Book Review: Once Was Bombay

Captioned as a compelling portrayal of a dying city, the author Pinki Virani, in the back page summary of "Once was Bombay", lays her forthrightness on the line

"Who killed Bombay, once India's trend-setting city and commercial capital? its politicians or its underworld? When did this city of gold turn into a cemetery of dead souls and dreams?"

With lines like this, Pinki sounds like a nay-sayer denying Mumbai of its share of glory, and wanting me to distance myself from this book. Umpteen times before have different city dwellers compared today's Mumbai to the Bombay of yore. And while it's great to reflect on past days of glory, what is hugely overlooked that the modern ways of living, travelling, eating and enjoying are here to stay, so it would matter more if we think around what we can do to make our lives better given the existing framework.

Nevertheless, with an unsure mind I began reading the book. The preface started out with a scathing write up of how each one of us have made ourselves into an island neglecting the vast seas of the city surrounding us, all the time fattening ourselves and our purses and letting the city go into a rot. And while she does warn that like the island of Mauritius, the waters will definitely rise one day robbing us of everything that we have worked so hard to build, she also sets the tone that it is still not too late to turn back and save the city. After the 26/11 strikes on Mumbai a warning like this does sound sound enough. And with a heavy heart and reflections on how I have been neglecting the city all my living years here, I turned the page to further stories.

The book comprises of three novellas and four short stories, to be read as stand-alone or inter-linked pieces (the stories are interlinked in their themes, contexts and surprisingly they are even interlinked by a song "Goli Maar Bheje Mein, Dhichkyaon" from the RGV cult classic "Satya"). What's also interesting is that the book sings paeans to the honest officials in the Mumbai Police department, starting with Vijay Salaskar. If I had read this story before 26/11 probably I would not have known who Salaskar is, and it would not have made a deep imprint in my mind. But when Salaskar mentions about the perils of his thankless job, it strikes a chord somewhere in my mind. It's a sad and sorry tale that we learn to respect an individual's contribution to the society and world at large, only after his death.

Moving on, sadly the first chapter "Crime and Punishment" is probably the weakest link in the entire chain of stories. I had almost put the book aside after I read the story. There were too many thoughts muddled in a single paragraph and too many grammatical errors to ignore. It looked like when she started writing, she began writing with fire, and did not pause to rephrase and correct herself when the fire died down. Sample this. "The man shot is Vallabh Thakkar, known to appease all kinds of gangsters as long as he could continue putting up his buildings. Manish Shah is aware of this, so when Vallabh Thakkar suggests he develop a portion of land, Manish is hesitant." I found the mix of present and past tenses confusing. The story is about how real estate in Mumbai is controlled by the land mafia, and how it is out of bounds for the common man to get into real estate business. A respectable couple of friends who run a construction business make a brief foray into real estate development. But they are wound up in the web of deceit laid by the mafiadom in the form of squatters, thugs, killers and kidnappers. Almost immediately the two men are caught up in this web which ends tragically for one of them. Virani provides plentiful, fascinating background about the Bombay dons -- Arun Gawli, Chota Rajan, Dawood Ibrahim -- and their rise to power.

Thankfully, I survived my initial reaction and survived the remaining book, and how. I finished reading the remaining portion in a single sitting, it was THAT interesting. The second story, "Mazagon, Bombay-10" (Reminds me of how Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, has used Dilli-6 as the title for his new movie which is based in Chandni Chowk, Delhi) is a gentle, rambling story, and autobiographical to a large extent. Pinki Virani grew up in Mazagon, in a Muslim family. Her father ran a glass and crockery shop in Bhendi Bazaar, and her mother's ancestors were originally Parsis who converted to Islam a few generations earlier. The story describes the history of Mazagon, the migration patterns of the Parsi community, the present scenario, the lives of the daughters and women-folk and the effect of the 92/93 riots on this largely Muslim area. This story alone compelled me to finish the rest of the book. Here is a brief excerpt from the story depicting how that part of the city got its name.

"Surfacing like Bombay's six other islands as a dense combination of fish shit and rotting palms, was Machcha grama or the village of fish, Matsyagram in Sanskrit. [It also began to be called] Maazghar, or the central portion of the house, or the centre of the seven islands [of Bombay]. The British anglicized it to Mazgon, the Prasis called it Mazagon, the Gujaratis and Ismailis named it Majgaum and the Marathis, Maazagaon, their village. When the natives left the predominantly British high-walled fort area to settle on the outskirts, in adjoining islands, the Christians built a little village within Mazagon for their parents, and they called it simply that, The Village; the rest of Mazagon referred to it as Mhatarpacady, the quarter of the elderlies"

"Salvage, Savage" which is another novella is also an interesting story. It's largely about Pakya, a thug who is moving up the ranks, and Chhagan Bujbal who she sees as the only honest politician around. The peeks into Pakya's life are irresistible -- his purple cellphone, his actress girlfriend, his background. Chhagan Bhujbal's tirade seemed very unconvincing and discontenting. But, Chhagan Bhujbal? Yeah right! And while she names every other politician by name, she does not name Bal, Raj or Uddhav Thackeray by name. Guess finally even she wanted to save her pretty face from being blackened.

The other stories "C'mon Barbie...", "...Let's go party" (she connects the stories with the titles too), "A Modern Morality tale", "The Lala in Winter" are all well written and provide very interesting tidbits about the city we live in. The book is classified as "a non fiction, rich in memories and insights", and sometimes it becomes difficult to point out how much is fiction and how much is true. But to be fair to Pinki, she has done a great deal of historical delving, to provide the reader as complete a picture as probably possible. The language of the book is a bit terse, especially when she writes in the tones of the localites (Bambaiyya Hindi, replete with names like Salim Sandaasiya), even the English is the local mix mash of English, Hindi and Marathi ('She would think like that only, na?'). The book is an absolute delight for anyone who has lived in Mumbai for a while, and are interested in the underbelly of the city.