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Of Beatrice Clifford's 70 years, 25 have been spent bringing calm to Peace Haven, her family bungalow on Perry Road in Bandra. Until recently, its ground floor was illegally occupied by a tenant who tried to strike a deal with a builder and oust the owners. Clifford, who lives alone, put up with threatening phone calls and circled the courts for several years to win back the sky-blue residence that was built by her father as a gift to his wife in 1930. Flanked by tall trees, the landmark structure has since shed all signs of the long battle and instead bears heritage status, which protects it from the claws of persistent developers.
A few buildings down the street is the pale green 60-year-old Bungalow No. 154, which looks like it was picked out of a Goan village and planted there. The caretaker collects cashewnuts and mangoes in the garden while a hen scurries about the verandah, followed by her chicks. Abigail Miranda, who married and moved in here 13 years ago, is happy to stay in a place with such character. She watches her sons as they play cricket and send a plastic ball flying across the length of the bright, airy living room. "They are lucky to have this kind of lifestyle in a prime location of the city. I don't want them to lose this and be holed up inside a flat," she says.
A small number of such gritty villas - some battered with age, some cared for painstakingly - are still holding their own among high-rises in the affluent Mumbai suburb of Bandra. They have lawns, garages and an abundance of space that only historic architecture could afford. Dusty, old-fashioned cars and scooters are obstinately parked in the sheds of these houses, while yuppie vehicles surround expensive buildings nearby. The odd sign of modernisation, usually digital TV dishes or intercoms, pokes out of the archaic structures like an afterthought.
The rent for a 2-bedroom apartment in Bandra is more than Rs 1 lakh and buying it would require no less than a handful of crores. A plot of land costs between Rs 4 lakh and Rs 5 lakh per square metre in the region. The district's popularity with young professionals and the nouveau riche has led to soaring demand for housing. So, builders dangle carrots in front of bungalow owners, promising a flat for each family within the joint family as well as cash incentives. A few residents had to seek protection from the police to ward off men who were sent to negotiate these deals.
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While some sought heritage status to escape the pressures, others are saving the prospect of redevelopment for a rainy day. "We might have to sell because the families are growing in size and our needs are changing," one owner says, before reasoning, "Our ancestors didn't stay forever and at some point we too have to let go of the memories, right?" Lack of consensus within the family often means houses remain unsold and boarded up.
These residents regularly dip into their savings to maintain the house. Pauline, 80, is among the few residents of the Shirley Rajan area of Bandra with an independent home - a 150-year-old cottage that has housed at least three generations of the Fernandes family. She lives with her son Neil who owns a local catering business, but maintenance eats into their budget. "That is the main reason many owners here gave up their villas. When their children settle abroad, the aging parents can't afford to look after the home."
The roofs of these houses have to be retiled annually - it costs up to Rs 15,000 each time. Plastering and painting are done every few years. Add to these the expense of hiring help for gardening and cleaning. To raise funds for its upkeep, Peace Haven often becomes a set for video shoots - scenes in Barfi, Agent Vinod and several advertisements were filmed here. In some cases, space is leased out to small services like creches and gift shops.
When these structures were still young, there were 50-60 small households in the area, mostly Catholic and Parsi families. "Everyone knew everyone and they would bend over backwards to help others," recalls Clifford. People like her cannot imagine moving into new buildings where "you cannot choose your neighbours." Several Catholic owners of bungalows are part of the Salsette Society, which means they can sell the building only to someone from their community. There was neither congestion nor the perennial buzz of traffic in those times. "My father used to say that the Bandra station was visible from our house. I can't even see the next signal now," says a fourth generation member of the Shirazi family. Their Old Busheri bungalow has been standing for about 150 years on Turner Road, now dotted with high-end brand showrooms, tall buildings and office complexes.
The architecture of the old structures is largely Portuguese-influenced and includes big windows with stained glass patterns, Mangalore-tile roofs typical of Goan homes and balcaos (porches). Inside the homes are things one would usually find in the antique stores of Chor Bazaar - stocky refrigerators with metal handles, quaint box television sets and thick ornamental furniture.
Peace Haven, built with materials imported from England, boasts solid wooden and cast iron staircases that almost disappointingly do not creak. For Clifford, the struggle to protect the house from redevelopment was exhausting but paramount. With glasses perched on the tip of her nose and no small measure of pride, she declares, "My brothers kept telling me to relocate to UK. But I want to be a first-class citizen here rather than a second-class citizen in a foreign land."
