8230; And Mumbai stopped smiling

We rarely called each other by our first names. As is their lot, Pheroze, Darius and Adil were affectionately called Bawa8217;. Riyaz was Miya8217;, Sudhir became Bong8217;. Prabhu was Mallu8217;. Tripti, poor thing was renamed Maniben8217;. Anil was referred to as Ghati8217;, Pheroze called him Ghata8217;, a Parsi variation. Jaswinder was teasingly dubbed Bonda8217;, owing to the ball of hair on his head. Like Rama and Lakshmana in Amar Chitra Katha comics. Of course, I had a dozen nicknames 8212; Makapau8217;, Maka Guju8217;and Putrough8217; from the hockey term putting through the ball8217;.

So I would scream, quot;Hey you bloody bawa!quot; at Pheroze, while we wrestled in the school yard. Or whisper quot;Pssst Miya. Question 2 aquot;, during exams. We never gave these terms of endearment any significance.

In 1974, Bombay was peaceful and cosmopolitan.

To digress a second, it8217;s an interesting experience being born of mixed parentage. quot;A half-halfquot;, so to speak. And mine was a wonderful blend of Christianity and Hinduism. Not that I know either Konkani or Gujarati! I grew up with the best of two diverse worlds.

Mixed parentage does some very useful things. It prevents you from becoming insular. Teaches you about the merits of other religions. And develops in you great openness.

Cosmopolitanism, for me, continued through my teenage years. My building cricket team would have made the Indian selectors proud. Representatives from every state!

Diwali and Christmas visits to Gujarat and Goa were always culture shocks for me. Walksthrough the bylanes and beaches of Goa revealed only Goans and hippies8217;.

And finding a non-Gujarati in Gujarat was like hunting for a non-irritating veejay on TV.

After these holidays, I always longed to return to the familiar chatter of Bombay. The land of countless dialects. Years later, I was to write a play called I8217;m Not Bajirao in Bambaiya English, Parsi Gujarati, Street Hindi8217; and Marathi.

And one day, a mosque was razed to the ground in what we thought was distant Uttar Pradesh. We felt the tremor in Bombay immediately. Calm, secular Bombay exploded into flames.

One morning, as the fires raged, I saw an amazing sight. Some of the name plates on my building board downstairs, were being removed. That night, the Muslim family next door rang my doorbell, their faces ashen. They were afraid of being attacked in their sleep. Could they spend the night in my house.

And then came the retaliation. A dozen bombs devastated the city.

Call me naive. Call me idealistic. But it8217;s the first timemy rose-tinted glasses got a bit stained. I heard snatches of conversation. Conversation of hate: quot;Send them back to Pakistanquot;, quot;What about the Shah Bano case?quot;

The next morning, it was business as usual. But I believe from that day, Bombay stopped smiling. I know a part of me certainly did.

Bombay had shown spirit. And courage. And resilience. But it had lost its biggest virtue: Cosmopolitanism.

Suspicion had replaced serenity. Riyaz, my old school buddy, called. quot;Hey Makapau,quot; he bellowed into the phone. quot;Hi Riyaz!,quot; I replied. I8217;ll never forget the silence at the other end. quot;What happened to my petname Miya8217;?quot; he asked.

I suppose I could be accused of being paranoid. Perhaps nobody has become that over-sensitive. Tell me I8217;m wrong.

I had a favourite joke. One day, the Sikhs and the Parsis were arguing about which of their respective communities was more stupid. Each one accused the other of being dumber. It was decided that a hockey match would determine this. At half time, the scores werelevel. The Parsis were exhausted, conceded defeat and went home. At the end of the match, the Sikhs lost one-nil. I don8217;t narrate this joke too often, anymore.

It8217;s a funny thing. Who would ever think that the Christians could ever be a threat. To anyone. Except themselves. There was always that security. Till a month ago. Christians were attacked in not-so-distant Gujarat. Okay, so we haven8217;t heard of any of our Bombay churches being burnt. But that8217;s not the point.

Somebody asked me what I would do if I was threatened in Gujarat. I said that I would beg my attackers to only harm half of me!

I8217;m going to stick my neck out. Bombay is supposed to be a melting pot of various communities. Not an overheating one.

Cosmopolitanism is not about surface pleasantries. It8217;s about deep down acceptance.

We have a school reunion tomorrow8230;

I hope Miya, Bawa, Mallu, Bong8217; and Maniben8217; show up. And if Bonda8217; comes, we8217;ll all dance to Daler Mehendi8217;.

Rahul da Cunha is managing director, da CunhaAssociates.