I thought I knew what to expect. I've read about slums in fiction and non-fiction or reports from NGOs that I've contributed to, but Dharavi was not what I imagined. Not by a long shot. Faiz asked us not to take photos while inside the slum, but we could take a few from above as we crossed the railroad tracks. First of all, there are a few real streets, not just a warren of passages between hovels. My very first impression is that the people looked far better than poor people we've seen in other cities, especially in Old Delhi. Their clothes were clean, mostly western on the men and Muslim attire for the women (Black robes, and head scarves that cover their mouths). Their food stalls were amply filled with fresh vegetablesthat looked appetizing. The shops have the usual soft drinks and what looks like junk food. There were also shoes, bags, scarves, plastic goods -- pretty much a typical assortment of things a family might want.
Secondly, there are four major industries in the slum: recycling, textiles, leather goods, and pottery. People came from villages, staked out a hovel, and the men (I saw only young men) learn a skill. OSHA folk would have a heart attack over the conditions, but what we saw was resourceful.
The recycling was particularly interesting. In the US, we put our bottles and cans in a bin and someone pickes them up and the rest is a mystery. Actually, similar things happen in Mumbai, but they debris from all of that ends up in Dhravi. Things are actually reused. Like the metal paint cans and oil cans. Those are washed, dried, banged into a useable shape and bundled to be refilled. Plastic is shredded and ground into pellets that end up being processed into more plastic goods. But it's all plasitc, from those flimsy water cups to toys and TV cases. The conditions where this happens is deplorable and I wonder just how exploited thes people are? Who owns the machinery?It's made in the slum. We saw the machine shop. These young men have skills that could be the path to success in the outside world, but in fact, they are said to not want to leave. After all they can make as much as 500 rupees a day ($10) just around the corner from where they live.
I heard this over and over from Faiz. The people like where they are. It's familiar. They have a home, albeit at 200 sq.ft home that might be shared with 10 people, but it's still home. Many homes have several levels -- so the 200 sq.ft footprint might expand to 600 sq.ft. There is no rent, but there are taxes. And there are the narrow passages I expected. Dark warrens with a covered trough running down the middle. Some people have a refrigerator and/or a tiny washing machine. Many have TVs, most have cell phones. A few have a toilet. Generally, there is one toilet for 450 people. Many prefer to urinate and defecate outside. "Why waste the water" for a flush toilet? Really.
There are also high rises where the hovels have been knocked down and tiny apartments given to those who have lived in the slum for 10 years. However, that transition is not wanted for the most part. They don't want a broken elevator to the 8th floor when they had a perfectly acceptable space on the ground where they could create a second or third floor and rent to others!
The other industries were equally interesting, especially the potters who settled in the area first and definitely do not want to leave. However, their presence is not wanted in the center of this metropolitan city because the smoke from the kilns is very polluting. Many of the potters have rather large home/workspace/shops -- bigger than my home in Grass Valley. But they still live cheek-to-jowl with each other in unhealthy sanitation and sporadic water and electric delivery. Still they do not want to leave.
Faiz was very matter-of-fact about the things he said, and he spoke with such authority that I asked if he had grown up in the slum. He had, and he still lived there, I think, even though he is attending school outside and working for Mumbia Magic tours, both in the office and leading tours. I suspect his family lives there. It is his home.
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