Dharavi Slum.

I took an early train to Mahim Station in northern Mumbai to meet my tour guide for Dharavi Slum. I am having trouble using that word since there is such a negative connotation in the US. I don't know what would be a more appropriate term. "Dense residential/industrial aggregation" sounds too sterile, but I am truly at a loss for words from what I experienced today.

I boarded the train at Churchgate Station, which is about 300m from my hotel. It's a bargain - 20 rupees for a round trip ticket - about 50 cents! It passed through some crumbling infrastructure that was once probably quite impressive, and I saw some of the population that lives in pretty squalid conditions. There were several sightings of people relieving themselves in the open, and squatters living with nothing more than a tarp - or less - for protection. The ride was about 25 minutes. As the only non-Indian aboard the train, I was struck by the fact that I was the only person seeing this for the first time.

My guide, Shakar, met me as planned, albeit after about 15 minutes of chasing each other through the station. I was honestly getting a little nervous about the situation but I made a couple of phone calls to his cell phone that assuaged my trepidation that I was on a wild goose chase.

Shakar is a resident of Dharavi and somewhat of a local celebrity. He has appeared in a few documentaries about the slum and has worked with my friend Thane as a reporter. Everywhere we went we met people who apparently either owed him or that he owed for something – often paid in cigarettes (being filtered, he touted them as ‘healthy’). Dharavi once held the title of 'largest slum in Asia', but has been surpassed recently by another in Pakistan. By American standards, the living conditions are brutal - most of the population lives in homes less than 100 square feet in size, and toilets are virtually all communal, about one per 1,400 residents. There is a tangle of electrical wires that supply each home (with meters), and open pipes that bring some measure of water. Sewage troughs are alternately covered by tiles or exposed.

Despite these conditions, there is a palpable sense of pride and community. I did not see what I had expected - throngs of children begging for loose change and people sleeping in the street. In fact, I did not encounter a single example of either. Our meeting was facilitated by Thane, but I had thought Shakar worked for a tour company touted by my guidebook, Reality Tours. For various reasons, he no longer works for them, so I found myself on a ‘private’ tour by an expert guide. Reality Tours expressly prohibit photography by their clients, so I unfortunately left my camera at the hotel. I wish I had brought it, since Shakar would have told me when it would have been appropriate.

To say I stuck out would be an understatement. Despite that, Shakar led me through the narrow, bustling streets, and the even narrower (~1m) passages between buildings as I caught a somewhat voyeuristic view of the pace and logistics of day-to-day life. We went through the industrial area – 40% of the estimated one million residents works in Dharavi – which consisted of such enterprises as recycling paint and cooking oil cans with caustic chemicals and open fires; there was a fire a couple of days ago in a chemical plant that took out several buildings. I saw a small fire break out in a leather manufacturing area that was put out by five people (including myself!) by pouring water from plastic bottles and hitting it with a wet tarp. Suffice it to say, OSHA, the EPA, and building code inspectors in the US would have been apoplectic.

After meandering through the labyrinth, we eventually went to Shakar’s home, a cramped room upstairs from his parents. Given its somewhat run-down condition, I was shocked to hear it was built in the mid-nineties; I would have been less surprised if he had said EIGHTEEN nineties! He showed me some of his documentary work and some exquisite photography he had taken. He has an old computer, whose monitor was the kind I saw in the halls of MSU marked ‘trash’ – ten years ago. His internet cable was accidentally cut a sort time ago and he hasn’t been able to get it repaired.
After leaving his home, we had some chai and a couple of snacks and talked about life in Dharavi and in Bozeman. He also helped me get a replacement umbrella – a good one! – which helped to protect us a little during the occasional cloudburst. We walked back to the train station after a total of about four hours of intense experience. I am still digesting it, but I know it has profoundly moved me.

I returned to Churchgate Station and had lunch at an excellent Indian buffet near my hotel. It was accompanied by the first beer (OK, TWO beers) I have had in India. I think my comfort level with Mumbai is growing.