Dave the Nomad

My trip so far is mostly a compilation of visiting awe inspiring places built of various architectural styles under different religious and cultural regimes. It is a foray in meeting new people unabashedly and generally making joyous and happy memories. However, there are opportunities to delve into the flip side of life and participate, however minimalistic, in viewing the darker sides of humanity. Sam and I only had one full day in Mumbai. A city slung into the limelight with recent events of the 26/11 attacks and hit-movie Slum Dog Millionaire. Over 55% of the city’s population lives in slums, we thought it would be insightful to take an afternoon tour of one of the slum’s.

Over the pedestrian bridge we cross the tracks, into a piece of divided land. This heap of reclaimed land is pinched in by two divergent rail lines, and sealed on the third edge by the wetland it used to be; close but far from the stereotypical divide of a 20th-century growing American town “on the other side of the tracks.” This triangle of land is the Dharavi Slum, arguably the largest slum in Asia.

Although filled with impoverishment and unbelievably poor work conditions, there is also a glimpse of pride and hope in people who came here from rural villages to make a living, who work their entire life only to send back the money to a far off home they may get to visit once a month if they are lucky. It is this constantly turning wheel of self-sacrificial hope and opportunistic businessmen that helps Dharavi output over $650 million per year.

My explanations and insight into this slum are limited and composed mostly of fleeting glimpses and morsels of information fed to me and a half dozen like-minded people over a period of several hours. If I answered the question from any of you: “What was it like?”

I would say:

“Wow.”

“Where do I start?”

“Well, there were two rules on the trip:
#1 No Cameras – They will be broken, and some images are best to be forgotten after being burned into the conscious.
#2 No Loitering – It is not safe to stay in one place too long. Foreigners are not welcome.”

“Dharavi is a fascinating place that delves deep into the heart of India that so many people don’t hear about. It is a quintessential potluck of the deeper darker side of life here. Dharavi isn’t a tourist stop, it is a slum where people have come to work long lives of long hours in bad conditions. Its hard to really put what I saw into words”

If I were to spurt out glimpses in an appropriately illogical manner to describe my surroundings it would read as follows:

Progressive Government Work #1:
Three hours of running water a day

A goat in a small stairwell to nowhere,
Adjacent shelves hold three shivering kid goats.

White plastic bags as large as oil drums towering above
Filled with plastic to be processed in Dharavi Recycling

Building metal contraptions; blips of welding, grinding sparks,
A lone man sports protective glasses, only he smiles.

Steady feet carrying a steel beam squeeze by…

Two eyes locked on the low-cut shirt in front of me, emotionless.
They glean with excitement after she passes.

Rusty corrugated sheets slapped together
Dangling electrical wires hang over muddy ground.

A turquoise shirt in broken grey print, “KNOWLEDGE SPEAKS, WISDOM LISTENS.”

Aluminum Recycle: From Cans, to Shards, to Molten, to Blocks, with Dust
Thick aluminum dust covers the rafters, eyelids, and food.

A bouquet of smells: Sewage, Industrial Chemicals, Rotting Matter

Bang out dents in oil cans, weld leaks, send them back for next week

Strings of light stand untouched in the acrid air
A darkened bearded face walks by untouched by our presence.

Rooftop views: feet shuffle newly colored plastic chips drying in the sun
Corrupt buildings stopped mid-construction
Sam points to a sign, “LG. Life’s Good.”

Government Fact: Average Daily Income – 2 USD
Don’t forget to send money back home to the family

The contrast of light and dark is my saving grace and enemy,
Curiosity begs me to look in farther to stand starstruck.

The adjustment from the bright cloudless sky allows little;
Faces barely recognizable from the darkness inside the open doors

The waterways. Dark, bubbly film suffocates hopes of life below
The flotsam of slum debris solid as ground, waveless and motionless

… I need a break. This is ridiculous. My only solace are my sunglasses. A barrier, a disconnection, however small, however insignificant. The stare is one-sided, the sympathy on hold. I don’t want to look, but part of me keeps demanding I absorb my surroundings. My mental capacity is drained, and yet I have spent a mere fraction of time here…

Progressive Government Work #2:
A boy lifts his dholi and defecates on dusty garbage
He stares at the new public latrine across the clearing

Dark, grim, narrow, low ceiling corridor
Ladder-like stairs ascend to second floors

Electrical wires form a jungle of twisting cables
Walk the plank over the garbage mud batter

A child sits in the mud staring at Tom and Jerry,
Escaping in the wordless imagery, we go unnoticed

Blackened hands of children playing in rank matter proudly await me
I shake them with feeling, but there is no reciprocation, no grip, simply a physical touch

Hummingbird chatter of sewing machines
A dozen men cramped in a dorm-size room piled high with cloth
Designer labels added here; if you pay enough

Single women make pappad bread
Profits saved to pay their dowry

Mud shipped from Rajasthan
Twirled and formed by day, hardened by fire at night

The road out is buzzing with traffic,
Large apartment buildings enclose the street.

Small balconies are caged in,
The view is better, the cage still present.

I left my tour questioning life, questioning my ideals and standards, questioning basal humanity. I left knowing that 80% of the fee for the tour went directly to an NGO working in Dharavi. I left knowing there are people here who care about more than making money. I left.

I sat on the train back to the glimmering lights of the other Mumbai silently. I was glad I indulged in Dharavi. I felt inadequate for needing to indulge in this place, inadequate in my ability to relay what I saw to others.

I am saddened by the idea Dharavi is not a unique place.

I hope more people see these places, because it is impossible to truly relay them outside of our personal perceptions. Pictures cannot portray trembling thoughts, video cannot convey the stench of decay, nor sound clip the silent lips of a pleading child, nor I the words to complete a description worthy of Dharavi. Some things can only be experienced in person.