In a nation where most city dwellers lament the steady decline of public spaces and civic amenities, one affluent enclave stands as a striking exception. According to journalist and author Manu Joseph, South Bombay is the only part of urban India where residents genuinely feel life has improved over the last five years. This perception, he argues, is not a democratic miracle but the result of a specific, often overlooked urban phenomenon.
The South Bombay Phenomenon: More Than Just Geography
Often misconstrued as merely the southern tip of Mumbai, South Bombay is, in essence, a separate city within the metropolis. Spanning an area roughly 12 kilometers long and 2-3 kilometers wide, this sliver of real estate has long enjoyed aesthetic and infrastructural advantages. Its roads were concretized decades ago, its colonial-era drainage system prevents the monsoon deluges that plague the broader city, and auto-rickshaws are notably absent from its streets.
Yet, the recent upliftment stems from a new wave of monumental projects. The landscape is now defined by majestic cable-stayed bridges and India's first undersea tunnel, which have dramatically altered connectivity. A journey from the airport, through the "mofussil gloom" of the suburbs, transforms upon entering South Bombay via a grand bridge. The experience culminates with the undersea tunnel whisking travelers to Marine Drive in under ten minutes—a trip that previously consumed over half an hour.
Excess, Not Essentiality: The Key to Urban Improvement
Joseph posits a counterintuitive thesis: the real reason for South Bombay's enhanced livability is not that it received necessary infrastructure, but that it received infrastructure in excess of what was deemed strictly essential. India, he notes, is typically trapped in a mindset of "essentiality," a legacy of poverty that leads to planning for yesterday and building the bare minimum years too late. Everywhere else, urban development scrambles to meet basic needs, resulting in perpetual shortfalls and congestion.
South Bombay broke this cycle. It was gifted infrastructure—the coastal road, sea links, tunnels—that might be sufficient even a decade from now. This surplus capacity is the unsung hero that has eased traffic (already relatively low by Indian standards) and created expansive, high-quality pedestrian walkways, a rarity in the country.
Lineage, Clout, and the Unsung Mechanics of Development
The author dismisses the idea that this development is a reward from a grateful democracy. Seasoned Indian politicians, he argues, do not believe that vehicular infrastructure wins elections. Instead, the concentration of such expensive projects in this small area likely results from the enduring clout of industrialists and the area's lineage.
Like ancestral wealth, the muscle memory of a downtown area's prestige never fully recedes. Even though South Bombay is no longer the heart of the Indian economy—an obsolete concept in the modern world—its historical significance continues to attract investment and favor. This has led to what Joseph calls "evident pampering," a process that has gradually phased out shanties and seen the redevelopment of many old chawls, though pockets of lower-middle-class life and notional wealth remain.
Optically, such grandeur in a poor nation can seem vulgar, even inciting resentment, as seen during Anna Hazare's anti-corruption movement when followers cursed "swanky airports" and "expressways for the rich." However, Joseph suggests that modernity persists by tiring its opponents. Just as the mini-skirt outlasted its critics, great urban infrastructure eventually ceases to be seen as a monument for the rich and becomes a public asset.
The character of South Bombay has undeniably shifted, with old money making way for the new rich in a rapidly prospering India. But the area endures, blessed because it has always been blessed. Its story offers a crucial, if controversial, lesson in urban planning: that a city's quality of life improves not when it gets just what it needs, but when it gets more.
