The is the excerpt of Edwin Fernandes’ book “Beyond Bandra” which he meant to include in his recent post.
September means it's that special time of the year again, the birthday of "Saibini Mai" of the Mount in Bandra, celebrated as the Bandra Feast. This is also the time to get nostalgic of days gone by when the Bandra Feast an eight-day affair(Sunday to Sunday), was truly a family celebration, planned with a meticulousness and fastidiousness of a military campaign. The only time when the GEMs i.e Goans, East Indians and Mangaloreans forgot their differences and behaved like – true gems! We were privileged to be living in a very vantage location on Hill Road, right at the foot of the Mount. The annual preparations began with the Novena (9 days of devotion). In our school days, we made the Novena at St. Andrew's Church, just across the road. In those days of sparse traffic (no Mahim-Bandra Reclamation then), we could cross the road without any fear of being run over. But believe me attending the 0630AM Mass every morning for nine days was quite taxing on the young masses. I guess the get together promised to all those who completed the Novena, was no small incentive! The project in charge was Msgr George Fernandes, a martinet with a heart of gold. He insisted that we come to church with an offering of flowers; for which we were given daily numbered coupons. Those who collected all nine coupons were entitled to attend a get together. Needless to say, to keep the supply chain of floral offerings going, the gardens of our neighbours, were ruthlessly stripped of flowers especially the colourful phlox that were in bloom in that season, every night! Those who got caught, were treated to some very flowery language! Since the pilfered flowers were offered in Church, we never suffered any pangs of a guilty conscience for committing the nocturnal robbery. Life those days was so uncomplicated. As we grew up, we graduated to trudging up the Mount for the Novena. I remember lots of buses emblazoned with names like Ave Maria, Stella Maris, Queen of May and so on, full of office goers, singing hymns. They came from Dadar, Mazagaon, Girgaum- Kotachiwadi, Dhobi Talao, Colaba. Those days masses were held in the main Basilica and not in the gargantuan shamiana that is erected in the tarred compound, of today. At home, Mummy, Dad and my sisters were here there and everywhere, moving at a frenetic pace to get everything ship shape for the big day. Our cousins from Byculla and Mazagaon who were permanent invitees for the festivities, invariably trooped in on the preceding Friday night. In all, there were not less than 20 inmates at our place. You can imagine the confusion and bedlam prevailing, enough to drive any sane person around the bend. Fortunately, those were the days when people had immense patience, tolerance and very big hearts. The more the merrier was a maxim we swore by. The night before D-day was one of hectic activity. New clothes had to be collected from the tailors by the women folk (there were no Malls then), the poor tailors were literally coaxed, cajoled and threatened in that order, to meet the deadline. Not for nothing is it said that hell hath no fury like a woman who is not donned! For we guys, it was an occasion when most of us got to wear our first tailored suits. Yes, that's how important an occasion Bandra Feast was. The night before was also one to make a little cash. For the princely sum of a few Rupees, we boys polished shoes, ironed clothes and ran errands for the laid back. The cash went into the kitty to spurge at the fair the next day! The next morning, all washed, scrubbed, spruced and dressed, we trudged up to the Mount in two's and three's. The ubiquitous candle sellers all along the winding route, thrust their candles into our faces. The self-conscious suit wearing ones, willy-nilly slipped into the category of "Uncles" and were hounded much more than those of us who only sported neck ties! The smart RSP school boys and girls looked very important controlling traffic with the regular policemen. In strategic corners, coin changers sat, ready to change high value notes (Rs. 100/-) for a commission of course. Notice how some things near all religious places, are common? Finally, we reached the Basilica. The sight of the Benevolent Anqua- re, Mari-ea all resplendent in her birthday finery, normally a striking crimson sari, never failed to mesmerize and instil a sense of awe in the devotees. The multifarious congregation of devotees of all creeds, classesand castes, flocking to their Mother Mary, in a never-ending stream, carrying their offerings of flowers, candles and wax images, is a sight for the gods. The walk back home was always through the fair behind the Basilica. This was just to take stock of what lay in store, before our long-awaited foray to the fair, after lunch. Many traditions stand rock solid. The soap bubbles blown in your face, by the vendors, the smell of roasting chana, the sizzling kadio bodio, Kerala halwa everywhere, tangy chorispao, tin motor boats careening round and round in little tubs, the off-key singing gana wallahs, the outlandish photo studios with their cardboard models of Chevrolets, Impalas, Taj Mahals, Statue of Liberty, popular film stars, with whom you could strike a pose, key chains on which you could have your name embedded, all these blandishments beckoned tantalizingly. For me and my Byculla cousin Olando, the well-of-death with that dare devil Valentine on his silencer-lessnoisy smoke emitting motor bike, was the star attraction. Later on, during our Goodbye Sam – Hello Samantha days – the Giant’s wheel would be the star attraction, for obvious reasons! We made a mental note of what to sample and walked back for breakfast, already mentally transported to another magical world. The highlight of the Bandra Feast was undoubtedly the grand feast lunch. With all the Aunts pitching in with their culinary skills, the Royal repast would make a king drool and dribble like a baby. Sanas, chicken xacuti, sorpotel (to this day no one cooks it better than Mummy and she’s all of Ninety plus), promfret rechado, bread fruit, Russian salad, devilled eggs, rice, pulao, tangy stew (Dad's contribution). We gorged. Those were the days when you lived to eat not ate to live! Calories and cholesterol be damned. In those carefree days, who heard of them anyway? Lunch was always followed by a singsong with my sister Mercy on the good old-fashioned Piano and brother David on his Spanish guitar. We siblings may not have always sung in tune but our enthusiasm and joie de vivre was second to none. The music was a mishmash of oldies, mandos and masala songs. After the singsong and before the Elders retired for their siesta, came the event we waited for with bated breath. The doling out of "baksheesh" by the Uncles to the children to splurge in the fair. Oh, how elated we were on receiving the same. Of course, we did make the appropriate noises of gratitude and half-hearted attempts at not accepting the largesse! Those were the days my friend. The noise, the hooting of horns, the pick pockets, the Chinese Gardens (later September Gardens) with its Whist Drives, the Wig-Wam, where live beat groups played and you could send requests to "the girl in the pink bell bottoms, sitting near the entrance - from a secret admirer wearing a checked shirt" for just One Rupee! The Giant wheels, the sea-on-land ride opposite the Mount Carmel Church, the entertainment stalls viz. magic shows, the girl with no hands who did normal chores like lighting a stove, using her legs, the laughing mirrors with their distorted images, the road side khaleji stalls, the sticky candy floss…. truly those were halcyon days. Today, well I guess, no one has the time or the inclination to ring in celebrations the way our parents did. That era has ended and is now a part of folklore. Edwin Fernandes. (Extracted from my Book: BEYOND BANDRA) 9870336765 Roland. Toronto.
