Ten years ago when the King of Lalbaug wove through a tense Muslim thicket of Duncan Road, a modest group in skull caps waited by the ringside with garlands for Mumbai’s favourite deity. It was 1993, not a great year to break communal stereotypes or ignore nervous advice from a thick cordon of police.
But over this difficult 10-year passage, signs of a city steadily shedding those inhibitions are sprinkled along a bold route which the Lalbaug Ganesh will rumble along for immersion on Tuesday.
Sajid Khan, a chair seats’ maker, says his mohalla has made choices to move beyond a painful past. ‘‘Once we started joining in Hindu festivals, we made friends with our neighbours. This way there’s no tension, no lafda,’’ Khan says.
By the Hindustani Masjid in downtown Byculla, Maulana Abdul Jabbar Azmi presides over namaaz, then steps outside to make plans to welcome Ganpati with his flock as the mosque’s faithful have since 1962. ‘‘Do you know why Mumbai kept its peace after this year’s blasts? I tell my people as I did in 1993 that we have to live here, die here. Isn’t it better to stick together?’’ he says.
New to this faith is Farhan Khan, a scrap dealer clutching an invitation to visit Lalbaug’s Raja. He was a mere bystander at the Duncan Road halt, until the good cheer worked on him two years ago.
‘‘Cops tell me this halt is now a ‘cool point’ because we give them no headache,’’ he grins. His job is to prepare 18-20 drums of sherbat for the guests.
Zabiullah Shaikh, joint secretary of Bombay Citizen Welfare Committee, recalls the 1990 Ganeshotsav when a handful of Muslims participated at Duncan Road and Byculla. ‘‘By 1993, the atmosphere was so charged, there were more cops than locals. Our celebrations grew to require a stage. The first stage was just 10 by 15,’’ Shaikh says.
‘‘More Muslims, more garlands since the ’80s and ’90s ,’’ says Ashok Pawar, who headed the Lalbaug Sarvajanik Ganesh Utsav Mandal in 1993. That explains Khan’s presence at Ganesha pujas at the hardline Mohammedan tenements of Bhendi Bazaar. Sixteen years ago, the Ganesha idol here was 1 inch high. As bonds were forged, the idol grew to 8 feet.
‘‘During the 1993 curfew, Hindus and Muslims like us had rushed milk, flour and essential goods door-to-door. Nobody forgot that. Sentiments have strengthened since,’’ Khan echoes. Salim and 40 per cent Muslims of the Tarun Mitra Mandal fuss over Bhendi Bazaar’s Ganpati Raja.
‘‘Our procession passes by a dargah. We proceed only after offering shawls, coconuts and a holy chaddar,’’ Dilip Sawant, the mandal head, says.