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Rosalyn D'Mello: The suburbs of our memory
Updated On: 30 September, 2016 07:24 AM IST | | Rosalyn D'Mello
<p>We must pass on the nostalgia from our suburban neighbourhoods before our shared memories are forgotten in this age of high-rises</p>
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There could be an entire book just about Sunday rituals in Catholic neighbourhoods in the suburbs, like Kurla or Kalina
Despite the sheer convenience of living at a friend’s place in Colaba and the odd comfort of waking up to the familiar proceedings of the 7 am mass at the St Francis chapel right across the road, I found myself pining for the privilege of being home. So, after returning from the glorious high of the Symphony of India’s concert at NCPA, I inadvertently packed my knapsack and headed to Kurla for the night. The next evening I returned to the suburbs, even though I had only a few clothes to spare (my baggage was still at my friend’s house). As I was walking up the stairs, I ran into my downstairs’ neighbour, Annalise, whom I’ve known since she was a baby. She held within her hands a big vessel with piping hot crab curry. “I’m coming down to get a bowl,” I said audaciously. I rushed to my kitchen to get a container and just as I was about to head back out the door, I found her sister Mia standing outside with a generous helping just for me. That night, my friend Abby and I feasted on the Mangalorean-style curry, walloping it up with fresh ladi pav we’d bought from the bakery close by.
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