#vakola

[biryanishah]

We all love good and safe food @biryanishahindia The Biryani King is here... Let's connect and taste the true chemical free and Fresh Stuff. #biryani #biryanilovers #mumbai #bandra #khar #santacruz #juhu #kalina #vakola #kurla #chembur #vileparle #andheri #marol #mahim #bkc #foodblogger #biryanishahindia https://www.instagram.com/p/CUDrDhRqUPz/?utm_medium=tumblr

[newscontinuous]

મુંબઈવાસીઓ ધ્યાન આપો. સવાર સવારમાં વાકોલાના આ બ્રિજ પર અકસ્માત સર્જાતા ટ્રાફિક વ્યવહાર પડ્યો ધીમો..

[ideasmithy]

Getting ready to begin @tpcmumbai meet. #poem #poetry #poetrycommunity #writing #writingcommunity #writer #writers #poet #creativewriting #creqtivespace #vakola #mumbai #santacruz #westernsuburbs #poets #poetsofig (at Vakoloft: Idea Space Pop-up Community)

[snippetstopieces]

That place called Vakola.

Brokers will assure you it’s the best place to live, after Bandra of course.

They will lead you through narrow streets off the main road to apartment buildings on the other side of a massive road gutter. They will ask you to hurry up and you oblige, for a tree is about to be felled and if you were caught under it, tripping over the recently dug out paver blocks while passing through the entry gap in the compound wall , it would be a tragic end to a story that had not yet begun.

They will introduce you to a co-broker who claims to own an entire floor in a shaky unpainted building that he drags you towards, past a large notice that forbids anyone to rent out flats in the same. Through dark, dingy corridors they will lead you, with assurances that only good vegetarian Gujarati and Marwari families stay here. Just so that you don’t feel too out of place, they will add that there are a few bank officers from Kotak and Federal Bank – ‘Many single ladies staying here, Madam, nothing to worry!’ An unmistakeable stench of cat pee permeates the hallway that they so strongly advertise and you wonder how the other wonderful single women and families staying here deal with it.

Soon enough they will unlock a house with a dirty old entrance rug that you nearly trip over, and welcome you to what would be your prospective house. As you explore the place, they will keep up a running commentary of the virtues of the flat – newly painted(with trickles of dried pink paint drops on the walls forever frozen in time), newly fitted loo(with questionable stains around the water closet), great view(of a slum besides a wide flowing river of filth) and so on.

They will quickly move you out of the house to introduce you to another ‘single lady’ – her presence and convenient appearance making you very suspicious. ‘Madam works for Kotak Mahindra. Two days mein full house we gave her, furniture and everything. Koi problem nahi!’ You smile obligingly at the ‘Madam’ who sings praises of the brokers (who else) and desperately pray for the visit to end soon.

The brokers will then talk numbers, quoting exorbitant prices as rent, commission and what-not, justifying it with creative claims. They will lead you back through the dubious compound wall and pavements, and will guarantee you that you will not get a better deal for a house like this. You agree to get back to them after talking to ‘your parents’ (or so you tell them).

As you scramble for a rickshaw to get yourself out of the dark gullies of Vakola, you silently decide to never return. Limited budget bedamned, you realise that nothing good could ever come out living in a place like that, except maybe the opportunity to write an entertaining story or two. Maybe.