Marol, the corner of Mumbai lost in time

Ginelle Ebnett, 21, appreciates every opportunity to talk about the village of Marol, not surprising for a history student. When I walked out of Marol metro station, she stood waiting for me with an umbrella: “You’ll need it. This heat takes a toll even on hardcore Mumbaikars, plus we are going for a little walk.”

The first thing I see is Marol Church. You can’t miss it, it’s a huge beige building with a park, where kids love to play football. As you keep walking, the houses start looking different. Slanting red-tiled roofs, walls painted a pastel shade of lilac or a deep canary yellow. Slim white pillars with angels marking verandas, old gates that look like they creak. These cottages with beautiful dusty trims mark the old Portuguese East Indian village of Marol. “I am glad you came today,” says my gracious guide. “Post lunch, you can witness the rosary and housie.”

May in Marol is a special affair. Despite the heat and humidity, at 8 every evening, Marolkars gathered in small clusters to say a fifteen-minute rosary (a Roman Catholic meditation of 5 decades, each comprising 10 Hail Marys, beginning with an Our Father and ending with a Glory Be prayer).

“For more than 20–25 years, every May, for a whole month, we have the Rosary. Some people give chana (chickpeas), some give murmura (puffed rice); you can give whatever you want,” says Blanch Gomes, 84. A mosaic of East Indians (an ethno-religious Christian community native to the seven islands of Bombay), Marolkars have lived in the village for generations.

In 1579, inhabitants of Marol were among the 500 people who converted to Christianity when the neighbouring church at Condita was opened for public worship on the feast of St John the Baptist. Nine years later, in 1588, the second mass conversion took place on the eve of the Feast of the Assumption, turning the villagers of Marol into one of the oldest communities that practice Catholicism in Mumbai.

After the devastating epidemic of 1840, Fr Jose Lourenco Paes, the Vicar of Condita at the time, built a new church in Marol and transferred the parish from Condita. The old church was abandoned, but the statues, baptismal font, altars and a few pillars were transferred to the new church. Some crosses are 200 years old and looked after by particular families, either in loving memory of the deceased or as a means of community service.

May is dedicated to Mother Mary. Every lane has at least one grotto with Mother Mary holding baby Jesus, draped in a saree and adorned with jasmine flowers. “I have been praying the rosary since I was two or three years old and I enjoy it. Saying the rosary with my friends is my favourite memory. Many of my friends have left and they miss it,” says Lakin Fernandes, 14. “We don’t get to see each other much, so this is a great time to come together and pray,” he adds. Pray, and play!

Housie is the most popular game, with winners bagging a small cash prize or a token if they ace Bingo first. Both cash prizes and gifts are bought by the community.

Blanch Gomes likes to sit down with her friends, who are all reminded of their aching knees during such festivities. At one point, she looked at me longer than I expected. Leaning in, she asked, “Don’t be angry with me but what caste are you from? You know, these are bad times. Sometimes people come here and we have to take a step back. This is why the rosary is so nice. It brings us together.”

Why May, I wonder, to which Gomes replies, “Kids have their vacation in May. Not everyone can go out of station, so this is for them too. On the last day, we have a mad celebration!”

Soon after the sun sets and the temperature becomes a bit tolerable, people in small groups assemble near their closest cross and pray. Ginelle and her neighbours pray at the cross beside Marvin Cottage, distinguished by the ample space around it — which is a rarity.

“Off the top of my head, there are only three such remaining spaces in a village that houses thousands of people,” says Ginelle. Marvin Cottage cross is a big part of the village’s identity, especially for those who live around it.

That evening, I got home and texted Ginelle, thanking her for the invite. What Gomes said had stayed with me. When I brought it up with Ginelle, she took a minute before answering, “Yes, it is our space and we are very proud of it. We will hang on to it, and its traditions, regardless of what the ruling party says. The rosary has been going on, and it will go on.

"In fact, this year’s celebration has been the grandest in a long time — from the decorations to the music to the food. I don’t know if it comes from knowing what our country’s future holds and that we really need to protect what we have.”

On our mini walk, she pointed out, “See that cross? It’s a very, very old cross in a Hindu home. People from that lane pray there. That’s the way it is, an old temple here, a mosque there and no one says anything. Just bemused looks at the kids and oldies playing together. If there are any complaints, they’re from the police about noise control!”

We are sitting on the balcony overlooking the cross, situated between Marvin Cottage and three other houses. “We’ve grown up with so much space in a city being eaten up by ‘development’. Cultures are being eroded because of that.”

Her family, the Ebnetts, her neighbours, the Gomes, the D’Mellos and other families keep their culture alive. “Not only the rosary, we have the umrach paani (a wedding tradition where bathing water for the bride and groom is fetched). This cross is the one place the wedding party stops and dances the most: you have a band, 60–80 people dancing, drinking, eating.” She laughs, as she says, “We gather there in our oneness.”

When I ask her about the Portuguese connection, Ginelle rolls her eyes. “I don’t have any connection to the Portuguese people, you know, they were oppressors, but it is important to local history. People immediately assume everything is British but there is a Portuguese influence deep within. Vasai and Uran have Portuguese villages too and the loss of a particular architecture is sad because it takes away a lot of character, to be replaced with something that looks so industrial. Just hard shapes and corners is no fun.”

Although she is an atheist now, Ginelle recounts elocution competitions that involved reading the Rosary. “There’s a part called the Litany—it’s a call and response situation, a good 50 calls. You read like a chant and it goes back and forth. I still know it by heart because it was so invigorating to have your voice heard by the entire community and everybody responding to you. It felt wholesome.”

Over the years, people have moved away and the crowds have thinned. People, lifestyles and priorities are changing. “Maybe the old people who are still here will continue this tradition,” says Lakin. “We have fond memories of the crosses, celebrating birthdays, sharing biryani, playing cricket, hosting parties,” say others.

May is more than the month of Mary, it’s the month of enjoying each other’s company. This year on the last day, there was a feast of chips, boiled chana, farsan, butter chicken rolls, cold drinks, fugia (deep-fried balls of fermented bread, an East Indian speciality) and cake.

Ginelle looks down into her empty cup of tea. The sun has set and the sky is a lilac shade with greyish clouds. “It’s scary. Soon, nobody will know such a community existed here in Marol. In 10–15 years, when every single house is a multi-storeyed building, who would remember what it was built on?”

Scary indeed. Meanwhile, there’s comfort in being the reigning housie champion.