First bridge, last rites and midtown memories

It’s worth being stuck in traffic to savour historic Kemp’s Corner’s striking

architecture and streetscape

“What did one banana say to another? Marry me, I’m akela.” To think a joke as bad as this got Amitabh Bachchan guffawing. He and Anwar Ali, comedian Mehmood’s brother, cracked such nonstop corn in Allah Beli, the Kemp’s Corner cafe that is now the Gangar Opticians showroom. Struggler buddies paid a few hundred bucks for eyeblink roles as boys singing and drinking in Merchant-Ivory’s 1970 film, Bombay Talkie, they celebrated there over kheema pao portions washed down with cups of paani kam chai.

Street artists in an epic performance in front of the FD Petit Sanatorium at Kemp’s Corner. Pic: Foy Nissen

Though familiar haunts like that Irani eatery have vanished, this palm-fringed street retains immense charm – St Stephen’s Church till the Parsi Doongerwadi, faced by India House (of the Air India hoarding) till shop-crusted Chinoy Mansion. Prescription chemists in a roofed store, Kemp & Co. christened Kemp’s Corner. The pharmacy had a retail counter to sell medicines as well as soda water in a siphon bottle. Kemp was well known for its weighing scale which was considered extremely accurate and could be used for no charge.

The city’s first flyover, the Kemp’s Corner bridge totally transformed the area’s east end from 1964. Unused to a cement giant nuzzling their windows, residents resented the invasion of privacy and worried that pissing passersby had new walls to relieve themselves. To inaugurate this marvel of civil engineering, the motorcade of Pope Paul VI, the first Pontiff to visit the country, got an excitedly gathered public genuflecting.

Cosily cocooned under the flyover, Manize Salon relocated close to the spot Manize Kharas introduced it in 1959 in the yellow-washed bungalow belonging to the Jamshedjis, the owners of Noble Paints. It was strategically located in the heart of Kemp’s Corner, surrounded by five roads: Pedder Road, Altamont Road, Gowalia Tank Road, Ridge Road and Warden Road. A prominent clock set up in the bungalow compound allowed anyone from Hughes Road to tell the time. It is believed to have been the first digital clock in India.

“Manize was truly enterprising,” her nephew Cyrus Driver says. “She stocked Bombay Dyeing fabrics, had a cubicle with two chairs for hair and beauty treatments, a small ice cream counter and mezzanine tailoring space. In 1974 this became India’s very first exclusive jeans store, Jean Junction.”

The Kemp’s Corner flyover, between Malabar Hill and Cumballa Hill, was the city’s first in 1964. At the left is India House, probably the first modern flats on this block, still strewn with century-old residences in vintage architectural styles. Pic: Shadab Khan, Mid-day

Beside Kemp & Co. in what is Om Chambers today, confectioner L. Pierotti presided over Palmer’s Bakery, whose bestsellers were flaky palmier pastries and savoury patties. “The smell of their oven-fresh bread wafted wonderfully over the road to us,” says Senior Counsel Darius Khambata. “I often dream of Adenwalla Lodge and Aminia from my childhood.”

Of the homes he cherishes, Aminia remains. The late 19th-century Adenwalla Lodge had wide steps reaching its portico. Khambata literally straddled that residence of his grandparents and the family’s rented apartment in Aminia, a wooden plank leading to Aminia off the verandah. Four generations of Cassums have occupied terrazzo tiled Aminia, bought by Joosub Cassum in 1933. His grandson Ameen recalls rooms luxuriously sprawled 25 by 25 feet with ceilings 17 feet high. The Cassums enjoyed hearing Khambata’s father’s Western classical music records. Darius says, “Dad told me Shankar, of Shankar-Jaikishan fame, from neighbouring India House, stood fascinated under our window listening.”

Sonatas and symphonies streamed from most homes. Young Khambata and his friends were regaled by surgeon Tehemton Udwadia tinkling “London Bridge is falling down”, sitting comfortably in his sadra vest at Nazir House. Before the building converted to a branch of Standard Chartered Bank, Dr Udwadia’s wife Khorshed (sister of Dr Adi Nazir) whose family property this was, ran Pushpa Milan from it. Collaborating with Interflora, that florist delivered beautiful blooms across continents.

Three ox carts pull a Silver Ghost chassis in its shipping crate, arriving at the Rolls-Royce car showroom at Kwality House in 1921

From Kwality House, hugged by Chinese Room for half a century, Baji Chinoy watched Bombay drive by. He and my music lover father exchanged LPs, especially proud of the Polydor vinyl, “Neville Chinoy: Tribute to a Prodigy”, showcasing the virtuosity of the concert pianist son whose sudden air crash death left the family grief-stricken.

The Rolls Royce showroom at Kwality House closed in the late 1930s and an Irani joint called Mazda opened. In the ’60s this was replaced by Chinese Room, which also shut only a year short of its golden anniversary.

Across, India House became the strip’s modern landmark in 1958. Why “India House”, I ask Rashid Oomer. His father Suleman Haji Ahmed Oomer owned properties at nearby Westfield Estate, where Salman Rushdie grew up, and Oomer Park, before this one. We resort to conjecture. The Anglophile senior Oomer, exhausting the pucca Brit-ness of Windsor Villa, Devonshire House, Balmoral and Belvedere, was probably compelled to name subsequent structures Kohinoor, Baug-e-Sara and India House. A pioneer encouraging the ownership flats system, Oomer initially thought of developing India House as a hotel. As that involved serving liquor, he was unwilling to go ahead with the plan.

Banoo Mansions, built inthe Baroque Revival style, stands grand since 1909 Pic: Foy Nissen

“Beginning work at India House in 1961, I could afford only Sulemanji’s storeroom for a clinic,” orthodontist Keki Mistry says. “I’m grateful he ensured water and electricity, essential for dentistry, and even gifted me an expensive Shanks pedestal basin.” A founder of The Indian Orthodontic Society, the octogenarian adds, “The thick dust thrown up during the flyover’s erection was maddening, but this bridge eased life for a lot of folks.”

Two major India House favourites are felled: Kwality Restaurant of the Ghais and Band Box launderers with the saluting cardboard bellboy mascot stood by Bharat Furnishings, India Cane House, Khilchi Upholsterers and M. Miller Drycleaners. Raechelle Hairdressers, named for actor Keith Stevenson’s mother and run by both parents, has welcomed clients since opening on a 1958 summer morning. Its interior decor by Anglo-Hyderabadi architect Eric Marret, the salon then catered to royalty, diplomats and filmstars. Elegant, always-in-white Krishna Raj Kapoor came all the miles from suburban Chembur for elegant coiffeurs at Raechelle.

Hillway Drug Centre at India House – not to be confused with Hillway Library in the same building – was established by Mr. D’Souza, former manager of Kemp & Co. He dispensed JRD Tata a very effective cough and cold concoction whose formula D’Souza alone knew. When D’Souza died in the plane of another airline on his way back from visiting his daughter in London, JRD had Air India fly back with his body free of cost.

Opposite India House, five centuries ago, city Zoroastrians were bequeathed the picture-perfect Doongerwadi to dispose their dead in the first open-to-sky dakhma, or Tower of Silence, in 1672. These are the vast tracts of Dadyseth Hill, the considerable wealth of textile merchant and philanthropist Dadibhoy Dadyseth. Trading with Europe and China he had the distinction of bringing India the cotton screw, to compress cotton into bales.

“Raechelle was the Vidal Sassoon of India”

Actor Keith Stevenson remembers a little family-run hair salon forever loved at Kemp’s Corner

"We could never celebrate Christmas and New Year like other people. Mum and dad worked incessantly. The parlour opened at 7 am and by the time the last customers were attended to, they could almost see Santa riding his sleigh in the sky. New Year’s Eve was the same. When they got home they were both too beat to celebrate but loved every moment. Their life was the parlour.

Today you have beauty schools by the dozens. In those early years, Raechelle was the Vidal Sassoon of India. Our mother was a genius with tresses. She mysteriously managed long, lustrous hair and transformed it into styles that were the talk of the town. With incredible dexterity she coaxed hair into works of art. Of course, this was an era where beauty was held to a more formal high than it is now.

Every time mum and dad left for a couple of months to visit my brother Abey who was studying in England, there were lines of customers waiting outside the parlour – customers only wanted their special touch. Dad had garnered such deep loyalty from his clients that they would not visit another hairdresser till he came back. “Only George will cut my hair” was the mantra many ladies made their maxim. As before they left for England, so after they returned, the ladies arrived en masse to have the pleasure of George snip their hair to perfection. As his children and grandchildren, we take great pride in their accomplishments and worth.

Long after leaving their alma mater, as it were, our stylists came back on May 1st to relive their early days. There was always food and sweets and, more importantly, our parents to revisit and rejoice with. After dad passed in 1999, just two days before the 41st anniversary, mum continued this tradition. She was the magnet attracting clients and staff to reconnect.

As it has been in past years, both mum and dad will be there to greet those who come back home to Raechelle. Not just from their garlanded photos on the wall, but in spirit. Their presence is palpable. So, if you are in the vicinity of Raechelle Beauty Parlour at India House, Kemp’s Corner, on the 1st of May, please go in and say hello. You will be welcome,

as always."

A stunning mansion on these acres, 125 Kemp’s Corner, in the Renaissance Revivalist-style, belongs to Contractor Charities. Built in the early 1900s, its masonry displays quality detailing and a graceful facade with semi-circular arches, carved spandrels and balustrades backgrounded by airy balconies. It is a building that conservation architect Vikas Dilawari pronounces ready for adaptive reuse. Stone columns with ornate capitals complement the ground floor’s Minton tiling. Upstairs, Motibai Contractor’s portrait hangs in each of her children’s cobwebbed rooms with teakwood louvered doors. Her husband Nowroji gazes enigmatically, in Masonic Lodge regalia, from another frame.

Junaid Shaikh (right) at 1940-established Precious Hairdressers, with one of its oldest employees, Ikram Hussain. “The Ambanis and movie stars to half the cricket world, including Sachin Tendulkar and Sanjay Manjrekar, have sat in our chairs,” he says. Pic: Sameer Abedi, Mid-day

Gardens spilled seasonal flowers up to where the road divider is, an old gardener’s grandson tells me. No. 125 kids like Goolu Adenwalla, from its tenanted first floor, sneaked berries from bushes of No. 127 where Dr Homi Mehta resided within shouting distance of his workplace, the BD Petit Parsee General Hospital. “He was the Police Surgeon of Bombay. We stole sour cherries, dodging cops who patrolled his compound,” she chuckles.

Her grandfather Khurshedji Limji, who established Bombay Cycle and Motor Agency in the 1930s, was the first to import foreign cars. As a result, the No. 125 driveway was crammed with these. The number-plate of every model, be it the family Dodge, Austin or Morris, was inexplicably etched: 3232.

Rowed alongside, the Advani brothers’ Shalimar Hotel opened in 1962. Sobo then the city’s throbbing business heart, before Lower Parel and the Bandra Kurla Complex developed, the hotel attracted corporate clients and foreigners wanting to be centrally situated. Original names of a pair of its F&B outlets endure: the bar, Maikada, Persian for “watering hole”, and Gulmurg, offering the most succulent kababs and chicken makhanwala. “Those decades rocked with live music,” says joint managing director DS Advani. “We had performers weeklong. Entertainment tax killed it all.”

Honoured guest Satyajit Ray mentioned detective hero Feluda check into Shalimar in an Adventures of Feluda book. His son Sandip nostalgically revisited the hotel to shoot the series’ Bengali movie version, Bombaiyer Bombete, Bandits from Bombay.

Much interesting Indian theatre emanated from jaali-balconied Vitthal Court, beside Empire Estate. Thespian Gerson da Cunha explains, “Living on a high floor, Ebrahim Alkazi staged Theatre Unit plays on the terrace, a sixth-floor walk-up. I climbed innumerable times for his production of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, cast as the beastly Pozzo. It set a trend: Plot was no more as important as Playing. Two hundred audience members sat on stands to watch dozens of sold out shows. Traffic and parking weren’t deadly at Kemp’s Corner in 1961.” From up-the-hill Carmichael Road, Nawshir Khurody says, “I was in the audience watching Waiting for Godot. I knew the text by heart. I saw this play in London. But Alkazi’s enactment topped!”

Kulsum Sayani with her sons Ameen (left)and Hamid, who went on to rule radio broadcasting, outside Pervez Mansion in the 1940s. She published Rahber (Leader) in Devnagri, Urdu and Gujarati from this home – a newspaper which advocated simple Hindustani as a unifying language Pic courtesy: Ameen Sayani

With three St Mary’s bus routes converging here, Kemp’s Corner resembles an ongoing reunion of this school. Too many interviewees prove old boys. Aware I married one, they share buoyant to boisterous stories – “Millionaire (couturiers) was Atta Tailors where we played hand-cricket waiting for the bus” to “God, remember how we stole Bull’s Eye sweets and Phantom cigarettes from Variety Stores!”

Beyond the Framji Dinshaw Petit Sanatorium, with classic details embellishing its elevation and bays with terraces and porches surmounted by ornate pediments, lies another luminously embellished building – Banoo Mansions, with unique Baroque Revival elevational features like the corner bay, massive rounded column and stone crown. Roshan and Dara Sinor here tell me the 1909 building is topped by the magnificent crown because it rose just ahead of King George V and Queen Mary sailing into Bombay in 1911.

Adenwalla Lodge with one of Shiavax Khambata’s sons as a child in the garden Pic courtesy: Darius Khambata

The poet Adil Jussawalla recreates life at Sunama House some eighty years ago. In a section of the family flat, patients healed at The Natural Therapy Clinic his father Jehangir ran. “From terraces bordering one wing you saw Malabar Hill, until Grand Paradi broke the view,” Adil says. “And the thin barber of Francois Maison salon here bore an uncanny resemblance to Italian star Vittorio Gassman. I recall St Stephen’s as a bungalow church worshippers thronged on Sunday.”

At Sunama House was also Bapsy Pavry, who went on to become the Marchioness of Winchester. When the aristocrat husband strayed back to his ex-girlfriend Eve, James Bond creator Ian Fleming’s mother, Pavry flew to her Bahamas home for a flaming confrontation.

Lost in a melange of constantly changing shopfronts, Chinoy Mansion sports Saracenic-style multi-cusped arches, decorative column capitals and carved balustrades. On its ground floor, Precious Hairdressers has lorded city salons since the 1940s. I chat with Junaid Shaikh whose grandfather Habib was a tailor till he set up this “excellent service at affordable price”. Junaid cuts for customers once his grandfather’s and father Jamil’s. “Clients landing from America and London head straight here,” he says.

At one time Kemp’s Corner boasted at least five men’s haircutting saloons in its vicinity. They were Royal, Francoise, Precious, Elegante and Bella Vista. The most popular was Royal, charging a princely sum of Rs 2 for a cut. “From JRD Tata down the line, bigshot industrialists and businessmen patronised Royal, whose sought-after barber was the mute Ali – a master craftsman with gents’ hair,” says city lover Jaggi Palan. “Most popular among the young boys was Francoise: it charged 4 annas (25 paise) and kept the latest comics to read. We told our parents we went to Royal for a crop and pocketed the difference. Elegante asked for the same 4-anna rate, but no comics.”

Remembering that veteran radio broadcaster Ameen Sayani once lived at Pervez Mansion in Cumballa Hill Lane, I talk to the 87-year-old legend. An avowed champion of literacy, his mother Kulsum (whose father Dr Rajabali Patel was Gandhiji and Maulana Azad’s physician) published Rahber (Leader) in Devnagri, Urdu and Gujarati from their home. The newspaper advocated simple Hindustani as a unifying language. Ameen Sayani credits his firm grounding in Hindi to the early years of helping his mother produce editions of Rahber.

In Cumballa Chambers opposite the Sayanis, Ameen’s New Era School teacher Amy Moos hid nationalists like Aruna Asaf Ali and Achyut Patwardhan. “They came to us for meals,” Sayani says proudly. “We knew never to reveal they were underground. I associate Kemp’s Corner with patriotism and passion for the larger good.

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