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I am the only child of my parents born after 18 years of their marriage. My birth was announced by dholis (drummers) in all the moholas (streets) of Malesar, Navsari. 

Navsari has produced many a great Parsis like Dadabhoy Naoroji, Sir Jamsetji Jejeebhoy, the Jokhi and Meheri­jana families. Sir Jamsetji Jejeebhoy, first Baronet was born next door to us in Vatcha Street, Navsari. As is known he became a very prominent Parsi and a great philanthropist, while my only achievement was to become a banker.

My great-grandfather was the principal of Tata Girls’ School in Navsari and my grandfather Sorabshaw was a fozdar, commander of the Baroda State Army. 

Sorabshaw stood only five feet nothing but was a little terror as far as discipline, observance and traditions of Parsis were concerned. He used to own a shop in Panch Hatdi. His servant used to sell odds and ends while the shop was mainly used as a club for oldies to gather and chat. He had a pleasant nature and his jokes/anecdotes were very popular amongst Parsis. Whenever Bombay natakwallas (theater people) visited Navsari they would ask him, "Mama kai jokes kévni (Mama tell us some jokes).” His jokes were then included in their nataks. He was even quoted in a Khyal based on Navsari persons: "Péhla Sorabshaw Tamboly, témni mithi mithi boli, jaanéy doodh ma sakar gholi (First Sorabshaw Tamboly, his speech so sweet, like sugar in milk).”

I am often asked how I am related to Dinshaw Tamboly of the Bombay Parsi Punchayet (BPP). My grandfather was his grandfather’s mama (maternal uncle). The whole town used to call him "mama.” Even the gentleman who inherited his shop came to be known as "Makoo­mama.” 

On gahanbars and lagans (weddings) sumptuous food was served, washed down with bevra or toddy. There were just two or three Parsis who used to drink "maniko” toddy at one go and my grandfather was one of them. Everyone wondered how a five footer could put away so much toddy at one go!

Often visitors to Malesar would get up alarmed at 4 a.m. thinking someone was being choked to death. It would be old Nuserwanji cleaning his tongue with a strip of ‘datan,’ waking the town up.

There was an Avari family in Malesar who used to run a tavern (pithoo) in Panch Hatdi. Avaris were all over six foot tall and I once saw one of them climbing onto a "tonga” — the poor horse was lifted off his front legs. The gentleman in question used to wear sapats measuring 20” in length. I used to wonder if it was a sapat or suproo (straw tray for winnowing).

My maternal grandfather was Adarji Buhariwalla. He had enough children to make up an entire cricket team. He was a big zamindar and owned not only acres of land but entire villages. His many sons inherited land in different villages like Buhari, Gheriavau, Gadat, Lakhali, Chickli, Vyara, etc. My only existing mama, Manecksha Buhariwalla, a great body builder, now aged 97 still runs the farm in Gheriavau. He once fought bare handed with a leopard. He has been a great inspiration in my life. 

There was another very "large” character named Muncher Sarkar, the cycle shop owner. All the Parsi boys of Malesar must have learnt how to ride a bike on his rickety bicycles. Another character was Rusi "Khodo,” who was lame but a good soul. His Parsi coat was always dirty with snuff. He would always be present on good or sad occasions amongst Parsis. On such occasions the moholas were sealed off for the public and Rusi Khodo would be there to control all the trespassers. Our Parsi moholas in Navsari have very peculiar names such as Mora, Doodha, Vatcha, Damka, Pinjaar, Rama, some even known as Murgha Gully and Kutri Khani Tekri! I don’t know if the man ate the bitch or vice versa.

On Pateti and Navroz nights all the youngsters would have a good time. We would interchange shop signs, i.e. the doctor’s sign would be replaced by a barber’s and vice versa. A person sleeping on the veranda would be lifted, bed and all, and quickly placed in the middle of the street. A garlanded Muncher Sarkar, dark and handsome, replete with liquor, would be smeared with haldi (turmeric) and kumkum (vermillion) and taken around in a rickshaw all over the moholas. 

As children, we found weddings very enjoyable. Mundaps would be built in the street, with buntings, flags and asopallo (leaves of the mast tree) torans. ‘Shajans’ would visit all the streets preceded by dholis and Bachumia’s band, everyone sporting "kalgir” flowers in their dagla pockets. Old ladies would do ‘overnaas’ to the groom. Three sumptuous meals would be served on each of the four days and a very merry time would be had by all with garbas and songs. I still remember Atash noo geet which would be never-ending and a real cacophony to one’s ears.

As children we were encouraged to attend the physical culture and health league run by Ustad Jamshed Kanga. We would struggle and sweat it out on the one set of barbells there. Even with limited equipment in the gym, Navsari produced many good body builders like Pesi Patrawalla, Kersi Sutaria, the Kasad brothers Malcolm and Kersi and myself. Every December we would put up our physical culture show, performing feats of strength. Prizes were given as encouragement to all.

On birthdays and good occasions we were sent to the atash behram all dressed up, with money for sukhad and a treat of Kolahji’s ice cream.

No one could beat the Parsi ladies of that age for their bargaining power. A maachhan (fisherwoman) would bring fish into the moholas and half a dozen Parsi ladies wearing ‘mathabanas’ and ‘ijaars’ would come forward to purchase the fish. First, there would be an argument about the weighing scales — that settled, they would want half a pound of fish from each of the choicest ones in the topli (basket). After that another extra quarter pound would be asked as ‘meylan’ on top of the purchase. The poor maachhan would wonder why she had bothered to weigh the fish in the first place.

The ladies, especially my mother, always wanted meat without bones! And the poor katki (butcher) would pray to Allah to send him a goat without bones.

Daran baaj was held frequently in our household. The entire house would be washed the previous day with water from our well. After that the house became taboo for servants and other juddins. My mother, helped by my many aunts, would start making goodies from 3 a.m. with the kitchen doors closed. Nowadays for baaj, chasni (consecrated food) we should consider ourselves lucky to get puri malido with daran and some fruits from the agiary. In the old days it was a feast: daran, pori, papri, malido, khaja, kopra paak, mehsoor, fadian, popatji, kumaas, bhakhras and small damoris along with various fruits.

The mobeds would start their prayers at 7 a.m. while I would still be in bed. The aroma of sukhad (sandalwood), loban and chanting of our prayers would wake me up and I would feel I was in heaven.

As children we were sent to "buzams” where stories from the Shah Nameh would be told. Although I am a behdin, I used to go to an old priest every Sunday to learn prayers with other athornan boys studying to be navars or maratabs. The old priest would listen to us with his eyes closed while we prayed aloud. Any mistakes were met with a sharp slash of the neytar (stick) landing on our backs.

Parsis in Gujarat really flourished 200 years ago. Those were the days of plenty. All and sundry were happy and contented. With changing times our community has lost out. Zamindari and the flourishing trade of daru (liquor) and toddy have disappeared. Youngsters have left the country seeking better prospects abroad. Gone are the old days. Most Parsi mohalas have now been taken over by other communities but we still have our Jamshed Baug and Sohrab Baug where functions are held and good times are recreated. 

Navsari born Jamshed Tamboly would have liked to make a career in films but on the insistence of his family he joined the National Bank of India in Aden now known as Standard Chartered Bank and became the chief cashier. After the political strife in Aden he moved to London and joined Midland Bank, now known as HSBC. In 1979 he left the banking world and acquired a sub-post office. He also tried his hand, not very successfully, at being a supermarket owner. In 1987 he joined the British Railways as an accountant/cashier till he retired in 1998. He is a good singer and still takes to stage at the age of 74.