Holding fort.
On a request from a dear friend, I went ahead with this walk even though I had one scheduled the very next day. Her cousin was visiting the city from stateside and she was keen that I introduce them to not just the city but the country as well.
We started off from Churchgate station making our way past the maidans that once were the first line of protection for the erstwhile fort. Stopping briefly at the Bhikha Behram well, I outlined the story of how the Parsees came to India and over the centuries contributed to the country invaluably far beyond the numbers of their miniscule community. The buildings on the Esplanade were meant to be monuments to the Raj, coming up when the fort walls were demolished, and were imposing in a Victorian Gothic style. The Art Deco buildings when they initially came up a century later on the other side of the Oval were quite uncharitably described by one of the city fathers as a set of ugly dentures on the face of a beautiful woman.
But the vision of the town planners was borne out when the entire precinct got the UNESCO World Heritage tag for the "ensemble of Victorian Gothic and Art Deco buildings of Bombay" and as we view them they complement each other beautifully.
We came upon the site of the original Church gate, now no more after the fort walls were razed. In its place was a fountain erected in memory of the governor under whose rule the city broke past the fort walls.
We walked through the centre of the city the line that demarcated the Native and European quarters stepping into the St. Thomas cathedral, now more than 300 years old, that was the zero point from where all distances to the city were calculated, incidentally lending it’s name to the church gate as well.
After spending some time in it’s solitude, enlightened by the memorials lining the floor and walls, that included not just the archbishop of Bath, but a Brahmin too, we came out rejuvenated. We walked around the Horniman circle, formerly named after the governor Elphinstone, and before that the site of the Bombay green, which was the forerunner of the Bombay stock exchange, whose adjacent skyscraper touched lofty heights just like the index.
Venturing a little further we saw the quaint red building that housed the oldest continuously published newspaper in Asia, 200 years and counting, the mint of a similar vintage, and the town hall, Asiatic society, and central library which was once the most important building in the city. It was from those grand steps that proclamations were announced, and within it’s vault lay rare treasures like one of the few extant copies of Dante’s divine comedy, which Mussolini was prepared to pay a million dollars for.
We retraced our steps to enter Sabyasachi, and were literally stunned by the sheer visual overload. I had visited it barely a month earlier, so knew what was in store, but couldn’t help being awestruck by the blue pottery vases, plush carpets, intricate paintings, mirrors, chandeliers and other pieces of art tastefully arranged around the premises, taking time to read the plaques that detailed his humble beginnings too.
By the time we exited it was almost noon, and just to digest what we had witnessed stepped into the nearby military restaurant for a bit of Brun muska chai. Another snippet of the Iranis seeking asylum in India at the turn of the twentieth century followed before we resumed our peripatetic ways this time proceeding to kala ghoda where the southern gate of the fort was situated along Rampart row. We stood by the shade, and I quickly detailed the history of buildings.in the precinct that is the heart of the city’s best loved art festival just a month from now. Starting from the wayside inn where the constitution took shape, rhythm house where we used to get our fix of western tunes but of late shuttered after being sold to a controversial diamantare , Khyber which has modern art masterpieces on its walls, the Rajabai tower which is a monument of a sons affection for his blind mother, the Watsons hotel which though barely standing was once the finest in town, the army and navy building which my father’s generation got wartime treats, the David Sassoon library detailing the significant contribution of the Jews to philanthropy the cityscape, Elphinstone college that predated the university, and finishing at the Jehangir Art gallery which believe it or not has a waiting list for aspiring artists that stretches for almost a decade. I gave my captive audience the spiel on these buildings that were an intricate part of history, almost breaking the speed limit for verbosity in the process. We took a breather to step within the Jehangir Art gallery, before concluding my tour with a dekho of the CSMVS (one of the best examples of the indo saracenic style of architecture that for the early years of its existence functioned as a war hospital), through the windows of the erstwhile Samovar which was the chai ka adda for most of the stalwarts of the Bombay Art group, cutting short the mornings roundabout with a last minute flourish. Though I’d done the route many times before, there were enough revelations to sustain my enthusiasm and stoke that of a first time visitor, making them thirst for more.
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