Mumbra or Malabar Hill, every woman needs a break. And Sabah Khan’s newly-opened safe space is giving the women and children of Mumbra something they’ve never had—a place of personal leisure and camaraderie
Guftagu, envisioned by social worker Sabah Khan with the support of Farhat Ali and Rashmi Divekar, is a space for the women and young people of Mumbra to meet and find community. Pics/Anurag Ahire
- Guftagu, a space nestled between cheek-by-jowl buildings of Mumbras Old Nasheman Colony
- A tall glass of deep red kokum soda with swirling mint leaves is offered to us
- Titles in Urdu pack a bookshelf in a corner near the door
Having a place like this has been a dream since I gained feminist consciousness,” Sabah Khan tells us, as we walk into the compact and newly-opened Guftagu, a space nestled between the cheek-by-jowl buildings of Mumbra’s Old Nasheman Colony. A tall glass of deep red kokum soda with swirling mint leaves is offered to us. “Every woman who comes here is served chai or a cold drink. This is a welcoming space for them,” says the social worker. Titles in Urdu pack a bookshelf in a corner near the door, while ludo, jenga, and chess are close at hand. A small blackboard announces the week’s upcoming events.
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“When a woman is stressed, where does she go?” Khan asks rhetorically, “Here, she has a few moments to herself.” Khan’s dream to host a space for women to get away from the drudgery of domestic service and caretaking goes back 25 years, when she worked with feminist collective MASUM after a Masters in social work. “Eight to nine of us used to hang out together, every day after work, and wonder—where are the spaces for women?” In 2003, she took a break and worked at Indigo Deli for three years. It was to understand the work required to run a co-working and hangout space.
Kids from Khan’s NGO, Parcham, have been coming over to play games and spend their free time away from school and home
In 2012, Khan founded the non-profit Parcham, which works for the upliftment of young boys and girls from marginalised communities in Mumbra. Later, she set up the Savitri Fatima Foundation for Inclusive Development. Guftagu was on hold—until early this year when a grant from the Mariwala Health Foundation kick-started its genesis. The doors of the space, which doubles up as a cafe, recreation and cultural centre, opened to the public on February 20.
In Mumbra, she says, no leisure spots exist, not even libraries or bookstores. The sole public park, inaugurated over a year ago, is always packed. And when the women do come, it’s almost always with their children. “After marriage, women are not encouraged to have friends, and lose the ones they had as a result of moving out of the natal home; they don’t step out except for domestic responsibilities,” Khan says. “Their life is all about serving others.”
Founding member Rashmi Divekar believes that Guftagu will allow for conversation on the rights of women to access public places. “Women’s daily use of public places is based on gender roles—they go to markets, schools, etc, to drop and receive their children. But, women using public spaces for their own leisure comes with the fear of violence,” she says. “Do we see women getting out of the home to have a cup of chai at a roadside stall? Almost all public spaces are claimed by everyone but women.”
Social worker Farhat Ali, a board member who helped establish Guftagu and Khan’s close friend, says the space will encourage women to come into their own and even nudge them towards financial independence—by connecting them to a sisterhood, say, a home chef to customers. She cites the example of Sajida Qureshi, who comes with her son Amaan and his friend Farmaan. “It’s her first time cooking for people other than her family—and earning money of her own,” she says, as the new home chef beams, her eyes sparkling from behind her hijab.
Khan’s friends and family keep popping in the space, which is intended to help you shed your inhibitions and just exist freely within the walls
The door swings open and shut frequently, as friends and family pop in. On Mondays, men are allowed—a rare concession that Parcham’s boys requested after seeing the girls of the organisation running away at odd hours, to a mysterious women-only haven. Cartoonist and illustrator Uttam Ghosh comes in half-way through our chat, and seats himself on a mattress propped against a wall. When we ask him what the space feels like to him, he says, “It’s an ideal place to sit and talk. People don’t talk today. Earlier, we had Irani cafes, where we could sit for hours and discuss anything and everything.” He observes that such set-ups have been replaced by global coffeeshop chains, accessible to only a few.
Those who live in Mumbra, stay in Mumbra, says Khan. The suburb saw a spurt of expansion after the 1992 riots. The population went up from 45,000 to nine lakh, as per the 2011 census. That’s an increase of over 20 times. “The trains from Mumbra are overcrowded, with people hanging out of the doors for dear life,” Khan says. Zikra Qureshi, who served us the kokum soda, is an intern at Guftagu. It was after working with Parcham that she managed to find the chance to visit art galleries and museums in Bandra and Churchgate. “I love to come here. Ekdum relax ho jaati hoon,” says the bright-eyed 19-year-old.
Farhat Khan, 23, who works at Parcham as an office administrator, says that getting women to come here was a task. “Their families weren’t pleased to see them get away from household duties, and the women themselves were unaccustomed to having time for their own pursuits,” she says. That’s why the team went from door-to-door to invite visitors, and conducted workshops on financial independence, to convince the women’s families that they were doing something productive. Future plans include holding a host of events and going on picnics and offsites. “When the women come here now, they don’t want to leave!” says Khan.
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