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Dharavi's main population consists of Tamilians who've migrated
to Bombay from their home state. These Tamilians have imported
their village atmosphere into their new place of residence. Dharavi
is a closed society. Even the non-Tamilians have learnt to speak
Tamil to survive here. There are some Tamilians who have been
here for years and still don't know a single word of Hindi. They
don't need to know. They live and work in Dharavi where the national
language is Tamil.
We knew it would be difficult to get through to the villagers
of Dharavi without a local person. So we tagged along with an
autorickshaw driver and a local hotelier. Without them, the residents
wouldn't trust us.
The streets, as expected, were filthy. We saw a goat atop a derelict
car that was quietly rusting outside the equally shoddy police
station. Garbage rose in mounds everywhere. There were a lot of
toilets and, yet, there was excreta all over the place.
We had come to visit the industries and the first place we saw
was a chevda (snack) making unit. One man was kneading the
atta (dough). Another man was frying it in a huge cauldron
of boiling hot oil. The shop had no windows, it was extremely
hot and dirty, yet the workers were smiling.
Our next stop was a godown. It also was windowless. Women were
cleaning channa (gram). The men were roasting it. The method
used for roasting was crude, but effective.
We saw a boy bathing on the road, near a small pump. He kept pumping
the water into a bucket. In a petty shop, a cat posed on a row
of bottles.
We saw a weirdo who looked like he was dressed for a horror movie.
When we tried to photograph him, he told us to get lost.
In a small room, we watched a group of people making shoes. This
room, too, was windowless. But, at least, it had a fan. To compensate
for the lack of space, they had install a strong shelf all around
the room. Young boys sat on these shelves and worked. An old man
sat on the floor and applied the finishing touches.
Young girls are employed in the task of making rakhis (girls
tie rakhis to the wrists of their brothers on a special
festive day). The designs are intricate and the girls work patiently.
In the goldsmith's shop, they hadn't started work yet.
We saw an amazing iron workshop in the heart of Dharavi. Like
the others, this room was also windowless. Yet, one shaft of sunlight
managed to get in. There are no engineers in this workshop where huge wheels, to be used in handloom mills, were being made. They
were actually melting iron, pouring it into a dye, pressing it
by walking on it and then removing the completed product. How
they could achieve a temperature high enough to melt iron is something
that still boggles me! As far as they were concerned, they just
did it.
The bakery was huge and the ovens, simply gigantic. People were
kneading dough. Some were rolling it. Others were cutting it.
Some were loading the ovens, others were unloading it. Above the
ovens, on one side, we could see some beds. I think these people
sleep here. They looked happy despite the heat.
Paanwallas are a part of Bombay. You can find them on almost
every street. In Dharavi, we found a paanwalli who had
yet to reach her teens. She made us a tasty paan, which
was cheap too.
Another man was making chappatis on hot coal. On the road.
The kite-making industries in Dharavi is probably the cleanest
there. People were sitting calmly and pasting together sticks
and colourful paper.
Dharavi has a lot of chikki (a sweet made of jaggery and
nuts) and banana chip factories, too.
They get no subsidies, they get no bank loans and, yet, they are
doing well. You only realise how well when you ask them how much
property they own back home or how much dowry they shelled out
for their daughter's marriage.
Dharavi is the place to go if you want a government rubber stamp
or a university certificate. This is the place where you get tickets,
under an assumed name, for any south-bound train. This is where
you contact an underworld hitman or get the cheapest prostitutes.
None of these facilities, of course, were available to us.
We had spent three-and-a-half backbreaking hours in Dharavi. The
sun was getting hotter. We decided to call it a day.
Photographs: Jewella Miranda
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