It takes a village to heal a city

The East Indian hamlet of Matharpacady prepares for the Holy Cross Feast next month, a timely invocation to Saint Roque for protection from pestilence

It must be the best night to explore Matharpacady. Or so I thought. On Christmas evening, East Indian villages sparkle with stars and fairy lights. Not this one. Residents of the historic enclave decided to donate for COVID-19 relief, the money saved from not blazing through festive weeks. 

Apt, on World Heritage Day, to map a village brimming with heart and hope. Matharpacady nestles snug in midtown Mazagaon, a maze of tight paths I tumble into from the Dr Mascarenhas Road turn-off at St Isabel School. Estimated 300 years old, left with a mere fraction of lovely split-level cottages inhabited by a once sizeable Catholic population, its name derives from “mathar”, meaning elderly and “pakhadi”, village. 

The iron grills of Sohel Degani’s House No. 20A show Queen Victoria at the centre

There is 17th-century documentation of Kolis, Bhandaris and Kunbis here. But this “village of elders” more precisely shaped after the 1700s Mazagaon dock attracted north Bombay Catholics, Chinese traders and Pathan moneylenders. Their influx swelled with the cotton boom the American Civil War triggered. In the absence of daily train travel, dock hands and mill mazdoors from distant Vasai and Uttan preferred settling in Mazagaon.  

Despite dramatic changes, some things remain quintessentially Matharpacady. The Feast of the Holy Cross on May 1, dedicated to St Roque, patron protector from infectious disease and epidemic, will mark this 146th year since the inception of the cross in 1875. The Holy Cross Oratory was appended when the 1896 plague miraculously claimed not a single life in this hamlet. 

Julius Valladares at Keepsake, his cottage with typical Indo-Portuguese architectural elements

Novenas at the landmark start soon, from April 22. In throwback to the community’s farming roots, parishioners of St Anne’s, Rosary Church and adjoining zones also beseech the Virgin Mary and St Roque for a fair monsoon. Celebrations commence with the Eucharistic Sacrifice and evening vespers. Venerating the Relic of the Cross, benefactors and volunteers enjoy festivities and food.

Earlier observed on May 3, the Cross Feast moved to the convenient May 1 holiday, guaranteeing greater participation. Lanes leading to the oratory were festooned fitting for a maritime city. In the past, boys of the hood travelled to the Port Trust’s Ballard Estate office to borrow flags raised by berthing ships, which they suspended along the sides of homes.   

Eymard Cottage, the Provincial House of the Blessed Sacrament Fathers

“The cross is erected on land my grandmother, Mrs Buthello, gave,” says Frumentius (Frumy) Ambosta. His father John carved the wooden cross and oratory doors. President of the Matharpacady Fishermen’s Association, he supervised a carpentry workshop, which wrought the woodwork of nautical enterprises from motor launches to the Maharaja of Coorg’s yacht. 

I meet Frumy in a moment of serendipity at the village well. As birds chirrup plans of sunset roosting, he points to an overhang of eaves—“New buildings have none of these spaces for sparrows to nest, see?”

An antique altar in the Club of Paroda, a Goan kudd of Matharpacady

In the thick of rampant reconstruction, with cranes paused spookily silent by the pandemic, Matharpacady springs surprise and delight at every step. Hard-found elsewhere in the city, vintage Indo-Portuguese cottages with distinct round brick roofs present half-hidden porches, veiled verandahs, ancient staircases, unexpected doorways. 

The wonderful warren of perpendicular paths, flanked by arty arbours, glows with glimpses of Azulejo tiles and antique altars. A clutch of Goan kudds, from the first Club of Chandor to Paroda Club, still function skeletally. Narrow service lanes crisscross, converging at cool courtyards. The prettiest pastiche of Barcelona-Lisbon-Fontainhas unfurls. 

The Ambostas outside their century-old home near the village well

“Ours is an unbroken record of caregivers of Cross Feast traditions from 1875,” says Roydon Gonsalves of the Holy Cross Committee. “This lockdown year we continue depending on the democratisation of the Internet. YouTube masses and rituals bring together whole families, including the infirm. Most vitally, these reach expat devotees wanting to log in. To hold people equally close in fun, we organise virtual quizzes and Tambola.”

Having welcomed Maharashtrian, Muslim, Parsi, Jewish and Anglo-Indian residents, the village sweeps them into a participative bustle of cultural programmes. Stanislaus Baptista, who writes Matharpacady blogposts with Roydon, describes 1980s spectaculars with grand floats. Viloo Shroff, possibly Matharpacady’s only Parsi besides three Buhariwala family members, proudly recollects, “My husband Tehemton was really involved with the carnivals. He was the last King Momo.” 

Dr Ubaldo Mascarenhas, the first Indian Mayor of free Bombay (1948-49) with Nehru  

Sena bandhs of the ’80s provided ample leisure hours. To the heat of hockey, football and cricket matches were added fierce (think loose teeth, bloodied knees) games of dabba-doobbi, kitty-kitty and koiba. Aiming marbles, spinning tops, kite flying, and speedy cycling generated excited whoops galore.  
         
The windowpanes of Canon Villa still lie visibly broken by hundreds of balls boisterous boys and girls hurled. The property used to be The Rosary, colloquially called “lozenger school”. Running a nursery, the Ferreira sisters popped sweet lozenges in the mouths of homebound babes to assure attendance sans tears next morning. 

Album photo of Dagmar Lopes playing the musical saw at a soiree. Pics courtesy/Roydon Gonsalves

Now reduced to weep-worthy rubble, Matharpacady Club totted a century in 2006. Enthusiasts from Bandra to Colaba would troop in for Housie, cards, carrom and, particularly, billiards—the country’s finest champs of the sport struck sharp cue tips on that table. 

The public ground with kiddie equipment, dubbed The Park, was previously Tank Square. It was bordered by Bharat Vyayam Shala. That modest gym was packed with local lads aspiring to beefy biceps for wrestling bouts in red mud considered healthy for skin. Exercise they sure needed, gorging on generous portions of Aunty Louie D’mello’s salt tongue, pan rolls and potato chops.   

Aunty Audrey’s marzipan Easter eggs were pure indulgence. Audrey Concessio and Dilys Remedios prepared delicate flower baskets to trim roads with. The sisters crafted to perfection at Antonio Rest, their picturesque bougainvillea-shaded home with asparagus fern trails, which was recently razed. 
 
Fruiting luscious twice yearly, the “mangoes of Mazagong” feature in Thomas Moore’s epic poem Lalla Rookh. Seeped in stories, lulled by lore—biannually blooming trees, sheathed serpents (drumstick trees hosted camouflaged green snakes, which dropped on victims), a perennial well supposed unwise to visit in moonlit solitude—Matharpacady struggles to stay fragrant as the curries bubbling in its kitchens. Sadly, it simmers like them too, burdened heavy with the stress of realtors fixing rapacious eyes on centuries-old structures.  
 
Remarkable among homes in this Grade III heritage haven is curiously christened Lion’s Den. Guarded by a pair of stone lions from 1892, it acknowledges the Leao family’s eldest son, Daniel, who was named after the biblical figure thrown into the proverbial leonine den. 

Solid colours suffuse facades like the Mascarenhas family’s lime yellow Marian Villa with blue-and-white tiles, and the red walled Baptista home. From buttercup yellow-painted Keepsake, smiling seaman Julius Valladares waves warmly at strangers who walk slow to admire the 1928 cottage’s exquisite woodwork. “Quicker to walk from the station than from the village entrance to home,” he quips. At 97, Julius’ father was never lonely. Sitting on the verandah, he heard a stream of banter from friends reporting gossip and goings-on. His Shakespeare-loving wife named their sons after Julius Caesar and Mark Antony. 

Music floated from every balcony. With the Beatles and Shadows storming the scene, the Busy Bees and Carvellos bands formed here. “We watched them jam from whatever perch possible. Kind folks allowed us to place a teetering leg on their ledge or sill, to peer up at the terrace of Rear Helal Building where the Busy Bees energetically rehearsed with Fender Stratocaster guitars and high-powered amps,” Roydon remembers. 

The Goans strummed Konkani mandos with flair. Joe Pereira hit the bongos in robust rhythm on social occasions, to immortalise Bongo Lane. Living behind the cross, Walter Pereira sang with The Bonaventures, Bonnie Michael Dsouza’s chartbuster group. 

Classic beyond beat and bop, Matharpacady boasted voices like John Martin, richly rendering Latin litanies, and dulcet-toned sopranos trilling ethereal-sounding scales for hymns. Roydon’s father, Frank Gonsalves, a cellist, pianist and double bass player, staged Gilbert and Sullivan operettas at St Mary’s School, where he taught English and math. Comprising ex-students, The Frank Gonsalves Orchestra practised on Sundays in his hallway and offered a keenly awaited ensemble performance at Vespers before the feast.   

In House 23-D, Lt Cdr Eric Lopes and his daughter Dagmar treated rapt listeners to Western tunes on the musical saw, an instrument resembling a carpentry saw, the bow drawn across the non-toothed side. The tension on blade and degree of bend emitted specific notes. Chords lost forever—a saw survives somewhere without a soul to play it. 

For a small islet, Matharpacady has produced giants such as All India Trade Union Congress co-founder, Joseph (Kaka) Baptista, and free Bombay’s first Mayor (1948-49), Dr Mafaldo Ubaldo Mascarenhas. Baptista’s ideas for the 1916-established Home Rule Movement much influenced Lokmanya Tilak and Annie Besant. Baptista’s slogan, “Swaraj is my birthright”, often credited to Tilak, was in fact adopted by Tilak as a rallying cry. 

“I’m 60 per cent East Indian, 30 per cent Parsi, just 10 per cent Bohri,” laughs landscape specialist Sohel Degani, who redesigned the oratory Roman columns with hand masonry in 1993. The 30 per cent were old neighbours in Harbour View, one of his two homes, whose higher floors looked out on cargo vessels. 

Not far from Harbour View, the Wayside Cross stands near a cherry tree plucked bare by children —significant in that it is customary to pray at this cross the day after the Feast. A rare non-Catholic working for Matharpacady Residents Welfare Association, Degani says, “I grew up with amazingly simple, straightforward people. Putting aside internal quarrels, they should face the world united.”   

The unity is imperative. Gone is the trust that kept open house daylong. Doorbell rings go unanswered today, for fear of demolishers cutting ruthless swathes. Spurred by the sense of duty and thanksgiving, a few youngsters try to retain their physical and spiritual legacy. 
So Matharpacady soldiers on. Believing in goodness. Reciting rosaries for safety. Seeking comfort in maxims like “Plague and pestilence make the shield of faith even stronger.” 

Author-publisher Meher Marfatia writes fortnightly on everything that makes her love Mumbai and adore Bombay. Reach her at meher.marfatia@midday.com/www.mehermarfatia.com 

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