Anyway, I started the book and almost put it down after reading the preface and the first story "Crime and Punishment". The preface consistently has inconsistent grammar and poor organization of thought, almost as if Virani had written it in one single sitting and then had forgotten to go back to edit and tweak it. I also found "Crime and Punishment" badly written. She writes, "The man shot is Vallabh Thakkar, known to appease all kinds of gangsters as long as he could continue putting up his buildings. Manish Shah is aware of this, so when Vallabh Thakkar suggests he develop a portion of land, Manish is hesitant." I found the mix of present and past tenses confusing.

Somehow, in a masochistic mood, I decided to continue with the book on a flight to Goa. It wasn't a bad decision. The next novella "Mazgaon, Bombay 10" is terrific. It describes the life of a Muslim family in Mazgaon, its history, the migration patterns of the community the family belongs to, the present scenario, the lives of the daughters and women-folk and the effect of the 92/93 riots. This story alone compelled me to finish the rest of the book.

The rest of the book consists of one other novella "Salvage, Salvage", one other short piece "The Lala in Winter", two personal essays, "C'mon Barbie...." and ".....Let's go party" and one string of essays, "A Modern Morality Tale". The stories however differ in tone and content. The book falters in her personal pieces, again does very well in "Salvage, Salvage" and as she herself says, the different essays strung together in "A Modern Morality Tale" have no central theme or point.

The book left me disappointed and discontent. When I tried to analyze these feelings, one reason that stood out was the fact that a lot of what she had written had nothing to do with "Once was Bombay". The central theme of the book is supposed to be how over the years, the politicians by their actions, the elite by their laissez-faire and the middle class by their inaction, have sold the city down the tubes. That the city is now on its death throes. To illustrate this, her stories talk about the lives of different people - some fiction, some fact - weaving in factual details about the systems that make the city run (trains, sewage, etc) and some very interesting details about its inhabitants and their ancestry. Yet, the stories about the film stars, their escapades and successes, the whoring and bonking of the rich, her inability to get a job, the vacuousness of high-society parties, have nothing to do with a dying city - these happen the world over in every urban situation, period. The rich behave the same everywhere as do film stars. The job market works on supply and demand, reputations and relationships. Though these personal pieces and essays make excellent narcissistic rants and "last-page-Mumbai-Times" pieces, they do not touch the central theme. Does it really matter whether Ajay Devgan touches or doesn't touch the feet of his elders?

The next reason for the discontent is probably the inconsistency of her political views and logic. People like Chhagan Bhujbal are quoted at length in a manner which tries to tell us that he is probably the only honest politician still around, someone who can't wait to save Mumbai. Yeah right! Am I a cynic or is she till naïve? And yet, she refuses to name Bal, Udhav and Raj Thackeray, whenever she criticizes them, referring to the former as the "God of Hades". What is the problem? Whether directly or by insinuation, a criticism is a criticism and if the Thackerays have to go out and get her for her views, would it matter if she had or hadn't named them directly?

The other problem is the constant comparison with the past, which is assumed to have been a time when the city was better managed and less corrupt. I am not so sure. I find it difficult to believe that our inherent nature could have been much different. And even if there are more people today, life is faster, the roads pathetic and the trains more crowded, as against that, we have better telephone lines, better salaries, better entertainment facilities, better work ethics at least in private enterprises and work gets done much more professionally than before.

Even when she compares Mumbai with the developed Western world, the arguments are naïve and simplistic. She writes, "The West was won by its middle class, it made its presence soundly felt, unitedly, over an extended length of time till the present......No inner city-dweller uses his poverty as a justifiable excuse to be bestial towards the middle class, breaking the windscreens of its cars bought on instalments, burning its buses, stopping its trains." Is she kidding? Has she ever visited inner city areas in Detroit, LA and Chicago? Maybe she should leave her car in those areas and walk away and come back after half an hour...... The message behind these lines of thought however does shine through - that the quality of life in Western countries is better because the people are more community minded, garbage is collected properly and on time, people do not spit, and their politicians are accountable. Fair enough.

Yet I wish, she had written about the professional managers, computer engineers, doctors, lawyers and small businessmen who churn the city's wheels. The politicians may have sold us out, but the fabric is still maintained by the people working their asses off in this city - the city is dying but is not yet dead and there are a large number of people who by their sheer, silent work and efforts, are keeping it alive. Not just Ashok Row Kavi of Hamsafar who she profiles. And definitely not the film industry and its actors and actresses, who she spends just too much time and too many words on.

Halfway through the book, on the return journey, I picked up "Aruna's Story", curious about both, the story and Pinki Virani's treatment of it. This book was hyped endlessly last year and deals with the story of Aruna Shanbhag, a staff nurse at KEM Hospital, who was raped by a sweeper two decades ago. She was almost strangled, but lived, having suffered hypoxic damage to the brain, because of which she has ever since, continued to live in a "neither alive nor dead" existence, reacting to stimuli, but unable to otherwise communicate.

The book is divided into three parts. The first part narrates the incident itself and the immediate aftermath in graphic detail. The second part takes us back to Aruna's childhood and early adulthood to make us understand Aruna and her motivations. The third part brings us back into the present and recent past to show us how the medical profession, the municipal corporation and the general public have all probably failed her in one way or another. In this last part, where she talks about the decay and deterioration in the medical services, the municipal corporation and the city in general, I suspect is, the nidus of "Once was Bombay". The book lives up to its hype.

"Aruna's story" is a must-read. "Once was Bombay" is readable for its occasional shock value and those nice tit-bits about the history of the city and its inhabitants. If you however have to choose between the two, just go for "Aruna's story".