Everyone's all for indigenous rights until you tell them your village is Bandra

Last week's high-profile break-in once again cast the spotlight on Bandra. From Queen of Suburbs, Bandra has become the golden goose, argues Genesia Alves. And we all know how that tale ends

- Genesia Alves

Every few years a bunch of cultural neophytes will 'discover' Bandra and the aboriginals of this erstwhile 'Queen of the Suburbs' must brace for the next wave. It probably began in 1534, when Diego da Silveira arrived on the shores of this little huddle of red earth hills and blue bays, and promptly burned the village down. You'd think they'd be used to it by now.

Once an East Indian village, this 4 square kilometre area has welcomed folk for more than a century. Its several churches and cathedrals were not yet a tourist attraction. Its children from the affluent areas and the less well-appointed ones attended the same schools, ran around in the same, open access playgrounds and each generation grew into adulthood, largely class, creed and culture agnostic.

Today, derided as 'posh' but erupting in a rash of 'boojee' (sic), lambasted for its perceived superciliousness but monetised as 'subko', 'bylanes' clotted with traffic outside cafes offering carbohydrates and 'vibes' - the locals are inured to the paradoxes, if often slightly irate. Bandra natives weave through Shah Rukh Khan's hordes of fans, dodge motorbikes on pavements, resolutely walking their way to being priced out of their old ancestral homes.

One of Bandra's cliches was its residential structures. Some are true bungalows by definition, but mostly the hood's buildings were of modest height with generous compounds patterned by the komorebi of trees planted two or three generations prior.