The Haves and the Have Nots

What does town have that the suburbs don't? And vice versa? Before I became a 'burbite, I was a true-blue townie for six years. And somet...

What does town have that the suburbs don’t? And vice versa? Before I became a ‘burbite, I was a true-blue townie for six years. And sometimes (just sometimes), the heart yearns for all the things that you can get only in town.

I envy town the NCPA. Poetry, plays, unheard of films, quartets and quintets, and culture in large dollops. Sometimes, the foreign exchanges get as far as Prithvi. Most of the time, the suburbanite has to be content with Great Grandson of Bottoms up Three Times Removed at Rang Sharda.

For art and pretensions, nothing like town. There’s always some gallery or the other hosting the works of five young promising painters, always gatherings at which art dealers serve up wine and gossip, always a retrospective to gaze at. And if nothing else you can potter down to the open-air gallery, outside Jehangir, and encourage the young talent who wait nervously on the pavement for reactions. No such luck in the suburbs. Again Prithvi comes to the rescue, but otherwise the only exhibitionsare of Rajasthani artefacts and discount sales. The only galleries are named things like `Sandy Art Gallery’ and you can be sure of finding yet another shoe sale lurking behind the glass doors.

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Ah! For a selection of English movies and caramelised popcorn! These can only be had in town. An occasional Godzilla at Chandan, or a Truman Show all the way in Malad is all the English movie buff can hope for in the suburbs. And not a taste of caramelised popcorn.

Ah! For the original pubs! For Mondegar’s and Leo’s. The suburbs belong to the young. Nowhere do my years sit more heavily on me, or my ears complain more, than in J49 and Razzberry Rhino. The techno music insistently drives home the fact. Ah! For some mellow music at Geoffrey’s! A little blues guitar at the Tavern — places where the over thirties don’t have to lurk guiltily in the corners and suffer ear damage.

What else does town have that the suburbs don’t? Statues. Benign and gracious-looking Parsee gentlemen gaze down at passersbyall over town. All the suburbs have to offer are endless variations of Shivaji astride a horse who always has his tail up. We all know what horses do when their tails are up. Somebody should have told the sculptors.

Town has rhythm. Ever tried to track down a little-known album? There’s only one place where you can be sure of finding it — Rhythm House. The suburbs have hundreds of little shops all selling you the latest hit song from the latest Govinda hit film.

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Town has blues. We first heard them at `Just Desserts’. Now there’s more than jazz available at Not Just-Jazz By The Bay. Alack! Alas! You can search the suburbs from end to end without finding a jazz joint. Town has libraries. Do I need to describe the joys of the British Council and the American Library? The only library I’ve located in the suburbs boast an endless selection of Mills & Boons and Jeffrey Archers. It takes me hours to hunt out the occasional Agatha Christie or P G Wodehouse.

Most of all, I miss just how easy town is on theeyes. The beautiful buildings of the University… the dome of the Museum… the brownstone facades of Ballard Estate… The suburbs have largely been put together by builders in a hurry with little time or space to spare. And only Bandra can boast gracious buildings with character. The rest of suburbia is unfortunately a soul-numbing vista of unimaginative buildings that the monsoon has left grey and peeling. For sheer ugliness, nothing can beat Andheri Station at rush hour. As I am buffeted by the vast sea of 10.00 am train catchers, my soul sighs for the vaulted heights of Churchgate and the murals of Victoria Station.

So, what do the suburbs have to offer in return? Every Ganeshotsav, every Diwali and Dussehra brings home to me just why I now live in the suburbs. Watch the youngsters dressed to the nines for the nine days of Navratri. Wander through the surprisingly numerous Durga Puja pandals, and you can’t miss the excitement in the air, the beat behind it all. Here is the spirit, lifting its headabove the ugly buildings, the lack of culture, and the have nots. Here is the grind of daily survival bursting joyously into celebration. Here is the spirit of Suburbia. Forget the string quartets and the Kurosawa retrospectives — here is the real Bombay.

Venita Coelho is a television scriptwriter.