The House at 43, Hill Road

 549.00  399.00

The House at 43, Hill Road transports the reader back in time, from the world of the aristocratic Braz Rodrigues, who built it in the 1850s, to the 1994 surrender of the building to land grabbers.

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The House at 43, Hill Road chronicles the lives and times of the family of the aristocratic Braz Rodrigues, who, in the mid-1800s, built his bungalow on Bandra’s main road, where he lived in grand style with a retinue of butlers, servants and coachmen. The book recounts interesting foibles, quarrels, pranks, family lore, and tragic happenings spanning five generations, and the story of Lydia, who stamped the address on the international bridal trousseau map.

The book goes on to provide a meticulously documented account of how government authorities actively assisted land-grabbers who were out to take over that property in Bandra’s prime commercial area. For six years, the author, Brenda and her husband, Joe, great grandson of Braz, single-handedly fought over 70 cases, faced assaults and threats — and even had to hide their children in a distant place.

“Brenda’s narrative can either terrify you or inspire you. You may feel glad that you don’t have property in a prime area to protect, or help you draw courage from this couple to fight for your house. Here, you will find all the intrigue, manipulation and suspense of television drama, but Brenda chooses to be documentarian, recounting every step of the case in great detail. It may leave you wondering if the dispute was going around in circles, but that is precisely how long-drawn and exhausting it was… at the heart of the tale, is the sad truth about the disappearing East Indian community, known as the original inhabitants of this city, who are continually selling off their property and moving away from their ancestral homes and even Mumbai.”
— Mid-Day

About the Author

Brenda Rodrigues is multi-talented: as a teenager she sang with a well-known orchestra; on stage she was a prolific actress and went on to adapt, write and direct plays herself;  her flair for interior decoration got both her homes first in Mumbai, then in Goa, featured in magazines; she actively assists in conducting corporate training programmes all over India; and she writes. Brenda’s talent for writing was honed by a voracious appetite for reading, and a delight in expressing herself in letters. From contributing inspirational pieces to the church bulletin, to having her articles carried in the travel section of The Times of India, The Indian Express and The Delhi Economic Times, she progressed to co-authoring and publishing a coffee-table book Lydia Brides with her husband Joe, and then brought out her travelogue My Journey Through Wonderlands, in June 2012.


What happened next is something I cannot explain, but that moment will always remain etched in my memory … without moving a muscle, I felt myself being lifted out of the chair. I had absolutely no intention of going down after Joe as I normally shied away from confrontations. Yet I found myself opening the front door, leaving it wide open and walking down the stairs. All this happened in just a few seconds. When I peered over the parapet of the landing I saw many of Celect Corner’s people on the ground floor, bunched up at the exit from the staircase, and realized that they had set a trap for Joe.

I ran down the remaining steps at top speed, and as I reached the first floor, the door of Flat 11 opened, and three persons emerged. I raced down to the lower landing almost colliding with Joe who was rushing up, followed by Hitesh Parekh, Manu Parekh who had a knife in his hand, and several others. They had planned to sandwich Joe on the landing between the ground and first floor, definitely to steal or smash the video camera and possibly to bash him up – we’ll never know for certain what was in their devious minds. His escape upstairs was to be cut off by those waiting on the first floor.

My unexpected appearance made them pause, but not stop. Joe was down on his knees and elbows, shielding the camera with his body. I crouched over him for double protection. To my dismay and utter shock I found that the shopkeepers and their gang had no compunctions about attacking a woman. I was being yanked and pummelled and my repeated cries of ‘Stop it.’ had not the slightest effect on them. That’s when I suddenly called to mind the starring role I had played of a woman being murdered in, ‘Sorry, Wrong Number’. I opened my mouth and began screaming my lungs out as if I were actually being stabbed. That brought residents and neighbours flying out of their afternoon naps. The shopkeepers were still struggling to wrest the camera out of Joe’s grip. But when they realized that too many outsiders (potential witnesses?) had gathered, they finally went off mouthing more threats. After we had got our breath back I breathed a fervent prayer to the Lord for sending me down after Joe in the nick of time — a moment too late and he would have been isolated and on his own.


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