k h a r

What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and, returning to the world of our daily experience, to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that it has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry
Matsuo Basho, 1644-1694

Century old woodwork creaks underfoot as 3 generations of Pereira's talk of love, family and lives inextricably linked to a Khar that has seen them grow up and that they might just see die.

East Indians who aren't from the east, in a 2-storied house built in 1893, in a village of palms and white crosses and clotheslines in the middle of Bombay, this family is as far away from, and close to, what makes Khar.

Over Coke, the grey haired siblings ~ Ursulla, Ottie, Mavis, Bellie and Denis ~ tell me of how far back they, and their village, go. Named after the Marathi word for the salty seawater that bordered it, Khari village as it was called would later turn into the heavily built-up and commercialised suburb of Mumbai. There were fields then, and mangoes and white flowers grown and sold. S V Road was a 10-foot wide Ghorbunder road and the lane outside their house was so narrow that the arms of the stone cross in the middle would be knocked around whenever a truck passed by, so it wouldn't ever be facing the same side for very long. The municipality finally moved it to the side, outside where Archer and his band now play.

Converted in the 16th century, the villagers had the advantage of speaking English, and were employed by the British East India Company. They've called themselves East Indians ever since. They're found in little pockets all over the city, from Matharpakadi to Parel, Kavel to Juhu, and in Kotachiwadi, the south Mumbai settlement that has been the focus of high profile, and sometimes elitist, restoration and heritage awareness efforts that have ignored Khar even as shops replace large swaths of the village. Residents are selling out, unable to maintain large houses. At the Pereira's, planks of teak below me haven't been polished for the last 30 years. A builder would pay crores, and make lives, for this kind of real estate. The village is dying.

Still, the atmosphere isn't sombre. The people, and Khar, are adapting. The Pereira's are genuinely happy, in a way that could only come from an incredible strength of identity, a sense of self. They've grown up here, just like their forefathers. Home isn't a native place to journey to, it is here, and now. They've known their neighbours for generations. They have a large and close family that gets together at the house every New Year's day for prayer and food and cheer. They eat well, and rave about the famous Lonvas curry that that they make with their legendary Bottle Masala, with its 27 ingredients that are put together and stored in beer bottles for the rest of the year. There is an incredible humanity here.

They invited me into their house as I pottered around the lane looking for character in Khar, and we parted friends, with invitations to come over again, soon.

< Previous   Next >



© 2001–2008 p i n a k i