EARTH

 He was  ’Down to Earth’

His name was ... Franky?

No

No

Sebastian

No

Goldy, Soldy?

No

It was Anthony.

Anthony Gonsalves.

Oh yes

Anthony Gonsalves.

                 

                       ------///------

Anthony lived in a bungalow in Love Lane in Mazagaon.

You will point out, ”I am sure his house number was 420”

I will say,

”Yes, how did you guess. You are spot-on. His bungalow number was 420”

Laughing out loud you will point out ”Song in Amar Akbar Anthony -- My name is Anthony Gonsalves...... Rup Mahal, Prem Gali, Kholi number 420”

I will reply, ”Excuse me, please!! -- You are wrong. This movie by Manmohan Desai with a song written by Anand Bakshi was released in 1977. My story about Anthony Gonsalves was from early 1960. No resemblance to the Amitabh character. My Anthony was a Baker.”

Let's go back in time and take a tonga ride to Love Lane in Mazagaon.

                 

                       ------///------

Anthony was orphaned at a very young age. He then migrated with his uncle Pascal from Goa to Bombay in mid-1950.

It was a very difficult migration.

Goa was under Portuguese rule way before India got Independence. The Portuguese government had asserted that Goa was a part of Portugal subcontinent and was not a colony hence India did have a right to this territory. In September 1955, India shut its consul office in Goa and exercised an economic blockade of Portuguese Goa. Due to the economic blockade, the steamer and railway traffic to Bombay was suspended and travel from Goa to Bombay and vice-versa became a nightmare.

It was under these circumstances that Pascal a baker in Goa along with his 12-year-old nephew Anthony decided to leave Goa and come across. 

40-year-old Pascal was a bachelor and after his brother and sisters, recent tragic boat accident was left with his nephew -- his only relative.

There were rumours that Pascal was somehow responsible for their untimely death but lack of conclusive evidence could not pinpoint his involvement.

Villagers felt he may be slightly deranged.

He cut off all ties and left the village one night with the young boy. 

 The journey of barely 300 miles now took more than 50 hours.

They had to travel by foot, bus, and canoe to Polem and Majali a hamlet in the Uttar Kannada district of Karnataka. It is situated in a coastal region called Kanara at the Goa-Karnataka border. 

Arriving with metal trunks they had to go through formalities of Customs and Immigration checkups at the Indian border before they could board the steamer for the ship ride from the Indian port of Karwar. 

Once in Bombay Pascal decided to come to Mazagaon.

At the end of the 17th century, Mazagaon had become an outlying suburb of Bombay and a fashionable place of residence. Affluent Parsis lived here in spacious bungalows and many Goan families settled here due to Portugal influence and availability of work and prosperity. 

Pascal started a small bakery along with his nephew and both of them worked very hard to establish a great clientele.

Under his uncle’s pupilage, Anthony learnt the trade and slowly was taking responsibility for the production of all items sold in the bakery. A decade passed since they had migrated from Goa.

As they prospered his uncle purchased a small dilapidated bungalow at a very cheap price.

The short distance between the bungalow and the bakery was manageable and between the two of them they managed the show.

Anthony was growing up to be a handsome young man. However, he had very few friends and they all felt he was simple and down to earth. 

For him it was Work Work Work!!

Both Uncle and nephew maintained a low profile and were not in social circles. They never invited anyone home nor went out visiting.

They just concentrated on their trade.

The quality of their products spoke for them and compensated for this lack of social activity.

Pascal would stay and sleep in the bakery itself and Anthony would use the bungalow. The area was deserted with hardly any other houses around.

It also got very dark as this part of the city was not widely electrified.

Production at the bakery would commence late at night and would cease at the break of dawn. After working full night in the wood-fired oven bakery Anthony would travel back to the bungalow on his cycle. 

This cycle had a metal handle bar bell and regular tring trings would be heard in the dark as he commuted.

He would catch up on his sleep throughout the day.

He was engrossed in his passion and this routine continued for a long time.

One morning the bakery stay shut.

All customers were surprised. Pascal turned up and shared the news that Anthony had been injured in a stove blast that had taken place last evening at the bungalow. Apart from this slight physical injury, there was no major damage to the property.

He said that because of the injuries Anthony was not in a position to bake.

He would need to rest.

As he was old there would not be any production and they would only reopen once Anthony recovered.

A week later one night suddenly the tring tring was heard again. 

Smoke billowed from the chimney of the bakery as the aroma of fresh baking wafted in the air.

The next morning the bakery opened up again. They were back in action. 

Pascal managed the sales and he was the only face the customers now saw and interacted with. Anthony was baking on the night shifts.

The breads tasted out of this world.

The bakery sales timing was limited and once goods got sold, Pascal would close shop.

Public demand to produce more items from his customers fell to deaf ears.

Post the stove blast incident, he looked even more withdrawn.

He would lock his shop, engage in lone soulful drinking and sleep it out, while his nephew worked, to wake up in time to open the shop the next morning 

This routine continued for a few weeks and every night and early morning tring trings in the dark announced the activity of Anthony’s commute to and from the bakery.

                 

                       ------///------

Bespectacled Pestonji Bawa was a regular at the bakery and loved the breads baked and sold here.

He was nearing 60 but was fit as a forty-year-old. 

Dressed in his white sudreh the undergarment worn by Zoroastrians, which is worn alongside the Kushti he would go for his early morning walk.

The Sudreh contains a small pocket in the front, which is supposed to collect one's good deeds. It is worn to protect the wearer from evil acts and is considered a spiritual shield from evil.

He would be the early bird who would be out for a morning walk and on his way back home would pick up ’burun pao’ to have with ’maska’ and ’chai’

That morning as he walked past the bakery at 5 am he heard sounds of inconsistent tring tring from inside the bakery.

He assumed it must be Anthony finishing work and travelling back to his bungalow.

He was wondering why the frequency of the sounds were different from the normal tring tring sounds.

It sounded like rapid rings.

After his walk, which today was longer than what he normally walked, he reached the bakery to see it still shut.

He peeked into the shop from a side window and was shocked.

A double bent Pascal was lying motionless in the dark with his head cracked open and bleeding.

He managed to pry open the window and jump in. As soon as he touched Pascal the body fell sideways. Checking for a pulse he did not find any. 

Pascal was Dead. 

Stone Cold Dead!!

Besides the bleeding body was a metallic cycle handbell. 

Probably the murder weapon.

He quickly rushed out and managed to awaken a few neighbours and inform them. He also managed to get the Love Lane bungalow address and went there to inform Anthony whom he had not seen for ages.

As he pushed open the doors of the dark bungalow it creaked open and he was startled with the sudden flutter of wings.

A couple of bats whizzed past him and flew out. There was a horrible stench as he went in and adjusted his vision in the dark. Grabbing a matchbox from his sudreh pocket he struck a match as the small flame on the match stick cast light and he got a quick glimpse of the stark reality. As the glow fazed out he struck another match and lit a candle lying on the tip of the table.

As the candle glow steadied its flickering lumen outlaid a disturbing scene. Half charred and burnt furniture and fabric lay strewn around a burnt-out metal stove. 

This must have been the accident scene a few weeks back.

Moving forward he pulled out his handkerchief to cover his nostrils as the stench became unbearable. 

Looking towards the source of the smell he noticed that the earth had been dug out in the middle of the room and a decomposing, half charred body of a barely recognisable Anthony was lying buried in the bowel of the Earth. 

Anthony was now truly ’Down to Earth’

Besides the caved out mound of Earth lay Anthony’s cycle. 

The handle bell was missing!!

Questions remained to be answered.

Who was tring-tringing all these nights?

Who was baking all these ’out of this world’ products these last few weeks?

Had Pascal buried Anthony after the stove accident?

Was Pascal responsible for Anthony’s parent's death?

How did Anthony's cycle bell become Pascal’s murder weapon?

Well, I don't have an answer to these questions.

I leave them to your imagination!!

They may have been buried in the Earth in which Anthony -- yes my Anthony Gonsalves had been buried.