The Paradox Of South Bombay

Apologies to the Shiv Sainiks, but it’s Bombay, not Mumbai, that holds sway over me. Especially South Bombay (SoBo, for those of us who prefer syllabic frugality) with its expansive boulevards and open spaces, is a cityscape that breathes. Zara shops next to century-old residences, posh restaurants rubbing shoulders with age-old schools, all against a backdrop of colonial façades. It’s a strange collage, where the ultra-modern coexists almost indifferently with the archaic.

I recently spent a few days here, working on a project from a coworking space in Nariman Point, and as I navigated its streets, it became apparent just how distinct this part of the city is compared to its northern Bombay.

Cities, like people, reveal themselves through their walk. SoBo is best admired at a strolling pace, with its blend of colonial architecture, natural light, and relatively uncluttered streets, all of which seem to have matured over time, evolving gracefully.

SoBo reveals itself in the way you can meander through its streets, with the sea always within walkable distance, its buildings stretching upwards but never oppressively. The rhythm here is paced — there's a deliberateness to its design due to the colonial past. Edward Glaeser would tell you that cities are engines of progress because they bring people together, facilitating collaboration, innovation, and economic growth. SoBo has exemplified this idea for much of its history.

The truth, as locals attest, is that SoBo’s dominance is fading. The energy is shifting north, where an ambitious new elite has taken root in places like Andheri, Bandra, and Powai. These areas aren’t blessed with SoBo’s effortless elegance, but they don’t need it. They’re ambitious, gritty, and forward-facing. Meanwhile, SoBo’s quaint Parsi and Jewish cafés and crumbling relics seem trapped in time.

One major factor stifling SoBo’s evolution is the Bombay Rent Control Act of 1947. This law is a textbook case of well-intentioned regulation gone awry. The Act holds the city in a perverse stasis. Originally meant to protect tenants in the post-war period — Bombay was burgeoning with troops in World War II, the Act now distorts the housing market, keeping rents artificially low in some of the city’s most valuable areas. Restrictive housing policies like this prevent urban areas from evolving to meet new demands.

The result? Buildings crumble, landlords neglect upkeep, and the very people who could breathe new life into SoBo are priced out. The city’s “supply side” has failed.

In stark contrast, North Bombay often feels claustrophobic, a patchwork of congested roads, jumbled high-rises, and relentless traffic. The sense of space that SoBo affords is absent. Yet it’s here that new industries are flourishing, supported by an influx of people and ideas. The north may lack the elegance of SoBo, but it is vibrant and growing — a reminder that cities must adapt if they are to thrive. For cities to grow, for better or worse, beauty is secondary to density and opportunity.

I’ve spent much of the last six years in Delhi, and the contrast could not be more pronounced. Lutyens’ Delhi, with its geometry of planned avenues, has its own type of grandeur, but it’s landlocked.

Delhi is a city designed for statecraft, not commerce. The New Delhi area is spacious enough, but step out of this oasis, and Delhi, too, reveals its urban sprawl — a city fighting for breath, overrun with vehicles and construction. Yet, 21st-century entrepreneurial energy seems missing from Delhi’s life. Unlike the fluid transitions of SoBo, where history and modernity share space gracefully, Delhi seems to juggle its past and present with a far less elegant hand.

Jane Jacobs once mused about the organic development of cities, and how urban vitality depends on that evolution, with people at the centre. Most of India’s newer urban spaces are still grappling with this idea.

India’s tier-two cities — Bhopal, Surat, Jaipur — are caught in a different struggle. Their urban landscapes are expanding but not evolving. There’s a constant tension between the old town, often bustling but chaotic, and the newly developed areas, which seem to imitate urban car-centric modernity. These cities lack Bombay’s organic rhythm or even the structure of Delhi. Gated communities, shopping malls, and highways are symbols of progress, yes, but they kill the serendipity of urban life.

City walkability is directly proportional to luck probability. Immersing yourself in such an environment makes you actively want to be a flaneur on foot. Endless opportunities to meet people en route, experience random bursts of inspiration, etc. Huge potential for serendipity. In SoBo, this principle is more naturally adhered to. Here, you can walk. You can pause. You can think.

In the end, SoBo’s beauty reveals its paradox. The idea that cities reveal themselves through their walk holds here; SoBo is a place designed to be experienced slowly, and deliberately. But beneath that elegance lies a city outpaced by its northern counterpart, which for all its aesthetic shortcomings, is writing the future of Bombay. SoBo may still breathe, but without growth, even the most beautiful city will slowly run out of air.