September 5, 1949

It was past 11 am. Having dodged a couple of tongas and the Indo-Italian kaali-peelis our bus speeds through one of the longest roads of old Bombay. The Parel Road connects Kalbadevi to Kalachowki. This is a forever-crowded zone in the ever-growing city. The landscape is dominated by the soaring chimneys of textile mills and the long chawl-verandahs of its migrant workers. This is the ‘Manchester of the East’!

The rickety bus finally lurches to a screeching halt. Gesturing towards us, the conductor announces aloud – ‘Chuna Depot’. We hurry across the aisle as the conductor reaches for the bell. Having thanked the bus-personnel we now alight onto the rugged footpath. A dainty kirana with wooden pillars and metal roofing greets our sight.

Amidst the clutter of pipes, paints, and limestone jars is seated an old khaki-clad man. He peers curiously at us – attempting to read our expressions. Then with a subtle smile and a heavy Indian accent he questions – ‘Seminary?’ Responding to our vigorous nods, the man indicates to the entrance next-door. Graciously lifting his hand, he then resigns back to his daily chore.