Who Are the Slumdwellers?

My immersion into the subcontinent progresses day-by-day. Adjustment for most things occurs quickly; however, there are a few that I have yet to fully realize. Fortunately, a reflection on my Dhavari slum tour captures these hard-to-swallow distinctions more completely than my other attempts.
So, here goes:

Dhavari is widely recognized as one of the largest and most densely populated slums in the world. As such, it comprises a significant chunk of this city's staggering population. Nevertheless, something about “touring” a slum did not sit well with me. I feared feeling like my presence and observations exploited their situation- like I was descending from my ivory tower to monitor the beastly conditions with an “I pity you” look wrenched on my face. Fortunately, the company that took us through Dhavari grew out of the slum itself. The tours resulted from a growing desire to explain that life inside a slum has structure and that residents of slums do work hard. In fact, after the organizers informed residents of the purpose of the tours, the slum residents consented to the program, and welcomed probing foreigners.

We started in the commercial area of the slum. While there were many small businesses located inside the slum, the primary type of work involved recycling plastics and metals. Regardless of your feelings on the issues, without safety regulations or unions (sorry dad), no workers' compensation scheme, few public interest advocates, and a workforce drawn from migrant workers in the impoverished rural areas of India, working conditions were unfathomable. Enclosed under a ceiling of corrugated roofing less than ten feet high, I frequently saw teenage boys with no shoes, no hand protection, no lung protection, and no facial protection doing a variety of hazardous tasks, including stirring molten aluminum; crushing, melting, and reforming plastic; and recycling paint cans by burning off existing paint from the inside of the can. Naturally, noxious fumes of burning chemicals lingered densely before the already stale air trapped inside the corrugated enclosure absorbed them. I emerged from the commercial area with a headache, burning throat, and disbelief that someone could work dawn to dusk six days a week in those conditions. Of course, many don't survive work in these conditions and those with severed limbs, deformities, and crippling injuries testify to the ever-present dangers and find themselves trapped in the slums in great numbers.

Leaving behind the poisonous air of the commercial area, we merely exchanged odors with the unforgettable stench of open sewage in the residential area. The slum grew taller as we delved deeper. Now, four stories of slum houses towered above us at all times. The only natural light present was the sliver of open space immediately above our walkway. Even in broad daylight, the walkways penetrating the interior of the slum are dimly lit, leaving your surroundings full of shadows. The overwhelming part is realizing how many people live here. Everywhere we roamed, faces of children and mothers poked out of the open doorways of their homes, intrigued by our presence. The presence of families and communities inside the slum brought encouragement. The people inside seemed relatively happy and content. However, the positive lapse proved short-lived, when we emerged near a public bathroom connected to the open sewage line. Here were a dozen filthy, but functional, toilet stalls (racks with holes open to the sewage drain). Nevertheless, these twelve stalls served 1,500 people.

While these are the operating conditions of the slum, it is the people who made a lasting impression on me. Many migrant workers choose to temporarily trade poverty in quaint, rural homes for the opportunity to save a little to take home from unskilled labor in the city. Unfortunately, many of these temporary workers end up staying for many years, sleeping in the factories and shipping home monthly portions of their pay. As far as religion goes, the slum used to be a blend of Hindus and Muslims, but after the riots of the 1990s, in which death-toll estimates reached four digits, the slum divided into a Hindu sector and a Muslim Sector. The divide still exists, but both groups try to soften the impact areas by compelling both groups to celebrate all holidays of both religions... I'll get back to you when I figure out if that ever goes well.

Local Connections: Return of the Sprinkler Dance and the Population of Jupiter

My apologies for not blogging sooner. Last week, I lost my internet connection for several days, and have not found the time to blog since. Nevertheless, work is busier than ever and evenings are increasingly booked. Fortunately, the evenings are also equally diverse. Here are a few examples:

1.This past Friday, I attended my first Hindu wedding-eve festival. While I am accustomed to people staring at me, attendance at this ceremony drove my celebrity status to new heights. Before I get there, let me give you a taste of the atmosphere. Temporary party structures are booming business here and this wedding was no exception- 8-10 feet of sheer fabric in vibrant colors is draped over temporary tubing to create wide entranceways and festive gathering forums. Throughout the site, the fabric hangs overhead creating a colorful and undulating ceiling. The entire community is present and everyone smiling. Dosas, naans, rotis, and various curries are freely dispensed to those in attendance. The wedding party is getting ritually covered in turmeric paste globbed in chunks and streaks from head to toe. Then the dancing starts. This particular festival installed a host of sprinklers into the overhead pipes forming the ceiling. Suddenly, the sprinklers erupt and spew out sheets of water. Simultaneously, the enormous speakers hidden behind the fabric walls blast into Punjabi dance music. As seemed inevitable, those already covered in turmeric paste race to the area under the speakers and start dancing. Now, I am not a dancer, but then again, neither was I given a choice. In minutes, I found myself covered by copious amounts of turmeric paste applied by countless Indian hands, dragged underneath the sprinklers, and doing my best to keep up with the Punjabi dance moves of limber Indian men. I say men because, as wild as this party was, the conservative culture's presence still dominates, creating two separate groups- one for men, one for women. I do not feel the need or desire to comment on the awkwardness of being covered in yellow under a shower, while dancing with a host of energized men. Unexpectedly, however, I had a great time and really felt accepted into the community by my local friends.

2.The next evening, I hesitantly accepted my neighbor's perpetual invitation to go to the “club” with him. Fearing that I would end up in one of this city's famed dance bars, I was nervous about the trip. Nevertheless, his ceaseless invitations and kindness compelled me to go. I quickly found relief when we arrived at the club- which was a private club with tennis courts, pools, and a roof terrace restaurant. Our group headed to the roof and consumed a wonderful meal, courtesy of my neighbor. However, it was the discussion during the meal that remains with me. My neighbor is Hindu- a fact hard to miss considering the 7 foot Shiva tapestry and Ganesh idol adorning the corner of his flat. Almost before the first plates arrived, he engaged the table, which included two friends of mine who came for back up if the feared scenario arose, with Hindu beliefs and answers to life's most common questions. Even though his explanations were elaborate and alien stories to me, they were not the most interesting thing. My neighbor knew that we were all Christians. Interestingly, this knowledge prompted him to pick and choose various passages from the Old and New Testaments and synchronize them with Hindu beliefs. For example, he went on a long dialogue about how true some of the ten commandments are, especially “Do not kill.” He claimed that the significant part of this commandment is that it does not say “Do not kill men,” rather it says “Do not kill.” Ostensibly, this means do not kill men or animals, which pleased him. He proceeded to blend this concept with his choice to be a vegetarian as a Hindu stemming from his belief that this commandment was uttered cognizant of reincarnation. Our explanations and attempts to insert our point of view on the matter were largely rejecting, including my friend's mentioning of the term hermeneutics, which led to a long discussion on our limited understanding of the universe, namely the peoples and cultures of other celestial bodies like Jupiter and the sun. The evening ended without us getting much chance to communicate our beliefs, but we were assured that we would have many more meetings in the future. I look forward to these meetings both because they intrigue me and because I can't help but wonder whether our ever-present God feels humored, angered, saddened, or what, when he listens in.

There are many more stories to tell, but they will have to wait.

I am still amazed at the continuing support of people back home. Thank you so much. God continues to bless me.