My Mirror column last Sunday:
Our columnist takes a historical detour through the antique pleasures of Pila House.
Last Monday I went to Mutton Street. I
had spent a week in Mumbai, setting up 'work' meetings that were
really an excuse to wander the city as a happy, giddy tourist of the
Delhi variety. But one item on my Bombay agenda remained -- a trip to
Chor Bazaar: several streets' worth of dusty antiques. But at Mumbai
Central, cab drivers seemed mystified by my desire to go to Chor
Bazaar. Then, gently but firmly, one deposited me on a road lined
with hardware shops, saying this was Chor Bazaar and I better find
this Mutton Street myself.
I did. Having burrowed into
uncarry-able and unaffordable mountains of old things, I settled not
unhappily on two 1970s print advertisements. The genuinely non-sleazy
shop man took me to an ATM on his scooter, past an old theatre
showing a Mithun film, complete with brilliant hand-painted poster.
Only on my way out did I realise what I had walked down was called
Patthe Bapurao Marg. That was when it finally clicked. I'd been
walking on Falkland Road.
From dates.sites, (a must-have
compendium for film nerds and Mumbai fans, published by the Cinema
City project), I knew that Patthe Bapurao was born a Brahmin, named
Shridhar Krishnaji Kulkarni, underwent caste conversion in order to
work in tamasha and married a Mahar dancer called Pawala. Among the
other impressive acts to his name is a visit to Ambedkar in 1927,
when, "flanked by two women dancers dressed in finery",
Bapurao offered to contribute the proceedings of eight Tamasha shows
to the Mahar Satyagraha Fund, a campaign for the entry of Dalits into
temples. Ambedkar rejected the offer on moral grounds.
Bapurao died in poverty in 1941. In
1950, the Marathi director/actor Raja Nene made a highly successful
biopic. As one of the central arteries of what was for many years
Mumbai's entertainment district, Pila House, it seems only fitting
that Falkland Road was renamed Patthe Bapurao Marg. Here's the entry
in dates.sites: "Pila House -- hybridisation of Play House -- a
cluster of theatres staging Parsi theatre plays and Tamasha
performances -- bordered on the east by red light area of Kamathipura
(named after the Telugu-speaking community of masons), and on the
west by migrant courtesans and other entertainment artists at
Congress House (named after the office of the Congress Party
nearby -- is at its peak at the turn of the century."
While the theatres -- the 'play houses'
set up in the 1800s -- gave the area its name, Falkland Road's
association with an even older form of entertainment dates back to
the 1700s. That was when brothels first emerged in the area, catering
to soldiers.
In an essay called 'F**kland Road' (in
another Project Cinema City volume), Bishakha Datta makes the
connection explicit. She cites the background note of a (proposed)
Union of Entertainment Workers of India that refers to the
Arthashastra placing courtesans and sex workers alongside actors,
dancers, musicians and bards. The note continues: "It is common
knowledge that... sex...work is a form of intimate entertaining
communication, involving some very subtle and complex combinations of
gesture, language, play and relaxation."
This is, of course, true - though the
argument might find few takers in the hypocritical modern world,
where even bar dancers are refused their rights as workers.
But even if the cinema-sex equivalence
is unlikely to fly with most people, Pila House has plied generations
of (mostly) male, (mostly) migrant clients with both. Built before
cinema existed, the 'play houses' are some of the last theatres still
projecting film prints. They have specialisations, too: Nishat shows
Bhojpuri blockbusters, New Roshan devotes itself to Mithun, Silver to
sex films.
There was a time when the brothels of
Kamathipura not only lived next to cinema, but in Bombay's cinematic
imaginary. Realistic depiction was never the point. Even
Gulzar's Mausam, or Sudhir Mishra's Chameli can
only be called 'good efforts'. But the girls in the cages of Falkland
Road were a legendary sight - when I interviewed her a couple of
years ago, Deepti Naval described, with alternate shudders of
excitement and distaste, her trip in the 80s to see them. Naval ended
up spending half the night in a Nepali sex worker's room, and the
experience inspired a performance years later.
Naval got me thinking: has any
mainstream Hindi film ever let a girl from a "good family"
meet a prostitute? Well, very recently. But of course Kangana Ranaut
must travel all the way to Amsterdam to hang with an Indian sex
worker, and make the startling discovery that she's not an alien.
Ironically, just before Queen, Ranaut played a
Kamathipura sex worker called Rajjo in a bizarrely retro film also
called Rajjo, where the token 'contemporary' event is the
brothel torn down by an evil consortium of politicians and builders
to build a mall. Small industries have indeed replaced most
Kamathipura brothels, with owners cutting their losses and leaving as
the buildings they rented become prized real estate.
Whether Kareena was a convincing sex
worker or not, at least Reema Kagti shot Talaash in
Kamathipura. Rajjo chose to spend 5 crores
'recreating' Pila House on a four-acre-plot in Borivali.
Perhaps the last two films about
Kamathipura -- one acts as if the place is already gone, and the
other is a ghost movie. No Rani could ever show up to meet a Rajjo.
In Falkland Road, there may soon be no more sex workers to meet. Not
even the ghosts of them.
Published in Mumbai Mirror.