Amidst all the tense talks of war, I find a quiet spot.
A blaze of blue and yellow before me is Zubeida Mahal. Beside me, the Parel Railway Colony. And in the distance, a fisherman’s boat floats gently on a light blue sea.
I am in Jehangir Art Gallery, in the heart of Mumbai’s Art Deco district, taking in artist Mena Malgavkar’s stories of the city. Her works—a mix of acrylics, watercolors, and pen-and-ink sketches—capture Mumbai’s little moments: laundry strung across balconies, the glint of a kirana store’s jars, ancient doorways and wrought iron balconies.
Here in this peaceful little art gallery—a quaint space that was once the café Samovar—I drink in views of my city: It’s a city I’ve lived in for thirty years, where my children grew up, and where beloved old buildings now suddenly vanish, replaced by towers named Arcadia or Beverly Heights.
In this gallery I see glimpses of a city that is disappearing before our eyes – a man sitting at Bhuleshwar Hardware Shop with sacks of rice and lentils, his wife behind glass jars of snacks; electricity wires trailing across the skyline; a goat at College Lane, Prabhadevi.
Admiring these views are the whole cross section of visitors that walk into Mumbai’s most prestigious art gallery – among them today, two college students, a family with a young mother and three children, an old man with a walking stick—each taking in the Mumbai scenes.
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Mena, whom I’ve known since she arrived in Bombay as the newlywed wife of our friend Ravi, previously worked in advertising at agencies like Rediff and Mudra. These days she teaches design at Atlas University and École Intuit in Mumbai and exhibits her works in shows in India and abroad, including Paris, Dubai and Qatar.
Today we sit on a bench in the gallery facing a canvas entitled ‘Lower Parel’. We chat about the literary influences that shaped Mena’s art – everything from Heidi to horror! Here are edited excerpts of our conversation-
Mena Malgavkara
How did your childhood reading influence you?
My mother was a heavy reader; my father did not have the time. Dad was a large-scale farmer. I’d trail him to our fields in Jagalbet, Karnataka, with books tucked under my arm. During one sugarcane harvest, I remember staying away from the labourers’ sickles and the sharp sugarcane leaves, reading Heidi in a quiet spot in the grass.
Mum never came to such outings. She rarely stepped out of the house on foot. She was quite regal like that. She read loads—I remember she once went through a horror phase. We had a shelf of horror books with titles like The Screaming Skull, Something Wicked Comes This Way, Tales to Keep You Awake, etc. She also read all of Agatha Christie, James Hadley Chase, Erle Stanley Gardner, Sidney Sheldon—anything pacy. She wrote three novels in Marathi, one of which won the state award.
We rarely bought books, but every year, the Russian book fair by Progress Publishers came to Belgaum, and we’d pick up books like Alyonushka and the Magic Swan Geese and other Russian folk tales. I also had a cousin who had a stock of imported books, and I was lucky to borrow books like Blackie’s Girls’ Annual, Radio Fun Annual, Best Stories for Girls—and, of course, all the Enid Blyton ones were favourites.
When did you discover your artistic calling?
At four, I failed to draw cats from the cover of an oil-pastel box. Then my mum drew it effortlessly for me. She was an artist and had a wonderful hand but no opportunities. In those days, being one of seven siblings in a small town like Karwar meant you were lucky to get an education.
Growing up, I became obsessed with the marketplace. I sketched women and girls going to the market—on whatever paper I could salvage.
How did your uncle, the novelist Manohar Malgaonkar, influence you?
His short stories opened my eyes to the unseen. At eleven, I marvelled at a saree described as “fig-shade” (anjeer). Combat of Shadows, his novel of life in a tea estate, sharpened my eye for human quirks and the power of tiny details.
What was the inspiration for this series ?
When I moved to Mumbai almost two decades ago, I was overwhelmed by the traffic, the people, the sheer energy of this city. But soon the vibe of this hurrying, jostling, work oriented city captivated me. I started going for long walks on Sunday mornings, exploring little lanes, areas and markets. And that’s how I saw these chawls – space crunched tenements, some run down, some well maintained, all fully occupied.
I wanted to get to know them. Online searches got me glimpses of the stories they carried-some heartbreaking, others hopeful. I started looking for ways to meet the residents who lived there, to hear their stories. With this series, I have only scratched the surface- there’s so much more to explore.
Your paintings of the old Mumbai buildings, specially the pen and ink sketches have incredible and evocative detailing. How did you get this effect ?
Step into a chawl and the city slows down. You hear it differently – the clang of vessels from tiny kitchens, a radio humming old Hindi songs , kids chasing each other across narrow corridors. Mornings spill into shared verandas, where neighbours exchange glances and gossip, and the smell of frying onions drifts lazily through iron grills. Clothes flutter across balconies, welcoming life in all its chaotic ordinariness.
I made friends who live here. People who opened their homes to me with warmth and generosity. It’s lives like these, lived in tiny spaces yet fully lived, that I try to tell in my paintings.
Did any books about Mumbai inspire you?
I chanced upon a lovely book by Meher Marfatia called Once upon a City, which had lots of details about Bombay as it used to be.
Also Paul Fernandes’ Coastline, which has bits of old Bombay, and an old Marathi book by Arun Puranik called Haravaleli Mumbai. These set the tone for the kind of Mumbai I am trying to capture.
Tell us about designing a book cover?
A friend used an existing painting of mine—a landscape near Mumbai—for the cover of her book Miss Samuel: A Jewish-Indian Saga. The quickest project of my career.
As someone who teaches design, what are your go-to books?
The Design of Everyday Things (Norman), Design as Art (Munari), and Thinking with Type (Lupton). And anything on my favourite designer Herb Lubalin.
Does your family share your reading passion?
When we were newly married, Ravi was going on a long business trip and asked me for a big book to take on the flights. I gave him Snow Falling on Cedars. He came back with three other books—he’d found my recommendation unreadable! But we both love Wodehouse and Vikram Seth. Our daughter Devyani trades recommendations with me—she gave me The Marriage Portrait; I gave her The Humans.
Final picks—books on art that inspire you?
• Leonardo da Vinci (Isaacson)
• Lust for Life (Stone)
• Amrita Sher-Gil: A Life (Dalmia)
• Madhav Satwalekar (Jyotsna Prakashan)
….
As the gallery prepares to close for the day, I step out into the evening, my mind abuzz with reflections. News alerts about escalating hostilities between India and Pakistan—drones, missiles, blackouts—flicker on my phone, casting a somber shadow. Yet, amidst this turmoil, the art I’ve just experienced offers a poignant reminder: in such times of uncertainty, it is creativity that endures, preserving the stories and memories that define us.
Which Mumbai artists or writers best capture the city’s changing soul for you?
(Sonya Dutta Choudhury is a Mumbai-based journalist and the founder of Sonya’s Book Box, a bespoke book service. Each week, she brings you specially curated books to give you an immersive understanding of people and places. If you have any reading recommendations or suggestions, write to her at sonyasbookbox@gmail.com. The views expressed are personal)