From Sea Shell to New York City

I saw this billboard at Thane, on the extremely hazardous and pothole-ridden road that passes off for the Mumbai-Nashik Eastern Express Highway. Sandwiched between aggressive paan-spewing Indica cab drivers and 14-wheeled monstrosities that precariously straddle giant potholes, the promise of New York City seemed a bit surreal and truly poignant.

It also reminded me that what we choose to call our houses reflect our changing aspirations. The house I grew up in didn’t have a name at all, just a number. Those were quieter, humbler and dare I say more innocent times. In the city where I grew up, either the houses were named after people who owned them (after all there were no apartments), or they had names like Aashirwaad, Tulsi, Sneh Sadan etc. – with all the inventiveness of a Balaji serial. The house that had the first television in the locality where I was growing up was Shalmali. The most exotic one for us used to be quite a fancy looking house named Sea Shell - the owner used to work in merchant navy.

The 90’s were truly depressing times; Disasters like Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and Khuda Gawah happened, Sooraj Barjatiyya made super-duper hits and Govinda sang Sarkhailyo Khatiya. I remember buildings with names like Highway Darshan (I am not joking) and Lake View which used to overlook a mosquito infested swampland.

Now, as the front-pages of newspapers never tire of reminding us, we are living the India story. The world is ours and the names of our abodes should obviously reflect that. So we have buildings named Phoenix, Dreamz, Englewood and Wellington and roads named Central Avenue and Forest Avenue which cut through 14-storied buildings. Seen in that light New York City (which I learn is a housing complex coming up at Kasarvadavli in Thane) is one more leap of imagination, hope and stubborn optimism – the potholes be damned.