top of page

By:

Minal Sancheti

2 May 2026 at 12:26:53 pm

“Why did they allow us to settle on an illegal land?”

Mumbai: The chaotic, dirty, and filthy slums were just a depressing sight for many travellers who travelled from and through the Bandra East station. But for young Arif Isaak, it was a place where he played cricket with his friends and devoured biryanis and sivaiyas during Eid. For him, Garib Nagar was a place where he lived with his Ammi and his loved ones. For him, it was a home. A place like no other in the whole world. A place that was loaded with memories and the warmth of family and...

“Why did they allow us to settle on an illegal land?”

Mumbai: The chaotic, dirty, and filthy slums were just a depressing sight for many travellers who travelled from and through the Bandra East station. But for young Arif Isaak, it was a place where he played cricket with his friends and devoured biryanis and sivaiyas during Eid. For him, Garib Nagar was a place where he lived with his Ammi and his loved ones. For him, it was a home. A place like no other in the whole world. A place that was loaded with memories and the warmth of family and friends. Growing up, he brought up his children the same way. Never would he believe that his home, which his father built would turn into rubble by the authorities as it was “illegal’. Isaak, 45, was born in Garib Nagar, Bandra (East). He witnessed many structures mushroomed in the locality. Little did he ever think that this place was actually never his land. Today, his world is shattered as his house has been demolished for being illegal. Isaak does not admit that it was his fault that they built a house on someone else’s land. He has a reason to believe that it was his place. He possesses several documents to establish his residence proof. When asked how he managed to get hold of these documents, a visibly angry Issak said, “You should ask that question to the government. They granted us these documents. If they knew the place was illegal, why did they let us settle here in the first place? They could have objected 50 years ago when we came to stay here.” Isaak was not the only one for whom Garib Nagar was their home. Nusrat Shaikh, 28, is also in the league. As a child when she used to play with her friends in her locality she did not know that she was not a legal occupant of the place. She saw her grandparents and her parents living there without being asked a single question. “If we were illegal, why were we granted all the legal documents?” Nusrat asked. “If they knew that the place was illegal, then why were we allowed to build our homes on this land?” Like other dwellers, Issak and Nusrat have accepted a fact that his place never belonged to them. They say they do not want to be a hindrance to development. They are ready to give up the land that holds all their memories and emotions, but they are asking for an alternate shelter. “We are not against development. If authorities want to demolish our houses, it’s fine but also grant us a place to live. Today, we have families and children who now have nowhere to stay,” said Issak. Both of them are now staying with their respective families in the open under the bridge near Bandra Railways Station. Meanwhile, the CPRO of the Western Railway Vineet Abhishek informed that the anti-encroachment drive is completed in five days. He said fences are being put up at the spot. He added that such encroachment drives will be carried out in the future as well.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

Comments

bottom of page