The stench of a river…

The stench emanating from the Mithi river has apparently been disturbing Balasaheb Thackeray. Of course, relevant authorities have been informed and the needful will no doubt be done. As an unfortunate who has been suffering the stench of living next to a mangrove filled creek, I fully sympathise with the SS head. It is difficult to get a good night’s sleep when you’re wandering through garbage dumps in your dreams. It is difficult to breathe free and easy when the stench slaps you in the face and knocks you senseless.

When we bought our flat, located in the plush new Mindspace area in Malad, we were floored by the wide clear roads. Coming from the congestion from an area called Dahanukarwadi in Kandivali where, if I put on a couple of extra kilos my hips could block the entire width of the strip of asphalt masquerading as road, this was wide clear road heaven to me. I could have knelt down and kissed it. And the compound of the building. Open. Wide. Unlike our previous building where, if you happened to be the first in the evening to park your car, you needed to knock on every other door in the building to get folks to remove their cars to let you out. And good help you if there was an emergency necessitating taking the car out in the dead of the night, you would reach the hospital faster running on foot. And the flooding in every monsoon, where we stocked on candles and pretended we were stranded on a deserted island, and went for days without electricity and water. Those were the days. But at least we breathed stench free air.

Anyway. To come back to moot point under discussion. The stench. There was none when we came to view the place. For the first time. The second time. And through the many times we came back to supervise the interiors being done after we’d mortgaged our souls to the devil for the EMIs on the massive loan taken for the honour to live in such a wonderful, wide open, clean road locality. We moved in and have lived here happily ever after.  For one and a half years to be precise. Until the stink hit.

Recently. During the monsoons. The stench, the stench. Like rotting animal carcasses trapped in the mangroves. I lived through those days with a clothes clip on my nose. Any attempt at a lengthy conversation led to involuntary gagging with the stench crawling down your throat and choking you with its odiousness. A regular walk in the park was a fight against collapsing midround due to unabashed attack on olfactory organ with stench. The children refused to play in the park, and preferred to sit home watching back to back cartoons rather than go down and be forced to breathe in the stench. Luckily, the swine flu mania happened at around the same time and it was perfectly acceptable to tie disposable masks around one’s face and step out in a public situation. The rotting carcass stench went away for a couple of days. We breathed free air with the hungry gasps of the oxygen deprived. And then it returned. Wham. With such redoubled fury that all our french windows were shut day and night should we want to keep our innards toxin free. I swear the ferocity of the stench burnt up all my nostril hair. We singlehandedly were responsible for the steep rise in the sales of air fresheners. I think we probably emptied out a can a day in the house during peak stink days. We seriously contemplated running to the hills to escape it. And then, as suddenly as it had come, it disappeared, only to be replaced by a stinking rotting fish smell that hung around morosely, tainting even the food that we ate. We lived with hangdog expressions, wondering whether selling off the flat and moving to the foothills of the Himalayas would be a more prudent decision than this foolhardiness of dying through slow olfactory abuse. Or whether it would be worth the investment to fit in oxygen chambers in the dry areas of every house.

Finally the stench disappeared. Coincidentally, the monsoon ended too. We all breathed deep breaths of relief. Now we wait for the onset of the next monsoon with our nostrils geared to face the challenge. Dont be surprised if you wander into the Malad Mindspace area next July and find people moving around with helmetlike masks with oxygen tanks on their backs. Or maybe, I might just move to the Himalayas.


About Kiran Manral

Kiran Manral is a writer and major social media influencer. After quitting her full-time journalist’s job when her son was born, Kiran became a mommy blogger on the internet, with a remarkably original voice. She was a journalist at The Asian Age, The Times of India, features editor Cosmopolitan, India Cultural Lead and Trend spotter at Gartner Iconoculture US, Senior Consultant at Vector Insights, Ideas Editor, SheThePeople.TV. Kiran is currently a celebrated author and an independent research and media consultant. She was shortlisted for the Femina Women Awards for Literary Contribution in 2017. The Indian Council of UN Relations (ICUNR) supported by the Ministry of Women and Children, Govt of India, awarded her the International Women’s Day Award 2018 for excellence in the field of writing. In 2021 she was awarded the Womennovator 1000 Women of Asia award. In 2022, she was named amongst the 75 Iconic Indian women in STEAM by Red Dot Foundation and Beyond Black, in collaboration with the Office of the Principal Scientific Advisor, Government of India, and British High Commission, New Delhi. Her novella, Saving Maya, was long-listed for the 2018 Saboteur Award, supported by the Arts Council of England in the UK. Her novels 'The Face At the Window’ and ‘Missing, Presumed Dead were both long-listed for Jio MAMI Word to Screen, and ‘The Face at the Window’ was showcased at the South Asian Film Festival 2019. The Kitty Party Murder was shortlisted for the Popular Choice award at the 2021 JK Papers TOI AutHER awards. Her other books include The Reluctant Detective, Once Upon A Crush, All Aboard, Karmic Kids-The Story of Parenting Nobody Told You, A Boy’s Guide to Growing Up, True Love Stories, 13 Steps to Bloody Good Parenting, Raising Kids with Hope and Wonder in Times of a Pandemic and Climate Change, More Things in Heaven and Earth and Rising: 30 Women Who Changed India. She also has published short stories in various magazines, in acclaimed anthologies like Have A Safe Journey, Boo, The Best Asian Speculative Fiction 2018, Grandpa’s Tales, Magical Women and City of Screams. Kiran lives in Mumbai with her family. Social media handles Twitter: Instagram: Facebook: Linkedin:
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13 Responses to The stench of a river…

  1. Ron says:

    The stink the stink!!! We lived in Lokhandwala (before moving to same wide road wide compound building) right next to the mangroves behind the Lokhandwala market and OH. MY. GODDDDDDDD. It was AWFUL. I know exactly what you mean by rotting fish smell. Can one relive bad smells through ones memory? I think I can smell it again. Ick. Excuse me, have to go find a clothes peg to clamp on nose.


  2. Upsi says:

    Just a suggestion – instead of using air freshners, use a natural odor asborbent. Activated charcoal, maybe. Or a couple of Ramacham plants in the balcony.
    Maybe the sewer doesnot drain properly and thus the problem aggravates on monsoon seasons. Removal of sulfide species from municipal sewage conveyance systems by dosage of iron salts is a relatively common practice here in US. If the muncipality could do something to that front.
    My two cents.


    • Kiran Manral says:

      Upsi: Thanks for the suggestions. Will try the charcoal and the plant ones in my balconies, as for the sewage thing, I dont think the municipal corporation will do anything, we residents will have to pool in and get in done…


  3. dipali says:

    This sounds dreadful. I hope something can be done do unstench your area.


  4. Janak says:

    2010. October. Same problem. Marve Road. Agree with each and every word of the articles here. I hate artificial deodrants, though they are more lovable than the rotten smell.

    This has to be pure hell that we are suffering for our bad karmas. A mini version, albeit non-lethal (as of now) of hiroshima/nagasaki/bhopal.

    The only reason I am not selling my flat is it would be criminal to sell it to some innocent, unknowing person.

    I plan to form a group/organization. We will brainstorm something. Maybe we will go to authorities. Maybe we will come up with ideas to combat it locally (like the ideas of natural absorbers suggested by some kind soul). Maybe we will clean up the mess ourselves.

    Interested fellow sufferers plz mail me on janakporwal [__AT__] gmail


  5. Janak says:

    For whatever this analysis is worth, the burst of stenchs are affected by tides, sun, and direction of wind blowing. If all 3 are in your favour (wind blowing from east to west, sun God smiling and high tides), there is peace. And the reverse conditions convert things to hell 😦


  6. Vinay Cerejo says:

    Kiran, I am planning a very similar move. Does it raise a stink at interface heights in malad even now ?


    • Vinit says:

      Hi Vinay, have you got any reply from anyone to your question yet? Or have you learnt anything further on this on any other forum pl? Do let me know on ‘’ as I’m also considering a similar move in that area. Thanks for your help, Vinit


  7. gauri says:

    I am planning to interface heights too, but not sure if it still stiking…can someone help? plzzzzzzzzz


  8. hazel grover says:

    Hello Mrs Manral, I just read your detailed article written in 2009 on the terrible stench you’ve had to put up with living in mindspace. I would appreciate you letting me know if the intensity of the stench still continues in that area n is it only during particular time or season (low tide/late afternoon eve/ direction of winds/monsoons/ summer ) Please let me know as we are about to finalise purchasing a flat there. The owners of this flat have never occupied the flat. I would be really grateful for your feedback. Thank you.


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