The Doctor is Out

Except on Sundays Dr. K. S. Porwal opens his clinic opposite Digvijay Textile Mills in Lalbaug at ten each morning, leaving for lunch at 1 p.m. before returning to reopen it at six in the evening, continuing until nine in the night before retiring home. Thursday evenings are an exception. He does not return to the clinic. On Sundays it remains closed all day.


His clinic is on the ground floor of an old building in the formerly bustling mill ‘town’ of Lalbaug where Digvijay Textile Mills once employed thousands. In time the mill died, robbing Lalbaug of vitality and most importantly, hope. But once every year Lalbaug comes alive during Ganesh Chaturthi as hundreds of thousands of devotees descend on it over eleven days to offer prayers to Lalbaug cha Raja (The King of Lalbaug), the largest Ganpati around town, actually the largest anywhere. This year the Ganesh Chaturthi festivities in the city kicked off on August 23.

For over seventy years the tradition has survived in Lalbaug. It will survive Lalbaug too now that former mill lands are making way for residential high rises. Lalbaug merits a story of its own, many stories of its own actually. Maybe I’ll return to Lalbaug another time when there’s no music in the air and dancing in the streets.

The queue of devotees come to pay obeisance to Lalbaug cha Raja ran around the corner, past the New Sardar restaurant and Eastern Metal Works, all the way to Byculla station.

We stayed out of the queue. There was much happening on the streets of Lalbaug and I was not about to let my camera rest easy in the confines of the queue for hours on end while it inched along, past the entrance to Digvijay Textile Mills. It was day seven of the Ganesh Chaturthi festival when thousands of households pour into the streets to parade the genial lord on their way to immersing him to the cries of Ganapati Bappa Moraya.

The street was full of people. Trucks stood on standby awaiting families carrying Ganapatis for immersion at Girgaum Chowpatty.



“It is crowded off Dadar so most of us head to the sea at Girgaum,” a man told me in Marathi while the Ganpati he had arrived with was gently hoisted aboard the truck to join other Ganpatis brought by other families heading for immersion. There was much merriment around and much sadness too. In the days that Ganpati graces homes he becomes a part of the family. Imminent separation as per tradition leaves behind many a choking voice.

It began to drizzle. We stepped off the street to shelter on the narrow platform fronting Dr. Porwal’s clinic in an old building. Steps cut into the platform led to the clinic. On either side there was space enough to settle down and watch the world go by. The door was bolted. A well used Navtal lock contrasted starkly against the white of the door. Devotees continued to stream past us. A loudspeaker announced over the festive din, exhorting devotees queuing up for darshan of Lalbaug cha Raja to be beware of pickpockets. Guns holstered, the Police watched over devotees. Every once in a while their wireless sets crackled to life.


A woman passing by stopped in front of the clinic, reached for a piece of paper lodged in the bolt, read it and deposited it back before going her way.

A few minutes later another woman, leading her little daughter, stopped in front of the clinic, reached for the same paper, read it and deposited it back after writing something on the back. We learnt from her that the doctor was probably away at home that day preparing for visarjan (immersion) of Ganpati installed in his house.

After she left, curious, I had a look at the piece of paper that was actually a railway ticket. On the back were scribbled five names of patients who had come looking for the doctor that day.


Later a girl in a colourful orange salwar kameez did likewise, reaching for the paper before leaning over and using the door for support she wrote her name down on the back of the ticket and folding it she wedged it in the space between the lock and the door.

I wondered as to its purpose. Was it to tell the doctor on his return that so many patients had come looking for him? If so why not phone him? Maybe he was not available on the phone. The other possibility was to ensure a queue was in place when the clinic opened the next day. For that to happen all the patients who had written down their names on the back of the railway ticket had to present themselves at the same time when the clinic opened the next day else the list would serve little purpose. Moreover what were the chances of that happening?

Or could it be that if the doctor happened to get to know of the list of patients who came looking for him he might decide to open up earlier assuming someone informed him.

It was apparent that Dr. Porwal’s clinic in Lalbaug was a long time resident on the street, long enough to get to know families well, long enough for families to leave their names on a piece of paper tucked behind the lock.