Not Following in their Footsteps….
Updated: May 24, 2023
I recently heard someone bemoaning the fact that the RK Studios no longer exist. That put me in mind of another institution that had downed shutters — Strand Book Stall.
The passing of such iconic institutions of social and cultural pride does cause heartfelt pain to those who see them as one of the givens of their lives. How can one sit by and quietly accept the disappearance of these things that have been part of the Cityscape for so long?
I remember being deeply distressed by the news that Strand was slated for shut down. I had been introduced to Strand when I was in first year of degree college. Our English literature professor, Mr. Shenoy, told us of it and also mentioned that it was known for offering 20% discounts on the listed price. This was an important consideration in days when pocket money was limited and expected to last a whole month (including spending for essential expenses as well as luxuries such as books and music and gifts for birthdays of family and friends). College life was mostly spent out of college (which means at home, reading peacefully). There were monthly excursions to the British Council Library (located then at Nariman Point, opposite Mantralaya), followed by a visit to Strand. Thus equipped, I was amply set for another month before the reading material gave out and I was compelled to emerge from hibernation.
Strand welcomed Mumbai’s book lovers for the last time on February 28, 2018. My Bitter Half and I both mourned its passing. I had introduced him to it on our first date, and a voracious reader himself, he was instantly hooked on to its charming atmosphere of calm and unhurried erudition. Our loss was also the loss of so many others who had spent many happy hours browsing unhurriedly in the messy aisles of Strand. There was no real organisation to the collection — there were just general sections and one foraged for books in a leisurely manner until one found what one liked. Of course, one also ended up buying books one had not at all intended to, but that was because one’s interest was caught when browsing. If one were in a hurry, however, one had only to ask one of the staff, and they would simply make a beeline for the said book and place it before one in a matter of minutes. There must, therefore, have been a method to their stocking madness.
The passing of these iconic institutions does cause more than a pang to those long used to their presence in their lives. The shutting down of Strand, or the RK Studios or Rhythm House, were causes of depression for art lovers in the City. These were institutions in themselves, witness to the grand old cultural landscape of the City — of the Nation, too. Book and cinema lovers railed against the heirs who were seen as unworthy of carrying on in the manner of their illustrious forebears; they were condemned as lesser mortals who were simply unable to match up to the standards set by the previous generation. How disappointing we found them! And how much better we felt for having written them off as unworthy! Taking the high moral ground assuaged our sense of loss, and guilt, too.
Yes, guilt. For why were these institutions compelled to resort to such an extreme step? Simply because they could not afford to go on financing ventures that struggled to compete against online services. The onslaught of Amazon and Flipkart caused even the Tatas’ Landmark Stores to shut down; Strand was a relatively smaller outfit in comparison.
If we’re so committed to the idea that these institutions should be perpetuated to ensure the distinctive flavour of the City, isn’t it our responsibility to make sure we continue patronising them to keep them going? Oddly, we, the general public, have crystal clear views about what must be done to achieve utopian visions; it’s only the small matter of the responsibility for bringing those visions to fruition that causes our vision to cloud over. The responsibility of maintaining these institutions is always someone else’s, and generally only that of the direct descendants of the families concerned. Our logic is simple: if they benefit from these institutions, they should also be willing to bear any amount of loss and keep the said concerns going. Only thus will we be able to occasionally visit when the mood strikes us. If the family is no longer able to maintain the property financially (as in the case of RK Studios) we expect the government to step in and take over. Someone else can (and ought to) do the needful; we ourselves are exempt from all responsibility in the matter. How wonderfully hypocritical we are!
Another aspect of this matter bears consideration. Not only do we assign the responsibility of maintaining these institutions to someone else, we also merrily insist that the descendants of the founders should do nothing else but slog away at the uphill task of running these places. I wonder what gives us the right to assume that just because we are enamoured of these institutions, the descendants must be, too. Why should we condemn them to do what they may not like to, or something that they’re not able to? Is it not unfair to yoke them to what we see only with starstruck eyes but for them is something they have grown up with? Their memories may be composed of blood and tears, not merely of rosy notions and visions; do we even ever wonder if they resent these institutions and, therefore, the burden of having to continue with them?
The notion of heredity leads us to expect that children will follow in the footsteps of their parents. Their ability to follow (or surpass) their illustrious parents somehow determines their individual worth in our eyes. If they fall short of our expectations we write them off and ignore them. We claim the right to do this as the audience’s privilege — we are paying customers and, hence, always right. So, we choose favourites and condemn the rest without compunction.
Why must we expect that children will follow in their parents’ chosen path? What worked for their parents may not, even need not, work for the children. The fame of their parents may certainly be readily available as a springboard to success, but the charges of nepotism are sure to dog their every move henceforth. The public (never satisfied) berate their lack of real talent and sneer at their presence in the profession as being only because of the influence their parents exert. Even if (by some miracle) such charges are not levelled at them, the sheer psychological pressure of the fame of the parents as a yardstick against which they constantly need to measure themselves may even cause the children to resent their parents. And if truth be told, the people we admire may be to the children just frail humans with feet of clay. Perhaps not following in their footsteps may not only be the wise thing to do, but may actually be the only possible thing to do….
Every patron of Strand Book Store remembers Mr. T. N. Shanbag and reciprocal. Meaning, Shanbag ji knew almost all who passed through his store ( browsing or buying) in his presence.