Mumbai is powerful: frustrating, beautiful, heartbreaking, and breathtaking. Just in the short time we've been here, we've experienced so much and seen such contrasts. We've met such friendly and open people, laughed with happy kids, and had our hearts broken by seeing such intractable poverty and hopelessness. The aggressive bustle of this city is exciting and sometimes overwhelming. Mumbai is gorgeous, open to the ocean, and sparkling with the the light from its shining new towers. The slums are dark and slinky, irregular in every way, belching putrid smoke and gagging us with their acrid stench. And all around us, people are moving moving moving. In our time here, we have barely touched the surface, and yet we know: Mumbai is amazing.
We walked through the largest and most famous slum in Asia this morning, Dharavi. More than a million people live and work packed into this dark den of humanity. It is less than 2 square kilometers, but there are no roads, only tiny tangled pathways, unpaved, treacherous, and dank. Walking was serious business, and we had to be constantly vigilant. Puddles of unidentifiable putrid liquid swallowed an errant foot. Hard packed earth suddenly became mud-soaked fabric wads. Then there was brick, or plastic pellets mashed into the mud.
It was dark and narrow, and working people pushed past us in a hurry, sometimes carrying heavy loads on their heads or in giant baskets in their arms. In spaces incredibly small, motorcycles or even a few small trucks squeezed through.
The buildings that lined the paths were rickety single-ply tin sheets braced with bamboo, or wood huts with blue plastic sheeting on top, or had crumbling ancient brick walls patched with newspaper. And everywhere we passed, there were tiny little rooms that opened out into the passageways. These rooms were dark, lit by holes in the tin or wood or plastic walls. A few had strung electrical wires and were lit by sparse bare bulbs. Every room seemed to have a group of people sitting or kneeling on the floor, working. But OSHA never dreamed of Dharavi.
We saw dogs, hens, and a few goats. The dogs were grimy and discolored. One dog was literally a sort of gray blue color, obviously having picked up some kind of accidental chemical dye job as he survived day to day in the slum.
We walked through the plastic recycling area, and all around us were huge lumpy bags full of plastic to be recycled. These burlap bags were ragged and patched, easily the size of several adults, like some kind of distorted nightmare Santa bags. In this area of Dharavi, hundreds of people work in the tiny dark rooms to sort the plastic into types. We went in small groups to see how it worked. There are large baskets, and people sit cross legged on the floor in the sweltering unmoving air, sorting mountains of used plastic into the baskets. There were giant baskets of old toy parts, dirty water bottles, big pieces of thick colored plastic, etc. The people who worked there barely looked at us; they were young, but old in their faces. They all looked dark and unnaturally thin, and they seemed really tired, although perhaps it was just that their spirits seemed beaten down and broken.
It was a heavy experience.
We also visited the leather- working area of Dharavi, and even though it was close by, we had to walk out of the slum and drive around the outside to get there. While outsiders can come into some areas of Dharavi, we are not welcome everywhere.
The leather working areas process sheep and goat leather, but not cow. They put the raw skin into a giant spinning barrel made of iron--like something out of illustrations from the industrial revolution! This giant barrel turns and clanks and groans as it slowly cures the hides. The hides are dried on indoor clothes lines, and colored the old-fashioned way, by packing them in various types of dirt. The dirt leaves a chemical trace that colors the leather permanently. Apparently, many big name companies produce their leather goods in Dharavi.
It was interesting to see how much work was going on in Dharavi. While many people live there, the slum is clearly set up for work. People come there from all over India to work, and while there are many children who live there, most of the kids go to school, so many escape the slums as they grow up. In fact, we saw quite a number of kids; they played and stared and flirted with us. Some adults as well were fascinated by us, gathering around us as we stopped to see things.
The smell was gagging. It was a mix of smoke, chemicals, and human waste. The air around us was literally thick in places, heavy and hard to breath. Open fires roiled out smoke, some obviously burning chemicals. Chimneys shoved oily black smoke into the air, while tiny vents shot out unsavory steam. Some of us had to cover our faces at times. The air pollution was so bad that it was in fact difficult to see into the distance. If this is what smog is, then Dharavi's smog must be some of the foulest in the world.
It was challenging and difficult for many of us to visit Dharavi, and very powerful as well. There are many contradictory thoughts and feelings that tumble around. I suspect it is going to take some of us some time to think it through. It really was a powerful experience, in every sense of the word.
So what else did we do today? It's hard to imagine we did anything else, but indeed our day was full.
We had quite a rare experience today, something really special. We had the opportunity to meet an actual hijra.. India's hijras are a traditional 'third gender' group, living as neither men or women. They live in small communities in every city and town. They are considered both scary and lucky, and they are traditionally invited to major events such as weddings and births to give blessings.
Hijras are born as biological males, but as boys or teens, become hijras through ritual castration. Historically, the entire genital area is removed, although not all modern hijras follow this practice. They dress as women and wear jewelry and makeup, but they are not to be confused with gay men. Their special place in society constructs them as an actual third gender.
The hijra we met today was named Janani. She was wearing a pink and yellow shalwar kameez, with a traditional gold necklace. She was wearing full makeup that made her face look whiter. Her hair was dark and curly and longish, although she had it pinned up with barrettes. She was petite and very kind. She talked a bit about herself, telling us that she was from a small town, and that her family is now the hijra communal house where she lives. She has been a Hijra since she was 18. She blessed us as a group, then went and talked with some of the students one on one. She put her hands on some heads, and some students got personal blessings. She had a kind of gentle power that was rather moving. It was so interesting to meet her, and it was also powerful, in a different way from Dharavi, of course.
Finally, from a distance today, we saw Indian billionaire Mukesh Ambani's house. This 27 story single family residence rises up above the city, complete with 600 servants and its own giant parking garage.
Talk about a city of contrasts.
We walked through the largest and most famous slum in Asia this morning, Dharavi. More than a million people live and work packed into this dark den of humanity. It is less than 2 square kilometers, but there are no roads, only tiny tangled pathways, unpaved, treacherous, and dank. Walking was serious business, and we had to be constantly vigilant. Puddles of unidentifiable putrid liquid swallowed an errant foot. Hard packed earth suddenly became mud-soaked fabric wads. Then there was brick, or plastic pellets mashed into the mud.
It was dark and narrow, and working people pushed past us in a hurry, sometimes carrying heavy loads on their heads or in giant baskets in their arms. In spaces incredibly small, motorcycles or even a few small trucks squeezed through.
The buildings that lined the paths were rickety single-ply tin sheets braced with bamboo, or wood huts with blue plastic sheeting on top, or had crumbling ancient brick walls patched with newspaper. And everywhere we passed, there were tiny little rooms that opened out into the passageways. These rooms were dark, lit by holes in the tin or wood or plastic walls. A few had strung electrical wires and were lit by sparse bare bulbs. Every room seemed to have a group of people sitting or kneeling on the floor, working. But OSHA never dreamed of Dharavi.
We saw dogs, hens, and a few goats. The dogs were grimy and discolored. One dog was literally a sort of gray blue color, obviously having picked up some kind of accidental chemical dye job as he survived day to day in the slum.
We walked through the plastic recycling area, and all around us were huge lumpy bags full of plastic to be recycled. These burlap bags were ragged and patched, easily the size of several adults, like some kind of distorted nightmare Santa bags. In this area of Dharavi, hundreds of people work in the tiny dark rooms to sort the plastic into types. We went in small groups to see how it worked. There are large baskets, and people sit cross legged on the floor in the sweltering unmoving air, sorting mountains of used plastic into the baskets. There were giant baskets of old toy parts, dirty water bottles, big pieces of thick colored plastic, etc. The people who worked there barely looked at us; they were young, but old in their faces. They all looked dark and unnaturally thin, and they seemed really tired, although perhaps it was just that their spirits seemed beaten down and broken.
It was a heavy experience.
We also visited the leather- working area of Dharavi, and even though it was close by, we had to walk out of the slum and drive around the outside to get there. While outsiders can come into some areas of Dharavi, we are not welcome everywhere.
The leather working areas process sheep and goat leather, but not cow. They put the raw skin into a giant spinning barrel made of iron--like something out of illustrations from the industrial revolution! This giant barrel turns and clanks and groans as it slowly cures the hides. The hides are dried on indoor clothes lines, and colored the old-fashioned way, by packing them in various types of dirt. The dirt leaves a chemical trace that colors the leather permanently. Apparently, many big name companies produce their leather goods in Dharavi.
It was interesting to see how much work was going on in Dharavi. While many people live there, the slum is clearly set up for work. People come there from all over India to work, and while there are many children who live there, most of the kids go to school, so many escape the slums as they grow up. In fact, we saw quite a number of kids; they played and stared and flirted with us. Some adults as well were fascinated by us, gathering around us as we stopped to see things.
The smell was gagging. It was a mix of smoke, chemicals, and human waste. The air around us was literally thick in places, heavy and hard to breath. Open fires roiled out smoke, some obviously burning chemicals. Chimneys shoved oily black smoke into the air, while tiny vents shot out unsavory steam. Some of us had to cover our faces at times. The air pollution was so bad that it was in fact difficult to see into the distance. If this is what smog is, then Dharavi's smog must be some of the foulest in the world.
It was challenging and difficult for many of us to visit Dharavi, and very powerful as well. There are many contradictory thoughts and feelings that tumble around. I suspect it is going to take some of us some time to think it through. It really was a powerful experience, in every sense of the word.
So what else did we do today? It's hard to imagine we did anything else, but indeed our day was full.
We had quite a rare experience today, something really special. We had the opportunity to meet an actual hijra.. India's hijras are a traditional 'third gender' group, living as neither men or women. They live in small communities in every city and town. They are considered both scary and lucky, and they are traditionally invited to major events such as weddings and births to give blessings.
Hijras are born as biological males, but as boys or teens, become hijras through ritual castration. Historically, the entire genital area is removed, although not all modern hijras follow this practice. They dress as women and wear jewelry and makeup, but they are not to be confused with gay men. Their special place in society constructs them as an actual third gender.
The hijra we met today was named Janani. She was wearing a pink and yellow shalwar kameez, with a traditional gold necklace. She was wearing full makeup that made her face look whiter. Her hair was dark and curly and longish, although she had it pinned up with barrettes. She was petite and very kind. She talked a bit about herself, telling us that she was from a small town, and that her family is now the hijra communal house where she lives. She has been a Hijra since she was 18. She blessed us as a group, then went and talked with some of the students one on one. She put her hands on some heads, and some students got personal blessings. She had a kind of gentle power that was rather moving. It was so interesting to meet her, and it was also powerful, in a different way from Dharavi, of course.
Finally, from a distance today, we saw Indian billionaire Mukesh Ambani's house. This 27 story single family residence rises up above the city, complete with 600 servants and its own giant parking garage.
Talk about a city of contrasts.
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