On the Flyover. Part 1.
Lunch time traffic jam on south bound Lalbag Flyover. There is plenty of time to look around. A flyover offers a canopy view of the trees and a second floor peek into buildings. Most of the buildings are graceful, old and dilapidated mill housing. Many of the residents have created enclosed balconies by using a box grill outside a window. Most have a tulsi or hibiscus or bougainvillea growing in a plastic canister or two. Some are lovingly tended, others grow in spite of inattention. A couple of balconies are veritable gardens, with ardeniums and roses flourishing in the sunlight. All the buildings also have a peepal or two defiantly growing in wall cracks, reaching upwards with their leaves while their roots trace interesting maps along the walls.
Sometimes a child sits in the space created by the grill, staring at the traffic, eating a snack. Or a woman, sweaty and resigned, hangs clothes out to dry. If we make eye contact, we both quickly look away, me slightly shamefaced to have this voyeuristic view into her life. One balcony which is closely grilled has the most unusual resident – a gorgeous blue and yellow macaw. He seems lonely but stoic, watching the pigeons and crows outside with a cocked eye. They flutter close by but politely ignore his existence. We modern Mumbaikars don’t interfere too much, even when the neighbour appears to be imprisoned in a foreign land.
The new buildings look blind by comparison. Their balconies are impersonal, shuttered and uniform in their sterility. The eye moves past them without distraction. The building facade, that awful plastic cladding dearly loved by our resident architectural geniuses, is just blocks of artificial colour. Where are the intricately carved jharokhas of balconies, the filigreed wrought iron railings, the weathered and beautiful stone used in our chawls and mill buildings? Such a love of and attention to detail in everyday, workday environments is dead. As we mourn the destruction of our mangroves and estuaries and creeks and tree cover, so too must we mourn our old buildings and bridges, falling down with neglect and despair and ignorance of an elegant past.