Pesi was hugely irritated with the
untimely ringing of bells in St. Joseph’s Church, on the outskirts of the Dadar
Parsi Colony (DPC). His complaints to the Archbishop of Bombay went unheeded.
Pesi then wrote to His Holiness, the Pope himself, who wrote a personal reply
to an elated Pesi. The bells rang less and the famous railing of DPC’s Five
Gardens instantly christened him Pesi Pope. The truth of this implausible story
will be verified by almost all senior citizens of DPC.
The railing, in its heydays, was
imposing, cruel, funny and unsparing. The rally driver causing his terrified
passengers to involuntarily relieve themselves in the Fiat, when being driven
to Lonavala after midnight in an hour and quarter (remember there was no
Expressway then) was called ‘Rocket’. The kind hearted, podgy manager of the
Central Bank of India, (Khodadad Circle branch) was called ‘Bun pao’. A Mae
West look alike was ‘Nagoo Doll’. There was a ‘Bafaat’ and a ‘Mike’ and a
‘Chocolate’. Almost none escaped the mandatory rechristening a la Anthony Burgess’ dystopian novel – A Clockwork Orange. There were three or four
railings but ‘Lakhan ni railing’ was
the meeting point for authentic ‘Aandas’
(an untranslatable expression for crude, unsophisticated louts and loutees)
every evening. Nothing was sacrosanct and no reputation remained unscathed.
Every eccentricity was celebrated and every idiosyncrasy pilloried.
Expletives were as ubiquitous as
pigeons. Even inanimate objects like the daily newspaper, a bottle of milk or a
cricket bat were routinely accused of having illicit relationship with their
close female relatives. The Dadar Parsi was tough, macho and not exactly
sophisticated. And they all were and are obsessively fond of their bikes and
their Colony.
The Colony, of course, being a
collection of unconnected 100 odd plots, most with a ground and three storeyed
building, having a single commonality – the Parsis-only covenant. This covenant
was legally challenged in a bitterly fought litigation in the Bombay City Civil
Court many decades ago. The Parsi Central Association (PCA) succeeded in
upholding the covenant (thanks to the brilliance of noted lawyer, Nadir Modi,
who appeared gratis and a somewhat sympathetic Judge Rego). DPC also has
several non-covenanted plots, mostly of Parsi ownership.
Much against our liberal
instincts, we must confess that this covenant has helped in preserving the quaint
DPC sub-culture, notwithstanding that the Parsi-only buildings are now
sandwiched between cosmopolitan apartments, after most have been mounted upon
by additional floors on stilts.
As is inevitable, in the
covenanted buildings, Parsis have married non-Parsis and we understand that
there are around 20 flats having non-Parsi spouses and children. What is
jarring, is, that the PCA has recently begun to flex its muscle against Parsi
women introducing their non-Parsi husbands and children, into these covenanted
flats. PCA’s policies are counter productive and may well backfire, if one of
these aggrieved ladies challenges once again the validity of the covenant, in
the changed circumstances. The hotheads in PCA should be counselled by saner
elements, like the venerable Mithoo Jesia, not to rake up an unnecessary
controversy.
Like all Parsi institutions, the
once bristling and strident DPC is fast mellowing. When we came to reside in
one of the buildings (non-covenanted, of course), two decades ago, the warm and
popular Yezdi Daruwalla (who soon died young and much mourned) informed us that
DPC was a very secure place (‘before you can scream ‘chor, chor’, men with
sticks will rush out of their houses’). All that has disappeared. Most have a
look of resignation around them. Of course, DPC does come alive during the
Jamshedi Navroze spring festival, and if you are keen to hear authentic,
original Parsi, and almost lyrical, abuse, you can still visit the Dadar Parsi
Gymkhana (a worthy competitor to the Dadar Parsis in this field were some
Navsari mobeds we encountered during the Navar ceremony).
Are the Dadar Parsis largely
orthodox? Maybe, though not in the WAPIZ sense of the term. More inclined to preserve
Parsi properties in Parsi hands and more comfortable to relax and share laughter
with fellow Parsis, preferably also from the DPC.
While adventurers abound, with the
passing away of old hands like Rustom Tirandaz, DPC now lacks a charismatic
personality to lend and electrify its 8000 inhabitants (down from a peak of
13,000) and to preserve gracefully the unique heritage of this village like
oasis with its gorgeous trees (all numbered) and its nostalgic lanes.
Unlike a Parsi Baug, DPC, being a
collection of scattered buildings, is fast losing its Parsi character. The
numbers are eroding, the people are ageing. The bikes don’t backfire at
midnight. ‘Baffat’ has made his last faux pas. ‘Mike’ has been silenced. Nagoo
Doll does not look like Mae West anymore, or vice-versa. Rocket does not drive now.
The railings are full of people, but not Parsis. The church bells ring again,
more than they ought to, but there is no Pesi to write to the Pope.
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