Tramtimes Nostalgia

Thanks to the Print Media, the past is never far behind. So, it was with great delight that I browsed through a series of sepia tinted monologues under the collective title of ‘Tramtimes Nostalgia’.

I have never actually ridden on a tram. But remember those times? Yes, I certainly do! I remember the wide roads of Colaba crisscrossed by shiny tramlines and overhead tram wires. The pavements were broad and uncluttered, marked out in large squares, ideal for hopping from one to the next. And everything was so squeaky clean: no pavement hawkers, no paan stains, no honking and no exhaust fumes. The Bombay (as it was known then) taxis were dowagers , stately and capacious and they moved in a manner befitting their appearance. The drivers were uniformed and polite, especially to little girls. There couldn’t have been too many of them, because it was considered a Sunday treat to ride in a motor vehicle to any destination. The Victorias were equipages in every sense of the word and not the dilapidated apologies we see today. The carriages, harnesses and brasses were polished to a high shine and the horses pranced proudly, raising a gentle chime in unison with the clip clop of their hooves.

The houses we lived in were graciously apportioned: high ceilings, a floor you could dance on and windows that let in fresh breeze - windows big enough and without grilles so that you could lean out with feet just dangling beneath the sill. Balconies were long enough and broad enough to accommodate capacious bath chairs which one could curl up in and watch the world go by. The ‘world’ being mostly vendors of various wares.

When in Bombay, we stayed with my grandmother who lived in Jenkins House on Henry Road. Like all good stories that start with ‘once upon a time’, we even had a real life ‘ogre’ who stayed on the ground floor. He obviously believed that children should be seen and not heard. So, when our childish games grew a little too boisterous, we would be quenched with a well aimed bucket of water. Even dogs, apparently, are peculiar to the times. We didn’t see many Dobermans and Alsatians then. The dog in vogue was the ‘Sidney Silky’ and what they may have lacked in size, they sure made up in the volume of their barks.

A very special treat was a visit to the Gulmohur, opposite the Gateway, for ice cream. Imagine sitting outdoors under the spreading flame of the tree, which gave the restaurant its title, and eating hand churned ice cream out of silver cups. A gentle sea breeze blowing in from the Gateway and evening strollers on Apollo Bunder completed the scene.

The Gulmohur is long gone and so are the old folk. Sometimes, an overheard snatch of conversation, a chance encounter or maybe even a whiff on the breeze (to me, Colaba always smelt of new leather and Lifebuoy soap!) evoke memories buried a long, long time ago. The good old days? To me, at this distance in time, they certainly were.