While on the one hand I was delighted that the state body was actually looking in the right direction to find remedies for their rather un-envious to-do list when it comes to getting it right with redevelopment projects, on the other hand, I was pained to learn that another prominent landmark building of Matunga’s once-impressive streetscape was going to be razed to the ground. Matunga was a part of my college life; the wonder years, as I’d like to remember it, and these quaint buildings bore witness to bunking hours, endless addas in one of the many Udipi eateries that had spoilt us for choice [read: we could pick any place, from extravagant to VFM, depending on our pocket money status], and gallivanting around its tree-lined gullies and public gardens. These silent bystanders of my growing up years were like that favourite aunt or uncle who was always in my corner, quietly smiling as I took the knocks in my stride, and then some more.

Of course, back in the day, I didn’t realise its immense historic relevance in context to the city’s heritage. Complimented by the Parsi and Hindu Colonies that stood on the other end of this mini ecosystem that we witnessed every passing day for those five years, these buildings gave Matunga a definite identity, as I eventually came to realise during my days of research for a book. As the decades rolled over, and redevelopment raised its inevitable [and if I might add, unpleasant] head across the city, I began to watch, and with a lot of helplessness, as these building blocks from before began to tumble, one by one. I remember noticing this massive change for the first time at a reunion with a few close friends about five years after graduation. A few eye-catching vintage buildings and their gorgeous looking balconies [yes…that would be a delightful pastime – where we would pick our favourite one!] were no longer in their spot. Instead, we spotted a glasshouse monstrosity rising skyward, leaving the green cover way below. It was almost as if it was poking a face at us seated by the corner café, as we dunked our khari into the cutting chai—a staple from our college years that had thankfully survived this metamorphosis.

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As the decades passed, this transformation has continued at a relentless pace with zero investment or desire to retain at least a part of its original aesthetics. A walk down Bhandarkar Road from Matunga Station, towards King’s Circle, or even if you take a detour towards Napoo Garden, or Podar and Ruia College, will be a difficult one to complete without feeling a lump in the throat. Even the famous ‘katta’ that lines Matunga Gymkhana underwent a kind of unrecognisable transformation a while ago; it now mostly caters to customers at the many kiosks that serve greasy Chinese and desi fare along that footpath, or some such.

The recent news that the Bhanujyoti building was going to be razed touched a raw nerve. We particularly remember the tiny secondhand bookseller occupant who saved us with his affordable ‘guidebooks’, and Relax, the cutesy corridor of air-conditioned comfort that operated in the same address as Arya Bhavan does now, and was famous for its crispy fried idlis. More such nondescript yet key landmarks of the neighbourhood that dot this stretch are bound to meet the same fate, and we’ll continue to watch with disappointment, when we head there for our next reunion. But apart from using this sacred column space to recall the memories of Matunga’s glorious past, the worrying sign is that right under our nose another slice of this city’s rich, layered and diverse urban heritage has been lost forever. And no one seems to be complaining.

mid-day’s Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city’s sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana
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