Whenever I take guests to Mumbai’s Andheri-Kurla Road, I tell them that from the 1940s to the 1980s, this area was one of the busiest film production centers in Bombay (now Mumbai). Great films like Mughal-e-Azam, Devdas and Bandini were shot at Mohan Studios. K for Mughal-e-Azam. Asif had built the set of the iconic Sheesh Mahal here on the lines of Lahore Fort. Measuring approximately 150 feet × 80 feet × 35 feet, it took two years to build the set, which was comprised of thousands of pieces of Belgian glass crafted by artisans from Firozabad. Built in the late 1950s, this set cost more than Rs 15 lakh, which was a huge sum at that time. But when I point out to them the irony that that studio did not even have a proper washroom for women, they look at me with suspicion, wondering how that is possible. They always ask why the studio management, which could spend so much on sets, could not build toilets for the actresses who used to attract crowds to the theatres. Then I ask them to search about actress Waheeda Rehman, who used to say that she used to avoid drinking water during shooting. Asha Parekh also once said that she was lucky to constantly avoid going to the washroom during long shooting schedules, but she never suffered from kidney problems. Renuka Shahane also said that even in the 1990s, many women avoided drinking water on film sets because the washrooms there were dirty and unusable. After hearing the contrast of cinematic grandeur and the hardships these actresses face, guests ask, ‘Can we see that studio?’ Unfortunately I can’t show them even a single brick from that era. The studios have disappeared and are now replaced by residential buildings. I conclude by saying that ‘when a studio ends, an entire chapter of Indian cinema ends with it and a part of history is also forgotten.’ On Tuesday I had guests from West Chicago. He quickly added, ‘Thank God a long-neglected 1913 one-room schoolhouse in Illinois is finally being renovated. Now instructional coaches from the district will sit there, who will help the local schools in teaching and learning. The school will now become a living educational resource, allowing young teachers to understand what the one-room schools once common in America actually looked like. Spread over less than an acre of land, this building will no longer be merely recorded in the history books, but will continue to tell future teachers about the evolution of teaching. During my recent visit to Delhi, I met a local historian from South Extension. He narrated an interesting story about how his area got its name. According to him, this colony got its name because it was developed around Connaught Place as a southern extension of New Delhi, settled by the British. Although there is no official evidence, many people believe that its name comes from the same geographical area where a road called ‘South-end Road’ once stood. Since that road was later renamed Peelu Modi Road, this created an intriguing historical disconnect. Future generations may wonder why an area would be named ‘South Extension’ when there is no place with a similar name in the vicinity from where its expansion began. In such a situation, the geographical logic behind this name becomes less clear and it becomes difficult to understand the urban development of Delhi without old maps, historical records or historians who have written books on the subject. When old buildings are torn down or historical names disappear, we not only lose bricks, roads or landmarks, but also erase the stories that explain the evolution of our cities, institutions and identities. The bottom line is that history is not a burden to be carried. It is a heritage that should be preserved for future generations.
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N. Raghuraman’s Column: History is not a burden, but a legacy
