Today we went to the Dharavi slum, which is the largest slum in Asia and the one featured in the movie Slumdog Millionaire. It's about 460 hectares, houses 1 million people, has been around for 150 years, and is nestled between two major railway routes. We didn't see those row "outhouses" shown at the beginning of the movie (thank goodness) but what we did see was a shock to the senses nonetheless (the 45 Minute Assault was nothing!). Our tour guide, Thomas, was so much fun and a wealth of information. A handsome young Indian about 25, he was patient with us, respectful, clearly well-known and liked in the slum, and our "protector" against the little ones. I'll get to that, but first the trains.
The tour starts at the train station, from which you walk down the street a bit and then climb a pedestrian bridge over the double tracks. The trains are so full people are hanging out the sides, literally, and simply on their way to work like any bustling city. Thomas said about 17 deaths occur each day on the trains (from falling), and often when he visits Dharavi he sees body parts on the tracks. Again, thank goodness we didn't see that, and Thomas said the government is taking some action to increase safety but I confess I can't remember the specifics. Closing doors on the trains seems like a good start though.
The slum is divided into a Muslim and Hindu section, and both are living peacefully together, harmony and cooperative spirit being more important that religious difference. Each have numerous temples, and amazingly, there is even one temple with an altar that has Hindu gods on one section, Allah on another, and Jesus and Mary on yet another. We saw both sections, and I asked about the fact that the Hindu section seemed a bit better off. It is more established, Thomas explained, in that it is not as transient as the Muslim section in which people will come in to work seasonally and leave during Monsoon.
Interestingly, the slum was not near as generally stinky as what we've experienced so far right outside our hotel. Truly nothing can prepare you for the smells of Mumbai, and neither France or I can take a full day of it. Eventually we have to hole up in the hotel room again and today, after being back for about 1/2 hour, we were both sniffing the air, convinced our shoes were off gassing that distinct "outside" smell. Try to imagine a blend of diaper pail, air pollution, and rotting garbage. Now add a bizarre sweetness and you've pretty much got it.
When I think slum I think extreme poverty, filth, hopelessness...we saw a lot of all of that, except for hopelessness, on the surface anyway. In fact everyone was busy working at recycling plastic, working in the tanneries, making pottery in outdoor kilns, walking their children to school, sewing in the factory (men only), looking after the house and kids, washing clothes, visiting over a chai and cigarette, and baking bread in a fair size open bakery a bit below street level. First you see the bread--and the most welcome smell of something appealing--and then when you peek down you see the ovens and racks of baked goods. This bakery supplies all of Mumbai, and it doesn't stop there. In a Smithsonian article from 2007, the author reports that its estimated Dharavi generates an annual revenue of approx. 665 million, of which 3/4 goes back to the slum lords living elsewhere in affluent Asia, Europe, and even the States I think. One slum lord keeps his BMW in the slum covered by a tarp. Thomas said he knows this guy, and he pays 10 people to keep his car safe.
None of these factories are legal, however, and the safety precautions are zilch. Toxic chemicals and no masks, open machinery with no protective body gear, and I saw one man welding with a little make-shift shield he casually held up with his free hand. But that's not the most dangerous: there is an open sewer "river" running through Dharavi, and some brave souls will actually submerge themselves in there to gather plastics and metals to sell for a good return--yeah, no shit! They rope themselves to something or other in case of a sudden flood of water(?), and apparently they go for vaccination shots beforehand to prevent all manner of nastiness. At least that's taking some safety and health precaution. Thomas said that when workers have been coached in safety and provided with gear inevitably they don't use it. It gets in the way and slows them down--they simply didn't learn to do their trade with it on--and slowing down means less money. The garment factory is open 24 hours, and the men can come and sit at their machines anytime they like for as long as they like. Time is money. But despite this industriousness having a Dharavi address is a death sentence, and Thomas has lent his address to six trusted people so they can secure employment outside the slum. If he's asked by potential employers if these people really live at this address he simply says yes, they are paying guests. What else can I do, he explains, when they are begging me, practically clinging on my leg asking for my help? I have to help them and my address helps a lot.
Dharavi really is its own city, and it's very clear that you're in the shopping area, industrial area, or residential areas. We walked down some residential alleys that were so narrow my shoulders we nearly touching each wall, and there's no sun; it's very dark. Families live in tiny one room homes with no windows and a curtain for a door. Thomas shared that one scientist came in to do testing of the living conditions and discovered that the majority of people were living on less than 100% oxygen in these crowded, dark conditions. Fans were thus installed in many homes to help get air circulating. Can you imagine also being covered in a full burka? We saw a lot of those, too, and coupled with the sweltering heat and lack of air flow we simply couldn't understand how these women are able to function.
And finally, the children. We got our first taste on our cab ride to the tour, actually. A young boy of about 8 draped himself across France's window while stopped in traffic. They make a little gesture with their hands, where they motion toward their mouth and then their stomach, to indicate hungry. They do it over and over, pleading, with their big eyes, and this being our first experience we were both nearly in tears. France was stronger and able to avoid eye contact, but I just couldn't. He gave up on France and came to my side, and thankfully the cab finally started moving because I was about to lose it. France said, "he's the same age as my youngest." Ignoring a child feels wrong on every level, and next time when there's just one child like that I'm going to just give them some rupees. On the street it's much harder though, and unless you plan on giving to everyone it's impossible and wrong, just like I was warned. At the train station 3 little girls cuddled up to us all smiles and Thomas shoo-ed them away. Walking across the platform 4 little boys joined us and desperately wanted France's water bottle. Again Thomas shoo-ed them and tapped one of them on the head with his newspaper. Needless to say we were mortified and jokingly chastised Thomas to never do that again or we'd use his paper on him. He laughed--he understands our feelings--but said "you know, I've lived here my whole life and I'm so sick of begging. There is so much corruption and I understand how it works. The women with babies? They will refuse your rupees and ask you instead for milk, for their hungry baby. They will take you to a store to buy the milk, but she and the store owner are working together. When you leave she sells the milk back to the store and makes a profit on the ridiculous price you were asked to pay for it." He recommended we read the book White Tiger to understand all these schemes, and why India is the top of the list for the most corrupt country in Asia, followed by Pakistan and China. True? His opinion only? I honestly don't know. The most upsetting though was in the cab ride back to the hotel, where a little girl not much older than Ava and Elise came right up to the cab in insane traffic making the little hand gesture. She first spotted us from the side of the road and I was so hoping she wouldn't come into traffic. Of course she did, though, and we both gasped in horror, so scared she would get hit. The crazy thing is even at that age she knows what she's doing, and I'm pretty sure I saw her scoot back to the curb just as quickly as she targeted us across two lanes of vehicles. The next time we see such young children on the roadside I'm going to scooch down a bit and try to hide my white face.
The kids inside the slum were so adorable. As you'd walk by they'd say hi! hi! hello! and sometimes, hello money! And many very professionally greeted us with a warm handshake. We felt welcome, by the adults, too, and one young girl came over to show us who I assumed were her little sisters, an infant and another about 2. Thomas didn't discourage this whatsoever, but when a small group of boys were telling me their names, etc., I did notice he was keeping an eye on them, perhaps for pickpocketing. I absolutely did not feel unsafe though, it was just normal life scenes against a bizarre background, but perception is not necessarily reality. France did have her backpack sliced open at the back unfortunately and lost her balls--toy balls she brought for the kids. I brought a stack of stickers which we all left with Thomas at the end of the tour to distribute at the school and to the families he knows. I found these beaver stickers and I said to Thomas, do you know what this animal is? He replied, "um, a mouse?" I explained what beavers were (they eat trees?!) and after spelling it out loud for him I had to repeat it again as he typed it into his phone. B-e-a-v-e-r. "Look it up on the net," I say as we jump into the cab, so easily able to leave behind this surreal world. Like Thomas said, you stay here only for a few hours. This is their entire life.
The tour starts at the train station, from which you walk down the street a bit and then climb a pedestrian bridge over the double tracks. The trains are so full people are hanging out the sides, literally, and simply on their way to work like any bustling city. Thomas said about 17 deaths occur each day on the trains (from falling), and often when he visits Dharavi he sees body parts on the tracks. Again, thank goodness we didn't see that, and Thomas said the government is taking some action to increase safety but I confess I can't remember the specifics. Closing doors on the trains seems like a good start though.
The slum is divided into a Muslim and Hindu section, and both are living peacefully together, harmony and cooperative spirit being more important that religious difference. Each have numerous temples, and amazingly, there is even one temple with an altar that has Hindu gods on one section, Allah on another, and Jesus and Mary on yet another. We saw both sections, and I asked about the fact that the Hindu section seemed a bit better off. It is more established, Thomas explained, in that it is not as transient as the Muslim section in which people will come in to work seasonally and leave during Monsoon.
Interestingly, the slum was not near as generally stinky as what we've experienced so far right outside our hotel. Truly nothing can prepare you for the smells of Mumbai, and neither France or I can take a full day of it. Eventually we have to hole up in the hotel room again and today, after being back for about 1/2 hour, we were both sniffing the air, convinced our shoes were off gassing that distinct "outside" smell. Try to imagine a blend of diaper pail, air pollution, and rotting garbage. Now add a bizarre sweetness and you've pretty much got it.
When I think slum I think extreme poverty, filth, hopelessness...we saw a lot of all of that, except for hopelessness, on the surface anyway. In fact everyone was busy working at recycling plastic, working in the tanneries, making pottery in outdoor kilns, walking their children to school, sewing in the factory (men only), looking after the house and kids, washing clothes, visiting over a chai and cigarette, and baking bread in a fair size open bakery a bit below street level. First you see the bread--and the most welcome smell of something appealing--and then when you peek down you see the ovens and racks of baked goods. This bakery supplies all of Mumbai, and it doesn't stop there. In a Smithsonian article from 2007, the author reports that its estimated Dharavi generates an annual revenue of approx. 665 million, of which 3/4 goes back to the slum lords living elsewhere in affluent Asia, Europe, and even the States I think. One slum lord keeps his BMW in the slum covered by a tarp. Thomas said he knows this guy, and he pays 10 people to keep his car safe.
None of these factories are legal, however, and the safety precautions are zilch. Toxic chemicals and no masks, open machinery with no protective body gear, and I saw one man welding with a little make-shift shield he casually held up with his free hand. But that's not the most dangerous: there is an open sewer "river" running through Dharavi, and some brave souls will actually submerge themselves in there to gather plastics and metals to sell for a good return--yeah, no shit! They rope themselves to something or other in case of a sudden flood of water(?), and apparently they go for vaccination shots beforehand to prevent all manner of nastiness. At least that's taking some safety and health precaution. Thomas said that when workers have been coached in safety and provided with gear inevitably they don't use it. It gets in the way and slows them down--they simply didn't learn to do their trade with it on--and slowing down means less money. The garment factory is open 24 hours, and the men can come and sit at their machines anytime they like for as long as they like. Time is money. But despite this industriousness having a Dharavi address is a death sentence, and Thomas has lent his address to six trusted people so they can secure employment outside the slum. If he's asked by potential employers if these people really live at this address he simply says yes, they are paying guests. What else can I do, he explains, when they are begging me, practically clinging on my leg asking for my help? I have to help them and my address helps a lot.
Dharavi really is its own city, and it's very clear that you're in the shopping area, industrial area, or residential areas. We walked down some residential alleys that were so narrow my shoulders we nearly touching each wall, and there's no sun; it's very dark. Families live in tiny one room homes with no windows and a curtain for a door. Thomas shared that one scientist came in to do testing of the living conditions and discovered that the majority of people were living on less than 100% oxygen in these crowded, dark conditions. Fans were thus installed in many homes to help get air circulating. Can you imagine also being covered in a full burka? We saw a lot of those, too, and coupled with the sweltering heat and lack of air flow we simply couldn't understand how these women are able to function.
And finally, the children. We got our first taste on our cab ride to the tour, actually. A young boy of about 8 draped himself across France's window while stopped in traffic. They make a little gesture with their hands, where they motion toward their mouth and then their stomach, to indicate hungry. They do it over and over, pleading, with their big eyes, and this being our first experience we were both nearly in tears. France was stronger and able to avoid eye contact, but I just couldn't. He gave up on France and came to my side, and thankfully the cab finally started moving because I was about to lose it. France said, "he's the same age as my youngest." Ignoring a child feels wrong on every level, and next time when there's just one child like that I'm going to just give them some rupees. On the street it's much harder though, and unless you plan on giving to everyone it's impossible and wrong, just like I was warned. At the train station 3 little girls cuddled up to us all smiles and Thomas shoo-ed them away. Walking across the platform 4 little boys joined us and desperately wanted France's water bottle. Again Thomas shoo-ed them and tapped one of them on the head with his newspaper. Needless to say we were mortified and jokingly chastised Thomas to never do that again or we'd use his paper on him. He laughed--he understands our feelings--but said "you know, I've lived here my whole life and I'm so sick of begging. There is so much corruption and I understand how it works. The women with babies? They will refuse your rupees and ask you instead for milk, for their hungry baby. They will take you to a store to buy the milk, but she and the store owner are working together. When you leave she sells the milk back to the store and makes a profit on the ridiculous price you were asked to pay for it." He recommended we read the book White Tiger to understand all these schemes, and why India is the top of the list for the most corrupt country in Asia, followed by Pakistan and China. True? His opinion only? I honestly don't know. The most upsetting though was in the cab ride back to the hotel, where a little girl not much older than Ava and Elise came right up to the cab in insane traffic making the little hand gesture. She first spotted us from the side of the road and I was so hoping she wouldn't come into traffic. Of course she did, though, and we both gasped in horror, so scared she would get hit. The crazy thing is even at that age she knows what she's doing, and I'm pretty sure I saw her scoot back to the curb just as quickly as she targeted us across two lanes of vehicles. The next time we see such young children on the roadside I'm going to scooch down a bit and try to hide my white face.
The kids inside the slum were so adorable. As you'd walk by they'd say hi! hi! hello! and sometimes, hello money! And many very professionally greeted us with a warm handshake. We felt welcome, by the adults, too, and one young girl came over to show us who I assumed were her little sisters, an infant and another about 2. Thomas didn't discourage this whatsoever, but when a small group of boys were telling me their names, etc., I did notice he was keeping an eye on them, perhaps for pickpocketing. I absolutely did not feel unsafe though, it was just normal life scenes against a bizarre background, but perception is not necessarily reality. France did have her backpack sliced open at the back unfortunately and lost her balls--toy balls she brought for the kids. I brought a stack of stickers which we all left with Thomas at the end of the tour to distribute at the school and to the families he knows. I found these beaver stickers and I said to Thomas, do you know what this animal is? He replied, "um, a mouse?" I explained what beavers were (they eat trees?!) and after spelling it out loud for him I had to repeat it again as he typed it into his phone. B-e-a-v-e-r. "Look it up on the net," I say as we jump into the cab, so easily able to leave behind this surreal world. Like Thomas said, you stay here only for a few hours. This is their entire life.
Incredible, Kim. I was reading on the edge of my seat. xo B.
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