June 1, 1998

For 37 years, a quaint club has been discussing issues -- for discussion's sake.

By Farah Baria

In the frenetic commerce of Mumbai's Fort district, under the looming shadow of the Bombay Stock Exchange, there is a large, dusty attic filled with Victorian furniture: tables, chairs, an ancient hat stand, and rows of mouldering French books, alphabetically arranged in creaky old cupboards. This is the Cercle Litteraire, a French library founded in 1886. It is empty, silent and largely forgotten -- except for Friday evenings, when, at precisely 6 p.m., a peon places six chairs in two orderly rows, facing an enormous table. Half an hour later, a handful of men troop in to take their seats, led by the poker-faced Abhai Deo, 55, who settles himself at the table. "Good evening, gentlemen. Today's topic is the much debated Bombay Rent Act. I now call upon Mr Varun Shah to kick off the discussion."

Shah, a stocky, middle-aged accountant, rises to meander through the legal labyrinth: the pros, cons, loopholes -- everything. Next, others get up to embroider or politely contradict his arguments. Around 8 p.m., Deo concludes the session and invites suggestions for next Friday's meeting. After exchanging solemn handshakes, they melt silently into the night.

This is a 37-year-old ritual that the Speakers Forum -- as this little club calls itself -- is loathe to give up, despite falling membership and New Age cynicism. Essentially a floating group of retired folk and professionals from the surrounding business district, the forum was founded in 1961 by J.C. Patel, B.M. Chokani and R. Srinivasan, three white-collar Socratics who wanted to recreate the spirit of London's Hyde Park, where anyone can come forward and speak. Membership is free, and members are encouraged to bring along articulate guests who themselves usually stay on to become part of the group.

Needless to say, matters of domestic, universal and, indeed, of human importance have been debated here. Should language be the basis for the formation of Indian states? Is the UN embargo on Iraq necessary? Is cow's milk beneficial for the human constitution? And more recently -- can Vajpayee make his government work? Their verdict doesn't make it to next morning's headlines, "but it gives us a chance to air our views", says Deo, incumbent secretary of the group.

During the forum's heyday in the '60s and '70s, political orators like V.K. Krishna Menon, Madhu Dandavate and former prime minister Morarji Desai were invited to address a full house of over 150 members. Often the old rafters would quiver with the din of healthy debate, but the sessions never turned unruly. They were governed by an unspoken code of conduct that survives to this day: a participant may only speak in turn and in "civilised" language. Which is probably why the forum was allowed to hold discussions on the "Murder of Democracy" during the darkest days of the Emergency, even as police officials sat quietly on the back benches.

Today, much of the drama is gone, but the fraternity still has 40-odd members who "drop in" whenever they can. And the debates continue unabated. Recently, a well-known health specialist was invited to hardsell her ideas on vegetarianism -- and was subjected to some gentlemanly heckling. "She didn't expect us to be so widely read on the subject," chortles 70-year-old physiotherapist B.S. Nanavati. "We do our homework well."

Much of the information is gleaned from newspapers and magazines, but interpretations naturally vary with individual perceptions. "Most of us are strangers to each other," explains linguist A.M. Trivedi. "We meet, talk and leave. That makes the exchange all the more interesting." Pratap Butani, a 63-year-old former public transport official, says the weekly chat gives them a chance to "let off steam against the government". Adds 54-year-old R.G. Prabhu, deputy general manager, RBI: "With television, radio and the newspapers, the ordinary citizen hears but hardly ever gets heard. Here, even the humblest man has a voice." So the years roll by, scandals rise and governments fall, but in this little corner of Mumbai, democracy lives on.

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