Letting go of loved ones and friends is painful. But letting go of a house, filled with memories, is just as painful. I realised this recently after we sold off my Mom's Pune flat. When Mom was young, she loved to invest in real estate, and I was dead against it. I've always been against real estate investment. To soften the blow, Mom kept on saying that she had bought the house with the hope of bringing her younger brother Godrej and his wife Nergish from Mozambique — who spent their entire adult lives in poverty and ill-health — and helping them settle here in Pune, where perhaps their mother — my granny who lived with us since Grandpa passed away in 1988, till she passed away in 2005 — could also live with them. That was easier said than done. Getting them to India proved to be impossible. Besides, the way she went about decorating and setting up the new home, the idea of my uncle and aunty living in that home evaporated quickly, as Mom doesn't like anybody other than her using her kitchen and the rest of the house. Looking back, I cannot believe I had revolted strongly against her buying the home and had sworn I'd never set foot in that house. Thirty years later, as we sold our home, I felt like I left a piece of me in there. In a good way, though! The house had become our home. And selling a home that is filled with so many lovely memories felt like saying goodbye to our own child.
I had hardly been to Pune before 1996, when we bought that house. Every other Parsi, it appeared, other than us, had got a taste of Pune by then. Up until then, Pune was just a pass-through city on our way to Panchgani, where Mom had another home back then. We used to take the morning Indrayani Express, alight at Pune railway station, go to the taxi stand, haggle with taxi drivers to take us to Panchgani (either sharing or full taxi) and then off we set for the hills. Kayani Bakery was largely unknown; the little I knew of it growing up made it sound like a fairyland that produced those delicious biscuits that God gave only to good kids, if they did well in studies.
| Our last photo at our Pune home before we left |
Pune grew on me quicker than I had thought. It was easier to reach there. The weather is gorgeous. Global warming has heated up the place over the years, but even today in monsoons and winters, it is still quilt-blanket and no-fan weather. When I was in college and in my early work years, when responsibilities were far fewer, my Pune holidays were elaborate. I used to take a rickshaw and go to Camp every day for some excuse or another. The ride itself was an experience; a half-hour ride to Camp which I used to cherish. A quick dash past Fakhri Hills and Kubera Park Housing colonies, the ride up the steep hill next to Serene Estate, and then a long, steady downhill ride past the Military Command Hospital and onto the crowded and chaotic MG Road after passing Poolgate.
Daily visits to Camp were a must. And every day I used to visit one Agiary (Parsi fire-temple). Pune has three Agiaries: Sir Jamshetjee Jeejeebhoy Agiary at Dastur Meher Road, Komra Agiary (Camp), and Sardar Sorabji Ratanji Patel Agiary at Nanapeth, which most of us remember as the Nanapeth Agiary. But first: a stop at the newspaper vendor at Khadda Market, also called Pool Gate Vegetable Market.
Pune isn't a city to me. It's a feeling. Certain things were non-negotiable in those days. A walk down MG Road, at least one movie at Inox Bund Garden Road, Shrewsbury biscuits and Mawa cakes at Kayani Bakery, an occasional snack at Mar-o-Rin, a meal at Malakka's Spice (can't forget my last meal there and the song 'Everybody's Changing' by Keane was playing), getting my watches repaired or batteries replaced at C.K. Pundole (the best watch retail and repair shop in India), Mom shopping for her numerous vessels at Huns & Co at RS Kedari Road, at least one meal at Dorabjee & Sons (Dhansakh is a must, followed by Curry rice) and of course numerous visits at Dorabjee's; India's best department store where I can spend hours and hours roaming and never get bored. I never needed an excuse to go to Dorabjee's.
Pune was a very different city back then in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Traffic was tolerable, though Punekars never observed traffic rules. It seems they never grew up learning what a traffic signal is. One of the most indisciplined examples of lane management I've ever seen. I've seen handicapped 2-wheeler riders change lanes precariously, without wearing a helmet and talking on a mobile. Multiple, oh-so-many, violations at once. But you know, the weird part is that the traffic always moves. The few times I've seen traffic police implementing signals and lane discipline, traffic piles up. Perhaps because roads and lanes are so narrow that unless the cars and bikes find their way — which they do — there used to be huge jams. If you can drive a car or ride a bike in Pune, you could drive or ride yourself anywhere in India. But over the years, traffic and road congestion went up. It's perhaps the only city in India where I get scared to cross the road. That wasn't a good sign for me as I age, and I had initially thought to spend my retired life there. Besides, maintaining a home away from home is both costly, time-consuming and exhausting. Real estate is a bad investment unless you live in it.
It's time for my home to be cared for and nurtured by a new loving and caring family, and I couldn't have found a better family than the one that bought my home. For the first time, my home has provided a roof over a permanent and growing family, and nothing could be better than that. I wish the new owners a lifetime of happiness and good memories.
