By lanes

Khotachiwadi, not just a place but a way of life, is in the news and for all the wrong reasons. Besieged by a futuristic world that views destruction of the old as progress and preservation a white elephant, the residents are standing shoulder to shoulder in an attempt to stem the encroaching marauder.

Khotachiwadi is firmly embedded in the fabric of my memories. While courting, I visited my husband and his family there; then, as a new bride, their home was my dwelling place for a year. And like homing pigeons, we returned for birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, christenings, First Communions, funerals, feast days, Christmas and for no reason at all other than a tug at the heartstrings.

A visit to Khotachiwadi with its cluster of interlinked winding lanes dotted with balconied, tiled homes, is an adventure. Once you step inside, you are in a different world, a different time and a different mood. As you wend your way through from entrance to destination, friendly faces smile, friendly hands wave and friendly voices call out a greeting and a query. Everyone knows everyone and for generations. People are known for their occupations and their talents from the doctor to the Bebique aunty (sadly no more – her Bebiques were legendary and the memory of the taste, though faint, still lingers). And directions always included a left/right from the kolsawalla, or the chip-shop, or Anand Ashram or someone’s house.

It is also a self-contained place, better than the best developed modern township – hospitals, schools, places of worship and shops are all within walking distance. No vehicle required. But if you should need to travel further afield, the location is well networked by bus and rail. Even better than the network of facilities, is the network of people. You may be alone but never lonely.

Big houses meant large families and warm hearts. I remember once telling a friend who questioned my lack of a ‘social life’ that I had no need to visit restaurants or jaunt around the town, the family birthdays and anniversaries kept me entertained and well fed!

But times change. And in the cause of ‘development’ there are those who scorn preservation for the few when viewed against the ‘needs’ of the many (though I think they really mean ‘money’!). A bungalow inhabited by one family could reinterpret itself as a high-rise for sixteen or even more. It would also mean a very healthy profit for the developer and all those who ‘assist’ in the development.

Divided between nostalgia and practicality, I know deep down that change is inevitable. But I do not want to dwell in memory in the here and now. I want to be able to see, hear and feel. I want to know that I can still find a living, breathing place which answers a favourite prayer: ‘Slow me down, Lord, still the frantic beating of my heart…’ A place which embodies the adjectives, homely, gracious, affable, vibrant, charming, heart-warming.

A place where time stands still long enough for batteries to be recharged. A little bit of soul in the middle of a hurried and harried city.