The former dastur’s grand, three-storeyed house runs like a train, with one room opening into another, each packed with furniture and bric-a-brac—four-poster beds, mirrored almirahs, an old gramophone, a grandfather clock, large yellowing photographs.
“My grandfather built this house for ₹9,000. That was 100 years ago,” says 70-year-old Russy Antia, who is dressed in a spotless white pyjama, kurta and paghri. The holy fire is everywhere—in pictures, in floating glass diyas , in the kitchen hearth. His house is located behind the elegant Atash Behram or fire temple in Navsari where Antia was the priest or dastur.
It is part of Tarota Bazaar, which houses a Parsi vad(enclave), one of a handful of such colonies in Gujarat where the community’s architectural heritage has stood up against the ravages of time, neglect and modern development.
We climb up a steep flight of narrow wooden stairs to a loft on the top floor traditionally used to store grain. Antia says the house is built with no pillars; but the thick brick walls—28 inches in places—keep the structure sturdy.
Jamshid Bhiwandiwalla, a Mumbai-based Parsi conservation architect, tells me the architecture of old Parsi houses was derived from the vernacular ‘pol’ or residential clusters.
“Much of the planning of these houses was influenced by cultural and ritualistic traditions,” he says. One element of this was segregation for ‘cleanliness’. A row of bathrooms is located outside the house and there are separate bathrooms and washing areas for women to use during menstruation. In the 18th and 19th centuries, there also used to be service streets at the rear of the houses to collect night soil.
Exquisite work
Much is common in the homes in these vads: high ceilings, ornately carved teak doors, an otla (porch) behind wrought iron ornamental gates, a well in the courtyard. Everywhere, we find exquisite metal grillwork, from railings to balusters, gates and doors.
Unlike north Gujarat, its southern parts see plenty of rain, so many of these houses have sloping roofs made of Mangalore tiles, indigenously crafted and keeping homes cool in summer. Bhiwandiwalla has helped restore several old Parsi homes in Navsari, including the birthplace of merchant and philanthropist Jamshetjee Jeejeebhoy and industrialist J.N. Tata.
Behzad M. Suraliwala, a resident of Navsari, also happens to be managing committee member of First Dastoor Meherjirana Library here that was built in 1874 and houses some rare Zoroastrian manuscripts in Sanskrit, Persian, Avestan, Pahlavi and Gujarati. Its architecture is imposing, with vaulted ceilings and an exposed timber framework supporting a sloping asbestos roof. The French tiles, the patterned railings and an ornamental corkscrew iron staircase, similar to the one in the Atash Behram, add to its majesty.
The well-maintained library has a relatively new annexe with a reading room, conference hall, apartments for visiting scholars and a lab to preserve rare books.
We visit another vad called Panch Hatdi, which has Khushru Homi Deboo’s grand ancestral home. His grandfather traded with the Chinese and his home—like many Parsi homes in Navsari—bears the stamp of this: vases, tiles, crockery, antique furniture from China. “My great grandfather built this house in 1901 with ₹12,000,” he says.
But the century-old house is in dire need of attention. The plaster is cracking and the roof is leaking, as is the case with most of the old Parsi homes in Navsari. Even the small and humble ancestral home of Dadabhai Naoroji, the Grand Old Man of India, is surprisingly dilapidated. Better preserved are the birthplaces of Jeejeebhoy in Vatcha Mohalla at Malesar and J.N. Tata at Dasturwad. Both museums, these two houses are modest, with a narrow corridor running through them with tiny rooms branching off on either side.
Locked houses
As I walk the streets of the coastal Parsi town of Udvada, I find the same story repeated. The century-old bungalows that line the charming lanes of Udvada—almost every one with a swing and a reclining chair with retractable arms in the porch—are either obscured by overgrown vegetation or literally falling apart. Peshotan H. Sidhwa, the third-generation owner of the city’s oldest hotel, Globe Hotel, says this is inevitable. “The owners have migrated for better opportunities to Mumbai or abroad. You will only find locked houses.” Even his own three-storey house is clearly in need of renovation.
Bhiwandiwalla is part of a group of architects working on a conservation and management plan for Udvada. In 2015 he developed a 12-point plan, which is in different stages of implementation by the State government. It includes heritage protection, garbage segregation and traffic management.
It isn’t just time, it is also literally the tide that threatens architectural heritage in Udvada. As I walk along Devka beach, I see a seawall being constructed to prevent the ingress of the sea water that’s eroding the soil and damaging property here.
Doodh na puff
I am lucky. I have landed in Udvada in adar mahino or May, dedicated to fire, and pilgrims have arrived from across the world to pay obeisance to the Iranshah Atash Behram, where the holy fire has been burning for 1,296 years, the oldest Zoroastrian place of worship. An elderly couple has come home on a visit from Mumbai. They tell me they are contemplating renovating their ancestral home, Hira Mansion, a short way from the coast.
We walk there. Behram J. Bhadha is a former mobed or priest and his house is a picture of neglect. We look around and then settle down on the porch with mugs of doodh na puff, deliciously sweetened milk froth. “We wanted to sell the house but our daughters stopped us,” says Mehroo, Bhadha’s wife. “They want to renovate it with a Mediterranean touch. But they will not allow their grandmother’s house to be sold.”
The writer is a freelance journalist and travel writer who searches for positive stories across the country.
