Chowpatty Cinemascopic

A Blog begun years ago as a stroll on the Funny Side of Serious Street, highlighting India's problems. Revived by adding memories of old Bombay, including excerpts from Dreams of One Country.

Chowpatty Cinemascopic

(Old Bombay Tour; Excerpt 5 - from Dreams of One Country)

Norman's Dad was seriously ill. The circumstances were such that he had to collect the money urgently needed for his father's treatment from Priya Jha on Chowpatty Beach...when the Jhas took their Ganpati for immersion on the final day of the festival...

Overcast bay. A warm afternoon. From Marine Drive’s embankment he saw families taking smaller idols to Chowpatty, avoiding the later crowds. In the piled rocks and concrete tetrapods behind him crabs scurried like last minute shoppers. In front of Priya’s apartment building across the Drive a procession was lining up. Minutes past 5 a chorus of ‘Ganpati-bappa Moriya!’ signalled the groups were moving. Fireworks rattled and boomed. Norman crossed a divider hedge to join the spectators.

A brass band in orange Ruritanian tunics led the way towards a street crossing. A lejim team followed, performing the dance-drill to the jhing-jhing-jhing of chains of small cymbals. Next came men jigging to film tunes played by a trio on the shehnai and drums. Some of the dancers - one, the most conspicuous, a fat man wearing a red bush-shirt - flung themselves around with tipsy abandon. He suspected they were the goondahs. A flower-draped cart drawn by Brahma bulls carried the idol. Among the men walking behind the cart he identified Priya’s husband and father-in-law. Uncleji, a heavy-built man, had a mane of shoulder-length hair. Rajinder’s flowing silk kurta added to his Hindi actor looks. Cars for the family party came last. He saw Priya enter a dark blue Mercedes at the rear. Norman read its number plate and walked away.

He found a vantage seat on the first floor of a glassed restaurant near Chowpatty footbridge. The machinery-like throbbing of drums on the beach did not abate a moment. Clouds hid the setting sun and huge idols - a generation of golden giants - rode above the concourse. Reflections of neon ads on Malabar Hill pulsed in the tides of a darkening bay. Boats were taking bigger idols out into deeper water. Norman spotted the Jhas’ Mercedes under the footbridge. He gulped his cold drink and got up.

He pushed past busy food stalls to the klieg-lit entry point for processions. Human rivers flowed up and down Sandhurst Bridge, the main procession route. Banners on trucks announced where each idol came from. Perched on top of a van, two Japanese aimed a movie camera at a dancing idol from Kamatipura, a red-light area. The gaggle of girls on board, their lips paan-reddened, shrieked in delight. Norman stayed at a safe distance as the Jhas went down the ropeway. On the open beach people eddied in disorder. The Jha procession stopped near the sea. Norman squeezed through spectators to a rope held up in a circle. The four-foot idol sat on a low stool in the glare of a petromax lamp. A Brahmin priest was about to begin the final pooja. Priya stood in a group of women, her blue sari vivid against a ruby west. Nalini was in her arms. A woman’s reedy voice rose in a chant. Others joined in, some clapping, some clinking little cymbals. Spectators surged forward. Norman struggled to hold his place.

When the jostling stopped Priya was no longer in the circle. Norman worked his way out and glimpsed her at a tableau of idols from the R.K. Film Studio. But by the time he reached the RK truck she was out of sight. Frantic, he turned around, caught a glimpse of blue in the press between two parked trucks and rushed on. Norman saw Nalini gazing at a three-headed Brahma. He touched Priya’s arm. ‘Sweetheart?’

She swung around. Her cheeks looked pale, flatter. ‘Oh Norman! He…he wants a divorce,’ she said breathlessly. ‘With Auntyji’s help he cooked stories about me. And Uncleji found his son was wasting company funds. Gambling. Making movies with a friend. I’m certain Uncleji will take us away. I’ll write to you, my love. Don’t know what the future is. I hope they don’t harass Papa-Aaee any more.’

For moments he gazed at her. ‘Baby, we’re meant for each other. We’ll surely find an answer. It may take some time.’

‘Other thing…I don’t know when it happened. Whether it was my last visit or…I wasn’t careful earlier. The nausea began. I got the test done at Goregaon. We have a baby, my love.’

‘Hell!’ he blurted out. ‘I’ll find a doctor tomorrow. Go for an abortion.’

‘Papa knows a good doctor at Goregaon. Only if there’s no choice. I’ll see if I…’

‘What choice, baby? Just do it! Abort it!’

‘Are you sure? Norman, I want to keep our baby.’

‘No, sweetie. No. You’ve enough trouble already. We’ll have kids later. ’

Priya pressed his hand to her belly, warm over a new life. ‘I’ll miss you.’ From her bag she gave him a manila package. ‘Forty. I’ll go now, my love.’

He tucked the package under his vest. His lips brushed her hair as she turned. She gasped. Her hip knocked against him. Arms came around from behind and held him. He got a hooch stench. A thick voice ordered: ‘Chup-chap chalo!’ (Come quietly!)

He reacted instinctively, turning to make more room. A fist scythed back crotchward. The man behind gurgled, releasing Norman. He turned and saw Red Shirt bent over. Ten feet away Priya’s husband was closing in, yelling at the men: ‘Behnchod ko choddo math!’ (Don’t let the s…er escape!)  Two hooch-filled goondahs tried to grab Norman. His fist went for a crotch, a knee for the other. The men clutched their middles, groaning. Norman plumped down and crawled under the near truck. He rose on the other side and ran straight into a procession boiling out of the entry route. Behind him he heard cries of ‘Chor! Chor! Pickpocket!’ Invitation for a Bombay public lynching! Norman ran to the other side of a truck chugging towards the street - to get out of sight of his pursuers. He made sure the package was inside his vest and clambered on the footboard. A funny thought traipsed by: Where did I learn to go for the balls? The tension eased a bit. A boy grinned out from the truck’s cab and smeared Norman’s face with vermilion dust.     

The truck wobbled like a toy in the ploughed-up sand near the street. It crossed the Drive. Norman jumped off into the pavement crowds. Police whistles blew and halted the flow to and from Chowpatty. Don’t tangle with the cops, he warned himself. They’re out in force. In the mass of people waiting on the beach side he noted Red Shirt. The man pointed across at him. Norman walked past reserve policemen idling on the steps of Aram Restaurant. The dark huddle of Wilson College loomed ahead. At the corner he turned into the deserted street to his right and sprinted. He went past Bhavan’s College. Huffing for breath, he leaned on a postbox and waved out at taxis. One stopped. He got in and dusted the vermilion from his face and clothes. Both the knees were bleeding, his trousers torn. His fingers rubbed a bruise on the forehead.

At Himalay he found the house locked. He went up to get the spare key from the Lawsons. Cynthia opened the door. Her jaw dropped on seeing him. I must be a horrible sight, he thought. Norman told her briefly about the trouble at Chowpatty. Cy was biting her lip, as though she would cry any moment. She came downstairs with him. He washed up. She helped him apply antiseptic on the cuts.

‘Cy, I got the money for Dad’s operation. The big worry now is what’ll happen to Priya. Her husband saw us together.’ He glanced at Cy. She was rubbing her eyes.

‘Oh-h-h!’ Cynthia sobbed out. ‘It’s no use, Norman. It’s all over!’

The second stroke had happened about the time Norman was at the beach restaurant. Dad had not come out of a coma.

*

Of the funeral day what he retained most was the unremitting pain. Several hundred people paid their respects to Dad. Before they left for the cemetery Norman sent everyone out of the drawing room except close family. He studied the familiar facial features and felt his father’s old abdominal operation scars, hoping to burn them into memory. If at least I’d held Dad in my arms at the end, he thought. But I wasn’t even there. He placed his face on the lifeless chest. His tears flowed on his father.

*

Tail Lights

India Cinemascopic

Check out Dreams of One Country on Amazon.com. If the novel's Revolutionary Theme - the March to a NewIndia - appeals to you, you can download it on any device: I phones, pads or computers. In the 21st Century story youth lead India's people to unite as Ek Desh (One Country), to strive together and build an enlightened and truly modern nation