Parvez Rustomjee: Between The Lines

As I walked up Ladbroke Grove, then turned onto Blenheim Crescent to meet Parvez Rustomjee, I couldn’t help but think – I’ve read so much, yet still know so little about him. Oddly intriguing. I’ve seen photos of a younger him outside The Roxy and read notes on Pining, but what’s his favourite record? Does he think about his parents? I need to know more. ‘11.15am please, corner of Talbot and Portobello. Opp. the green bar-café’, Parvez’s email instructs. I’m early and wait at the location – the spring sun ablaze – looking across the street at the bar-café, 186 Portobello Road. That place has likely hosted many fun nights.

At 11.17am Parvez emerges, waving to grab my attention. “Sorry, sorry, I got lost in a painting.” And before I could react, “shall we walk?”. He’s wearing well-ironed trousers, a collared shirt with a navy sweater on top, worn-in leather lace-ups and a trench coat. I pause, then walk alongside him. His right ear holds a tiny scar, one that could only belong to an old piercing. “I love this market, but weekends are too busy. Too many people, not enough space to walk. Which is why I asked if we could meet during the week,” Parvez says as he adjusts his steps to match my pace, pulls out a pack of Marlboros and offers me one. “A coffee to match that? And then I’ll show you around the neighbourhood?”. I follow his lead.

"You see, I already had a coffee and a chai this morning, but what to do, winter or summer I need my hot drinks,” he laughs. I tell him how evident it already is that this little nook of London feels very much like his – like his home, his community. “I suppose it has to. I’ve lived here for decades, in the same flat. Portobello has seen me during my best and my not-so-best. Isn’t that what you’d call home?"

Our pace steadies and I can tell today is the day I find out the ‘more’.

The Record (TR): Parvez, how would you like to be remembered?

Parvez Rustomjee (PR): Wow, that’s a question for a Tuesday morning. Well, I’ve always sort of done things my own way, I’ve never waited for permission, and I’ve had so much bloody fun along the way. I want that to be my legacy. Is that a good enough answer?

TR: Done things your own way. Go deeper for me…

PR: The ‘typical’ life has never been for me. I’m not saying I think it’s wrong, but it’s just not for me, you know? When most people I knew were studying to become doctors or engineers, I wanted to create. So I enrolled myself into an undergraduate course at the Sir J.J. School of Art in Bombay and it was glorious, I was creating every day. My hands were busy. So was my heart – and liver! All my friends were creatives too and we were just out there having a ball, getting up to mischief, exploring everything that life had to offer. Classic student behaviour – I hope students still act that way!

During the day we’d be in class really questioning, building, debating, making and at night we’d be drinking our minds numb at all sorts of places. Drinking in Bombay was illegal unless you had a permit, so these Goan aunties would turn their living rooms into drinking dens. Bandra was full of them. You’d be in the front room having a peg, while beta-beti sat three feet away behind a curtain.’ It was strange and wild. And the best part was finding them, there was no Google maps, so we’d have to look for…

TR: The eggsellers…

PR: [Laughs] Yes! Yes, these dudes would be standing there with the cycle, boiled eggs on the back, cigarettes, Hajmola, mouth freshener, whatnot in the front. From sunset to sunrise they’d be there – what a job! So we’d go to these ‘bars’, down a few pegs, then leave to find the next best thing. Often we’d stop to chat with the eggseller, scoring some ‘maal’ if we were lucky. The nights were a haze. A classmate got us drinking permits, so some nights were spent in permit rooms. When the pocket money was good we’d get a cheeky pint at Harbour Bar in the Taj Hotel; and when it was dwindling we’d raid my parent’s café, after they’d left of course. But we’d always be back in class the next day. I was so driven by art, I just knew it was for me, so I didn’t want to miss a moment.

TR: That sounds both exciting and tiring.

PR: It probably was. But worth it for the memories.

TR: Sounds like you have some good ones.

PR: How much time do we have? My favourite, and my parents never found out, was when Rohan, Suzanne, Farhan and I were at a rave that got busted. Suddenly the lights go on and there’s cops everywhere. Like flies. Everyone was getting analysed and we were all taken to the local hospital for blood tests. It even made the news. I didn’t get home for 24 hours and remember, we didn’t have phones. My name must still be in some dusty register somewhere!

TR: You were clearly having the time of your life in Bombay. So why leave it behind?

PR: I wanted more. I wanted to explore life outside India, even if for a little while. I applied to the Royal Academy of Arts and got through. Studying at the RA was quite similar to Bombay – days filled with paint and nights filled with substance. But London introduced me to so much more.

TR: Would you say it changed you?

PR: Uff, change is a strong word. I’m still Parvez. But, it definitely allowed me to be me. Don’t think India held me back – it didn’t. I was fortunate to have quite a liberal life and understanding parents. I think what I’m trying to say is that before London I didn’t know what ‘me’ fully meant. And once here I felt liberated. Am I making any sense?

TR: Parvez and liberated in the same sentence. Interesting. I can’t wait to hear more.

PR: That better not be sarcasm. My first friend in London was Azhar, a classmate who'd grown up in the UK – he knew everyone and introduced me to everyone.

He and his friends had a punk rock band and I’d go to their rehearsals, and be backstage at all their gigs. I’d meet people at gigs who introduced me to new music and much more. [smiles]. Sweaty pubs, basement bars, I was hopping around the city just lapping it all up. And when you’re friends with the band, anything goes. It was sex, dr*gs, rock’n’roll in the truest sense. And I was talking to everyone. I’m quite a curious person anyway so I always wanted to know and try it all.

If memory serves, after every gig, 3am, we’d stumble back to my flat, collecting friendly faces along the way. Models, musicians, writers, photographers, artists. The whole lot. We once even had a mathematician! I’m certain my partner at the time hated me. They definitely put up with a lot.

TR: Did you ever play music?

PR: I dabbled. I play the guitar, so I made a few appearances [smiles].

TR: And you enjoyed it?

PR: My ear is better suited to listening. Some of my favourite days were spent at home with friends and lovers, sipping twisted classics, records on loop. Blondie, Rock Machine (now Indus Creed), Bob Dylan, R.D. Burman.

TR: Lovers…

PR: What about them?

TR: Plural…

PR: Like I said, when you’re friends with the band, anything goes.

TR: You’re being tight-lipped.

PR: Don’t kiss and tell, right? And besides, I was surrounded by good music, good friends, good times.

TR: What more does a man need?

PR: Right. This reminds me, l need to stop off at Rough Trade West, they’ve kindly kept a record on hold for me. Then let’s go home, I've prepared Lamb Curry and Pulao.

TR: Like I said, I’ll follow your lead.

At the record store, I’m introduced to more favourite albums and a promise of “I’ll put this on while we have lunch”. Sun still shining, record in hand, we walk down Portobello Road, back to 186. Through the door and up a stairway lined with exhibition posters and portraits of Parvez’s friends. “Everyone who’s spent a night at my flat has their portrait here. I sketched them all. It’s tradition,” he remarks.

Inside, it’s all him – a two-bedroom flat that he shares with his art. Seamless parquet flooring leads us down a corridor and into the living room where he’s left the windows slightly ajar, bamboo blinds lowered halfway hinting at a balmy Bombay afternoon. Amid reclaimed cabinets and armchairs – “I inherited these from my parents and shipped them from Bombay. Took six weeks!” – sits a patterned couch and many plants. “You’ll notice, I have a bit of a green thumb,” he quips. But the colour isn’t just in the plants – it’s in the art, the books, the stack of vinyl. “The art here is a selection — some from my art school friends, some my own,” he adds. They’re beautiful pieces, some framed, some still unfinished.

The second bedroom has been enshrined in art history. This was the room where A journey, 1985 came to life, catapulting him into the art world. So, of course, I ask to be given a tour. The floor-to-ceiling curtains are drawn back allowing sunlight to wash the bed, while tasselled bedside shades sit still. “This is where I do my thinking, drawing and painting”, Parvez says. His own art watches over the bed.

PR: Chalo, have a seat, I’ll bring out the lunch.

TR: Can I help?

PR: No no, make yourself at home.

TR: Parvez, do you think about your parents?

PR: [Pauses briefly] I do. They were great parents. I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.

TR: What do you mean?

PR: They were middle-class Indian parents who had me not long after Independence. They ran an Irani café in Dadar, busy from 7am to early evening. They were very hands-on in the café, but I was always looked after and often spent hours at the café with my colour pencils strewn across a formica tabletop. Life was simple – they knew all the locals, and the locals knew and respected them.

TR: Was there an expectation for you to take on the café?

PR: In some way I think they assumed I would. But like I said, I wanted more. And they understood.

TR: Do you think you’ve achieved everything you wanted?

PR: Does anyone ever?

TR: A question with a question…

PR: [Pours a rum] I’m happy with the life I’ve led, but still hungry. My upcoming exhibition Five Years, and A Day reflects that. It’s visually different from my usual style, but if you look closely – it’s still me. My stories, my ghosts, my past. And I’m hosting it in this flat – my work with my life as the backdrop. Doors open, as they say in the art world, on 20th June.

TR: I’m excited to meet Parvez old and new.

PR: Well, for that you’ll have to come to opening night. Anyway, what do you think of the lamb curry?

TR: I refuse to believe you made it. Reminds me of home. Is it from the café downstairs?

PR: Very cheeky!