For most developers, real estate is a business cycle. For Vijay Wadhwa, it’s a lifetime of lessons — six decades spent watching Mumbai rise, crumble, and rise again. The Chairman of the Wadhwa Group, often described as the “Bhishma Pitamah of Mumbai real estate,” began his journey in 1969, when the city’s skyline barely touched the clouds. Over half a century later, he continues to build with the same conviction — that discipline, quality, and ethics outlast every boom and bust.
“You don’t learn from success,” Wadhwa says with quiet authority. “You learn from downturns. When the tide turns, that’s when wisdom begins.”
The Early Years: A Teenager Among Builders
In May 1969, a 17-year-old Vijay Wadhwa joined his father’s small construction business. “I wasn’t fond of studying,” he recalls candidly. “I had a passion for business. And real estate felt like creation — building something lasting.”
Back then, Mumbai’s real estate ecosystem was unrecognizable compared to today’s hyper-vertical skyline. Land was affordable, builders were few, and projects were community-driven rather than investment-led. Prices tell the story: land in Borivali sold at ₹25 per sq ft; Andheri industrial estates at ₹27 per sq ft; and premium locations like Bandra Bandstand fetched around ₹49 per sq ft.
“We built Deep Bella at ₹49 per sq ft and earned ₹5 per foot,” Wadhwa smiles. “We were delighted. The joy wasn’t in the profit — it was in completing the building.”
Prominent names of the era included Eshwardas Bhatia, the Mittals, Rahejas, C.D. Shah, N.L. Mehta, and the Guwani Group. Construction was modest: low-rises, simple façades, generous layouts. Maintenance mattered more than marble, and builders took pride in long-lasting structures rather than flashy amenities.
“Homes were built for life, not for listings,” Wadhwa says. “Rooms were large, kitchens spacious, even servants had proper quarters. Today, we’ve traded simplicity for show.”
The Shock of 1976: The Urban Land Ceiling Act
The industry’s first major crisis arrived in 1976, with Indira Gandhi’s Urban Land Ceiling Act — a regulation that restricted individual ownership of land beyond 500 sq meters. It paralyzed construction activity across Mumbai.
“Everyone thought the business was finished,” Wadhwa recalls. “Landowners stopped investing. Projects stalled. Nobody knew what was legal anymore.”
The policy’s uncertainty lasted nearly six years. In the confusion, many large landholders — like the Wadias and Behramjees — lost control over their estates. This, Wadhwa notes, triggered the rise of slums. “When owners lose interest, the land loses protection. Slum lords moved in. A single law created an entire parallel economy.”
For young developers like him, it was a brutal education. “Those years taught us caution,” he says. “In real estate, once momentum breaks, recovery is painfully slow.”
The Cement Shortage Years (1977–1985)
As if regulation wasn’t enough, the industry soon faced another obstacle — an acute cement shortage. “We had to approach brokers just to get allotment letters,” Wadhwa laughs wryly. “Good cement was a luxury.”
Poor-quality substitutes like fujolona — a mix of brick and lime — became commonplace, compromising structural integrity. “Buildings from that era still stand, but many show wear because we had no choice,” he explains.
Those years forged his lifelong respect for quality over quantity. “Real estate is not about how tall you build,” he emphasizes. “It’s about how long it lasts.”
The 1980s: The Rise of Modern Mumbai
By the early 1980s, Mumbai’s real estate began finding its footing again. The market saw bold developments by visionaries like Lokhandwala, Hiranandani, and Raheja.
Wadhwa remembers the Lokhandwala story vividly. “When they first showed me the land in Andheri, it was marshland. I said, ‘Who will go live in a jungle?’ But they had vision — and look what that jungle became.”
The 1980s also marked the birth of Mumbai’s first luxury apartments and bungalow conversions. Sea-facing properties in Malabar Hill, Bandra, and Juhu attracted film stars, textile magnates, and stockbrokers — ushering in a new era of aspirational housing.
“Privacy was the new luxury,” he says. “Palihill became the enclave for artists and actors who wanted solitude.”
Wadhwa’s own success peaked with projects like Ritu Apartments at Bandstand, launched in the late ’70s. “We sold at ₹1,000 per sq ft when others were selling at ₹400. But we offered ready possession — key in hand. That was our reputation.”
On the Greed of FSI and the Discipline of Planning
Few topics provoke as much passion in Wadhwa as FSI (Floor Space Index) — the metric that defines how much one can build on a plot. Introduced in the 1960s at 1.33, it has since become the city’s most contested number.
“FSI is both a boon and a curse,” he says. “It should serve the city, not greed. When builders chase more FSI, they chase density, not design.”
He argues that higher FSI without proportional infrastructure — roads, gardens, schools, parking — leads to congestion and conflict. “You can’t put 500 families on a plot meant for 100 and expect peace,” he warns.
Even today, he refuses to overbuild. “We once had approval for 60 floors but stopped at 39. The extra 21 would have taken two more years, with higher stress and lower joy. Sometimes, less is more.”
On Developers, Discipline, and Deliveries
According to Wadhwa, Mumbai’s real estate matured only when professionalism entered the sector — through RERA (Real Estate Regulatory Authority). “RERA changed the game for buyers. It disciplined developers. Hats off to that,” he says.
But he’s quick to add that the pendulum swung too far. “Builders also need protection. If a buyer delays payments, we have no remedy. RERA must ensure fairness both ways.”
The Wadhwa Group’s formula for survival has always been trust and timely delivery. “We never chased volume. We chased credibility. Complete what you start, and your brand will sell the next one.”
The Lessons of Legacy
Wadhwa’s respect for old-world builders is palpable. He recalls pioneers like S.F. Engineer and Vazemdar, who built some of Mumbai’s most timeless landmarks — from Colaba to Malabar Hill.
“They were craftsmen,” he says. “They didn’t overtrade. They built with dignity. Even sixty years later, their buildings are still admired. That’s legacy.”
He contrasts that with today’s “Excel sheet builders.” “Everything now is financial engineering,” he sighs. “But real engineering — the kind that touches people’s lives — is disappearing.”
Booms, Busts, and Speculation
Every market has its excesses. Mumbai’s came in waves — the Urban Land Ceiling paralysis of the 1970s, the speculative frenzy of the 1980s, and the valuation-driven expansions of the 2000s.
“Speculation is poison,” Wadhwa says firmly. “When prices rise, everyone looks smart. When they fall, you see who was wise.”
He recalls how entire buildings were sold overnight in the Lokhandwala boom — investors flipping units without intention to live. “It works only while prices go up. The day they flatten, the chain breaks. The builder suffers most.”
His rule remains timeless: “Don’t sell greed. Sell value.”
On Mumbai’s Affordability and the Future of the City
Despite sky-high prices, Wadhwa rejects the notion that Mumbai is unaffordable. “It depends who’s asking,” he says. “For newcomers, yes. But for those who’ve lived here 30 years, incomes rise with the city.”
He believes the future lies in redevelopment — of slums, old societies, and dilapidated buildings. “Redevelopment is rewriting Mumbai’s DNA. The next five years will triple the city’s FSI. That means more supply — and more affordability.”
However, he warns that infrastructure must grow alongside towers. “We’re building roads, but not schools. We’re adding cars, but not hospitals. If we don’t balance this, we’ll create chaos.”
His suggestion to the government is pragmatic: “Every large layout — like Mhada colonies — should mandate 10% of land for schools and hospitals. Give FSI incentives for it. Otherwise, our children will have buildings but nowhere to play.”
Philosophy of a Builder
At 73, Vijay Wadhwa remains as involved as ever — reviewing designs, inspecting sites, mentoring the next generation. His philosophy blends spirituality with street sense.
“A builder’s duty isn’t to make money,” he says. “It’s to build responsibly. If your driver or maid is unhappy, what peace will your luxury bring? Real luxury is in harmony.”
When asked about legacy, his answer is simple: “I don’t want to be remembered for how many floors I built, but for how many lives I uplifted.”
The Final Word
Mumbai’s skyline tells many stories — of ambition, excess, resilience, and reinvention. Few have witnessed them all. Vijay Wadhwa has not only seen them; he has shaped them. From ₹25-per-foot plots in Borivali to ₹2 lakh-per-foot towers in Bandra, he has lived through every era of India’s most dynamic property market.
“I’ve seen prices rise and fall by 50%,” he reflects. “But markets don’t define you. Your principles do. Build with your heart, not your calculator — and the city will remember you.”
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