Author: Reshma Patil
Publication: The Indian Express
Date: September 7, 2003
URL: http://cities.expressindia.com/archivefullstory.php?newsid=62476&creation_date=2003-09-07
Introduction: Unthinkable a decade
ago, Mumbai's hardline communal divide is slowly bridging in unlikely places
- at mosques, Ganesha rath yatras and poojas in Muslim tenements
Ten years ago when the King of Lalbaug
wove through a tense Muslim thicket of Duncan Road, a modest group in skull
caps had waited by the ringside, with garlands for Mumbai's favourite Ganesha.
It was 1993, not a great year to
break communal stereotypes or ignore nervous advice from a thick cordon
of police.
But over this difficult 10-year
passage, signs of a city steadily shedding those inhibitions are sprinkled
along a bold route- unchanged for 70 years-which the Lalbaug Ganesh will
rumble along for immersion on Tuesday.
Sajid Khan, a maker of chair seats
(with a photo album of Ganesha immersion processions since 1990 in his
cubbyhole) says his mohalla has made choices to move beyond a painful past.
''Once we started joining in Hindu festivals, we made friends with our
neighbours. This way there's no tension, no lafda.''
By the Hindustani Masjid in downtown
Byculla, Maulana Abdul Jabbar Azmi presides over namaaz, then steps outside
to make plans to welcome Ganpati with his flock-as the mosque's faithful
have, since 1962. ''Do you know why Mumbai kept its peace after this year's
blasts? Look here. I tell my people, as I did in 1993, that we have to
live here, die here. Is it not better to just stick together?''
New to this faith is Farhan Khan,
a young scrap dealer clutching an invitation to visit Lalbaug's Raja. He
was a mere bystander at the Duncan Road halt, until the good cheer worked
on him two years ago.
''Cops tell me this halt is now
a 'cool point' because we give them no headache,'' he grins widely. His
job: 18-20 drums of sherbet for the guests and fussing over VIPs.
Zabiullah Shaikh, joint secretary
of the Bombay Citizen Welfare Committee, recalls Ganeshotsav 1990, when
only a handful of Muslims had participated at Duncan Road and Byculla.
''By 1993, the atmosphere was so charged, there were more cops than locals.
Yet, acceptance increased. Soon our celebrations grew to require a stage.
The first stage was just 10 ft by 15 ft.''
''More Muslims, more garlands since
the Eighties and Nineties,'' says Ashok Pawar, who headed the Lalbaug Sarvajanik
Ganesh Utsav Mandal in 1993.
That explains Salim Khan's presence
at Ganesha poojas at the hardline Mohammedan tenements of Bhendi Bazaar.
Sixteen years ago, the Ganesha idol here was 1 inch high. As bonds were
forged, the idol grew to 8 feet.
''During the 1993 curfew, Hindus
and Muslims like us had rushed milk, flour and essential goods door-to-door.
Nobody forgot that. Sentiments have strengthened since,'' says Salim.
Salim and 40 per cent Muslims of
the Tarun Mitra Mandal fuss over Bhendi Bazaar's Ganpati Raja. Local Muslim
Secunder Pathan lords over the all-important decorations.
''Our procession passes by a dargah.
We proceed only after offering shawls, coconuts and a holy chaddar,'' says
Dilip Sawant, mandal head.
In a Ghatkopar slum, the good faith
stands in a cross-over named Ram Rahim Ganesh Mandal.
Commerce student Jabir Khan (18)
performs aarti. Sagar Suresh Singh, his 16-year-old pal, attends daily
namaaz. By evening, some 40 Muslims from nearby Azadnagar arrive gingerly
for aarati.
''Our first Ganesha, paid for by
local Muslims also,'' smiles Anand, Sagar's brother. He's unemployed, but
knows his mixed group is on to something serious. They forge bonds with
the help of Gods.
