[Raudat Tahera, the mausoleum of two spiritual leaders of the Dawoodi Bohras]

The moment we stepped out of our cars into Bhendi Bazaar, reality struck hard. Even those of us familiar with Mumbai felt immediately overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. The air was thick with the aroma of sizzling kebabs, roasting meats, fried sweets, incense sticks, and exhaust fumes, all mingling chaotically. Narrow streets were clogged with people, bikes, carts, and honking vehicles, each jostling for space. Voices rose and fell dramatically—vendors shouted prices, buyers negotiated furiously, and children darted between legs, playing amid the organised chaos. 

The group gathered here that evening belonged to the Founding Fuel community, a thoughtfully curated set of visitors personally approved by the trustees. It was an uncommon privilege, an invitation carefully extended to those whom the community trusted would deeply appreciate its significance.

Bill Holland, a veteran S&P energy reporter visiting from the US, stood momentarily transfixed, repeatedly murmuring, “What an amazing country!”

Indrajit Gupta, my co-founder at Founding Fuel, grappled intently with Google Maps, trying desperately to find our entry point to the Saifee Masjid. Cuckoo Paul, director of communications at McKinsey, laughed softly, amused by how a city she knew intimately could still throw up surprises. Ronaan Roy, our contributor, who headed Mahindra & Mahindra’s Thar portfolio, silently took pictures, capturing every vibrant nuance.

Only Deven Pabaru, Chief Business Officer at Stellar Value Chain Solutions, along with Uma Narain, former founding Dean of NMIMS School of Liberal Arts, and my wife Anna, a programme manager in the development space, associated with Vacha Trust, seemed at ease. They moved effortlessly through Bhendi Bazaar’s crowded lanes, accustomed to navigating Mumbai’s overwhelming density.

[The group]

As we finally located the imposing entrance—Bab al-Futuh, the Gate of Conquest—I exchanged glances with Deven, who shook his head in quiet astonishment. “Years ago,” he said softly, “this was purely a horizontal sprawl—dense, chaotic, old buildings spreading endlessly outward. To imagine redeveloping a place like this, moving it vertical…it's simply staggering.”

Crossing into Calm

[The Bab al-Futuh, or the Gate of Conquest]

The Bab al-Futuh or the Gate of Conquest towered before us, its elegant Fatimi-era arches an echo of 11th-century Cairo, reminding us how deeply the Dawoodi Bohra community cherished their lineage. Work on renovating and redeveloping the entire Saifee Masjid and Raudat Tahera (the mausoleum of two spiritual leaders of the Dawoodi Bohras) complex officially commenced in April 2011 and was inaugurated in September 2023. We were invited inside last week, during Ramzan, an honour rarely extended to outsiders. As we stepped through, Mumbai’s overwhelming chaos melted away instantly.

Inside, a profound silence greeted us. The suddenness was surreal. A perfect juxtaposition to the chaos we’d left seconds ago. Families relaxed on soft lawns, children played joyfully, their laughter echoing through the open space. It was welcoming, and entirely unexpected.

Murtaza Sadriwala, our gracious host and other volunteers from Dawat-e-Hadiyah, the administration that works to promote and foster the interests of the Dawoodi Bohra community, greeted us warmly. “The evening prayers have ended,” Murtaza explained gently. “Let's first break our fast together.”

Al Raihan: A Precise Tradition

[The Raudat Tahera with the Al Raihan tower in the background]

We followed him toward Al Raihan, a centrally air-conditioned tower offering immediate relief from Mumbai’s relentless humidity. The lower floors were designed specifically for serving traditional meals, while comfortable accommodations for travelling visitors occupied the upper levels. The building embodied Bohra hospitality: functional, comfortable, yet respectfully restrained.

In the large banquet hall on the fifth floor, where we were seated, diplomats from the Indonesian and UAE consulates conversed quietly, huddled around the thaal. We gathered around two large silver thaals, men on one, and women on another. The ritual began with salt, a tiny pinch awakening our senses, followed by the sweetness of hand-churned mango ice cream, delicately marking the onset of summer.

[Sharing a Bohra thaal]

Then followed carefully measured servings—just one succulent starter of a cheese boti kabab. The mains included a small serving of tender mutton bhuna to begin with, paired with flaky paratha and aromatic biryani. Of course, we could have as much as we wanted. And we did, until we were stuffed. Fizzy mosambi soda, chaat, and fresh fruits complemented the precise meal. Murtaza smiled, explaining softly, “Nothing is wasted. We don’t eat less; we eat right.”

[Tasting traditions]

Vision Reborn

After dinner, as we stepped inside the centrally air-conditioned complex, the transition from the humid evening outside felt immediate and comforting. It was more than a luxury. Instead, it symbolized the thoughtful planning that had shaped this place. The mosque was the centerpiece of a decades-long dream, patiently executed against seemingly impossible odds.

Murtaza guided us across cool marble floors, allowing us to absorb the carefully crafted details. Originally constructed in 1926 by the 51st Dai, Syedna Taher Saifuddin, this mosque was chosen to be the heart of the Dawoodi Bohra community, an anchoring spiritual centre in densely populated Bhendi Bazaar. Its profound importance became even clearer when, decades later, his son, Syedna Mohammed Burhanuddin, chose this very site to lay him to rest. Raudat Tahera, a white marble mausoleum etched meticulously with the entire Holy Quran in gold leaf, stood adjacent—each verse patiently carved, a stunning testament to devotion.

[Inside the Raudat Tahera, the Holy Quran is etched into the marble walls in gold leaf]

But time had not been gentle on Bhendi Bazaar. Over the years, the Syedna observed residents living in dangerously dilapidated buildings. Most of them were dense, unstable structures that risked collapse. This troubling sight sparked a vision: to rebuild not just the mosque, but the entire neighbourhood. The Saifee Burhani Upliftment Project (SBUT) was thus born in 2009 and with that, India’s most ambitious urban redevelopment project started to take shape. This  encompassed 250 crumbling colonial-era buildings, to be replaced with 11 modern, state-of-the-art towers.

Murtaza described patiently how challenging this vision had been. Redevelopment meant gently overcoming residents' fears—families deeply apprehensive about losing their homes in a city infamous for broken redevelopment promises. Each family required delicate persuasion and thoughtful reassurance. Transit accommodations had to be dignified and close by, ensuring minimal disruption to community bonds. Transporting construction materials through Bhendi Bazaar’s narrow, crowded lanes posed logistical nightmares, with trucks unable to enter, forcing materials to be painstakingly carried by hand. There were inevitable delays, criticism, and cost overruns. But patience, humility, and quiet determination gradually overcame every obstacle.

Today, the first two gleaming Al Sa’adah Complex towers stand as early evidence of success—symbols of trust slowly earned.

Inside the masjid, the intricate beauty reflected this patient ethos. Murtaza guided our gaze toward the restored Burmese teakwood. Known for durability and exquisite elegance, this teakwood—painstakingly rescued from the original mosque—now formed the mosque’s doors, windows, graceful columns, and ornate grills. Each carving allowed the interplay of natural light, creating delicate patterns across the Makrana marble floors, quarried specially from Rajasthan’s famed mines.

[Intricate carvings on Burma teak, salvaged from the original mosque]

We stood silently, absorbing the breathtaking opulence of chandeliers suspended from high ceilings, their crystals catching subtle illumination and softly reflecting it upon Quranic verses embossed meticulously in gold leaf. “These chandeliers,” Murtaza explained softly, “were handcrafted decades ago in what was then Czechoslovakia. Every facet reflects our careful reverence for beauty and devotion.”

[A view from the top where women are seated to offer prayers at Saifee Masjid]

[This prayer hall can accommodate 5,000 people]

The walls around us were decorated gracefully with floral motifs interwoven seamlessly with sacred Islamic designs. Each inscription, crafted in gold painstakingly melted and poured into carved stone, was executed by artisans whose ancient skills today teetered on extinction. The dedication required to achieve such precision was immense, yet patiently undertaken.

[The walls bear floral motifs and sacred Islamic designs]

Above, intricately carved wooden galleries lined the upper floors. Designed with careful privacy, these allowed women of the community to participate fully yet discreetly in worship. “Women are influential voices in our community,” Murtaza affirmed softly. “They are deeply involved, respected not just at home but also in business matters. They’re certainly no pushovers.”

[Intricately carved wooden galleries line the upper floors]

He added that serving one daily meal from the community kitchen freed many women from constant household chores, empowering them to pursue personal aspirations or greater involvement in community affairs. “We also gently encourage men to share domestic responsibilities,” he noted thoughtfully. “It fosters harmony at home.”

At the heart of the mosque was the expansive central atrium, remarkably spacious and pillar-free, offering worshippers unobstructed views of all proceedings—a conscious design choice that emphasised equality and unity among worshippers.

Standing amidst this exquisite space, reflecting quietly on its patient transformation, I felt profoundly humbled. Every chandelier, every carved teakwood panel, every marble slab, every gold-leaf verse quietly spoke volumes, not just of artistry and devotion, but of patience, resilience, and quiet determination in the face of formidable challenges.

Murtaza sensed our quiet awe and allowed us a rare privilege—photographs of ourselves at the dais where the Syedna delivers his sermons. We hesitated briefly, absorbing the profound significance of standing there, gently aware of the rare and humbling privilege we’d been granted.

Slowly, we began to grasp the depth of the vision realised here. Bhendi Bazaar’s transformation from a horizontal, crowded sprawl to an emerging vertical township was a quiet miracle, patiently achieved one careful step at a time.

Yet when I asked Murtaza whether he felt they’d achieved their vision, he paused, smiling with characteristic humility. “Ask me again in ten years,” he replied.

Standing there, beneath the chandeliers casting gentle brilliance, surrounded by the soothing fragrance of polished teakwood and marble, I understood deeply that this was not merely about buildings. It was about patiently rebuilding trust, hope, and dignity—one family, one home, one grain of patience at a time.

Dig Deeper

• Read about the Dawoodi Bohras, a merchant diaspora, and their traditional way of life: The Bohra transcultural network by Sifra Lentin (Gateway House)

• Read about Bhendi Bazaar's iconic food stalls that come alive during Ramzaan. And how the traditional food businesses are morphing as an ambitious redevelopment project slowly changes the landscape: Ramzaan in the Bohri Mohalla by Indrajit Gupta, Cuckoo Paul and Sveta Basraon (Founding Fuel)