and gave us his name—Amin Kohari.

Mr. Kohari said that he was an electrical contractor and was 23 years of age. Further questioning revealed that the Koharis hailed from Badlapur near Mumbai and come to Mohammad Ali Road often to do their shopping.

Throughout this time, Mrs. Kohari was as silent as a grave. But her expression was one of apprehension and diffidence. She was longing to have her say.

We walked away from Mohammad Ali Road with an astounded look on our face, silently admiring the medleys of people in Mumbai. 

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