Changing face of the Juhu Scheme

This appeared in the September 1st edition of The Mumbai Mirror

Many quiet lanes criss-cross Mumbai’s Juhu Scheme. Walking through these uneventful streets feels deliciously old–world. Traditional housing societies in shades of grey, cream and beige rise no higher than three storeys. Occasionally you encounter a bungalow nestling between two co-operative societies. Surrounded by a concealing hedge and sporting a Delhi Defence Colony aesthetic, these starry structures come with their distinctive paraphernalia of a security guard at the gate and sometimes even a trailer parked outside. ‘Bappi Lahiri ka bungalow hai’, your autowala will inform you with casual pride, or ‘Jeetendra (and now Ekta Kapoor) ka ghar hai’.

Still you don’t see many people around — a few walk casually towards a cluster of shops at the end of the block. There’s a corner provision shop with its ubiquitous complement of mops, orange plastic balls and buckets hanging at the entrance. A black and white tin board on the Sagar Milk Centre across the road advertises its lassi and it’s srikhand, and next to it is a tiny Bharat Glass outlet, with rows of red cylinder stacked up diagonally across the road.

Walking through this tiny hub takes all of a minute and you’re back to the gulmohar trees that flank the road on either side. The roads are generous, with walkable mud pavements on both sides. I recall a discussion at the Juhu Citizens Committee Meeting the previous week, at Juhu’s charming Janaki Kutir society, home to the Prithvi Theatre. “The Juhu Scheme roads belong to the residents, so the BMC doesn’t want to touch them for maintenance,” a member explains, “this is a grouse that comes up again and again.” Still, the roads provide a pleasant walk. It feels miles away from the traffic snarled, red light dotted NS Road, only a few streets away, that connects Mithibai College to the Juhu Circle.

Lots of green and shade here, and the quiet – it’s almost perfect. Yet there is rubble in Paradise – piles of sand and slag, line of select plots on almost every street, as new construction creeps in. Some buildings have been granted TDR (transfer of development rights) and steel girders and grey unfinished walls protrude from existing ill-maintained structures.

A little further, a bungalow has been razed to the ground and there’s a construction crew complete with a bright yellow earth mover and workmen who tramp their way over a truckload of grey mud and steel cables. And at the end of the street in neo-pink and silver, many storeys high stands the almost complete Divinity. Concrete ramps, stairs and car parks, with tiered rows of big bay windows. As for the quaint cottage opposite with its little railing that runs the length of the upstairs verandah, I can almost see it disappear. The price of urban heaven I suppose.