The Bombay we knew, loved and held close to our hearts has long begun its descent into a place devoid of charm and character
Our coastlines are being demolished to make it easier for people with cars to go around faster. File pic
I avoid getting into arguments about which Indian city is best. They pop up now and again whenever I visit another place and are inadvertently put forth by people who don’t live in Bombay. I avoid these arguments because there isn’t one. To spend more than a year in Bombay is to know the answer to that question and laugh at anyone naïve enough to suggest otherwise.
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My reason for avoiding that argument has changed over the past couple of years though. It is now something I step away from because every trip I make to this city leaves me with a deepening sense of despair. It isn’t just the unending traffic jams or crumbling infrastructure; it’s the things that crop up to enforce some bureaucrat’s version of modernity that rankle the most.
Take the metro or monorail, for instance, those shiny tubes weaving in and around dusty flyovers. On the one hand, they herald faster commutes and better connectivity. To take a closer look, however, is to be confronted by the horror and ugliness left in their wake. There are roads below those suspended rails that will never be the same, and communities that have forever lost their colour. The presence of a metro has undeniably made life easier for a lot of people. What it hasn’t done is respect the city’s character.
I often wonder who the Bombay of tomorrow is meant for. If it is for those who have lived here all their lives, there wouldn’t be any reason to tear everything down and replace it with something ugly. Why would neighbourhoods that have stayed untouched for a century be torn down to give way to a mall? Why would old suburbs start to have the same kind of high-rises and branded stores, with every sign that once made them so distinct systematically erased by real estate lobbies and other vested interests?
We have departments in government supposedly dedicated to the preservation of Bombay’s cultural landmarks. Why, then, does it seem as if everything that once made this city beautiful starts to disappear as if under cover of night every other year?
Our coastlines are being demolished to make it easier for people with cars to go around faster. What about the millions who don’t drive? Must they watch the sea shrink further and further away from their line of sight because someone, somewhere, lands a massive road development contract?
Parts of our city are now being labelled Upper Cuffe Parade or Lower Cuffe Parade, Upper Juhu or Lower Khar, by people who don’t know anything about those localities. These names are being pasted upon areas by marketing folk, solely to make them more attractive to people who can afford apartments in more high-rises.
Look at the high-rises themselves, those featureless structures rising one after the other at the edges and tight corners of our city, plunging more and more buildings and streets around them into darkness, offering sunlight and air only to those who can afford those inflated zeroes per square foot. What happens to those condemned to live in areas increasingly highlighted as prime real estate, as their homes crumble and they are priced out of the places they were born and raised in? Where do they go in a city that no longer cares about anyone without a massive bank balance?
To look at Bombay from the air, today, is to see a city choking at the seams, its slums making deeper inroads into land and mangroves that have traditionally kept us all from being swallowed by the sea. No one appears to care about climate change and what this potentially means for communities that have grown up alongside the ocean for generations. To look at Bombay from the road, today, is to see a city that has long given up the pretence of respecting heritage or history. Anything that is deemed old is at risk of being destroyed, because all we care about are new restaurants, new bars, and new places to shop.
Walk or drive through any area you think you know, and try recalling what it was like when you first set eyes on it. Ask yourself if the place before you today is better, using any parameters you deem fit. Everything that once made our city so special is disappearing before our eyes, because there aren’t enough of us invested in the act of saving it. There will come a time when we won’t even remember what we have lost.
When he isn’t ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.
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