The Snake in the Tree

The location of Ganesh Mandir, inside Dharavi is marked in red.

    Located practically in the heart of Dharavi, the neighbourhood of Ganesh Mandir is easy to miss. As one walks along Dharavi Cross road; a narrow crooked street that connects the two ends of Dharavi, a large, paved open space, a welcoming sight in the otherwise space-starved settlement, greets you on one side. The sixty-nine houses that comprise Ganesh Mandir are mostly hidden from view, behind the large shed-like building, which now houses a primary school and a covered community hall, as well as the temple which gives the locality its name.

Extent of the neighbourhood, within the fabric of the settlement.

     Mandir is home to one of the oldest Tamil communities to settle in Dharavi. The residents all belong to the Adi-Dravidar caste. The first Adi-Dravidars came to Mumbai at least a century ago, escaping from poverty and famine in Thirunelveli district in Southern Tamil Nadu. A number of them ended up in the numerous tanneries that had mushroomed in the swampy outskirts of the city, which now comprise Dharavi. Historically associated with leatherwork, most of the community is now engaged in white-collar jobs, or work in the railways and the port trust.

    I had been interviewing the residents of Ganesh Mandir for the last few days, the neighbourhood being the case study for my undergraduate thesis. In the interviews I often asked residents to describe their lives in Ganesh Mandir. In return, I heard many stories – stories of their home, their family history, history of the community as well as anecdotes and legends shared by the community.

Through the stories, it was possible to see that the Adi-Dravidars are deeply connected to the place they live in, while simultaneously maintaining their cultural identity –that is, their language, cuisine, customs and beliefs. I was also interested in the history of the temple that gave the neighbourhood its name, and was surprised to find some interesting stories about the temple, that revealed how it acts as the spiritual and social anchor of the community.

Robin’s Story

Robin, on the left, standing in the courtyard of Ganesh Mandir. The temple itself is housed inside the large shed-like structure on the right. On the left is the local primary school, run by the Adi Dravidar trust. 

 July 2014

“You can sit down right here, no problem!” Robin told me, as he and his friends settled down in a corner of the temple. The boys seemed delighted that someone was taking an interest in their temple and neighbourhood, and they crowded around, eager to find out what it was we had come for.

    I had met Robin earlier on the street outside the temple, as we waited for the Adi-Dravidar Sangam office to open. They told me that it was unlikely that the office would open soon, but they were more than happy to answer my questions patiently, and agreed to show us around the area. Robin and his friends belong to the new generation of Dharavi’s residents – smart, ambitious and proud of their neighbourhood. The temple recently celebrated its hundredth year, Robin told me excitedly, as he located it for me on Google maps on his smart phone. As we sat talking about the temple, Robin narrated a story that his grandmother used to tell him when he was a child. She had told him of a time much before he was born – when there were no houses inside the mandir complex, and the mandir itself was only an idol installed under a tree.

   

 Robin’s grandmother told him that one day, the Government decided that they would demolish the temple along with all the houses that had been built nearby. A squad of policemen arrived one evening and barricaded the area around the temple. They warned the residents that their houses would be demolished the next day and left, leaving two constables behind to guard the temple. In the middle of the night, the temple bell began to ring unexpectedly.

    Robin’s grandmother, who was a young woman, newly married at that time, had been unable to sleep. She was sitting and praying, when she heard the bells start to ring. It seemed to snap her out of a trance, and she quickly rushed towards the temple. She was one of the first to get there; in front of the temple, the two police officers stood looking stricken, paralyzed. There was no one under the branch from which the bell rang. It was ringing itself. The whole neighbourhood was stirring, and a small crowd was gathering around. One of the policemen suddenly realized the danger he was in, and suddenly started to run. The second took one last, terrified look at the bell, and bolted in the opposite direction. No one standing there bothered to stop them.

    The bell stopped as suddenly as it had started, and from inside a snake emerged, in front of the astonished crowds. It slithered up the tree, into the branches, quickly disappearing from view. Some people shouted excitedly. An old man turned to her, “Did you see it? The snake! There was a snake! Did you see?”

    No one slept in Dharavi that night. No policemen came the next day, or the day after that. Later a constable at the local police station informed them that the demolition had been stopped. Some NGOs had gone to court and had managed to obtain a stay order. However, the residents of the huts and chawls around Ganesh Mandir knew what had really saved them. To them, what had happened was nothing less than a miracle. The people here believe that the snake still lives in the tree, acting as a guardian spirit that protects the temple and the community. 

    “The snake still lives there, and protects us.” Robin told me, pointing to the tree. A few wizened branches are visible behind the main shrine. “It has kept us safe and protected our homes all these years” As we walked out of Ganesh Mandir, through the thronging streets, the story lingered in my mind. I realized that the temple held much more meaning than just ‘place of worship’. It is a symbol of their community, proof of their long history in the area and an affirmation of the right to occupy that land as a migrant community. Everything about Ganesh Mandir, not only its culture, but also its physical characteristics – its settlement pattern and built form, exhibit unique features, combining the traditional rural settlement typologies, with the building methods and materials common to Dharavi.

Some houses inside Ganesh Mandir

     Over the course of doing this research, I realized that places were much more than simply a sum of its physical parts, but also a product of history and memories. Places are invariably inhabited by the stories of the people who live there. The fabric of Ganesh Mandir, supports a particular way of life, and has associations and meanings for its people. The settlement form and nature of its spaces allow for a vibrant social life and preserves community links, and as such, serves as a repository of memory. As the research progressed, I had begun to understand the value in keeping these networks and identities alive, and began to wonder if this idea – of cultural identity and its relationship to a place, can realistically become part of our debates on urbanism.   

Mumbai Encounters #4 A bit of Dharavi!

6^th April 2014, Sunday

 Part 1: Looking for Kamaraj Nagar

“You can’t miss it – a big board, and it’s written in Tamil”, my uncle tells me. He remembers it clearly, though he last went past it nearly 10 years ago.

“Turn left at the Dharavi T-junction. You will see it on the left, after the Nature park – ‘Kamaraj Nagar’, written in Tamil in that big font that political parties use. If there’s one place you’ll find a story, it’s there. That’s where the film ‘Nayakan’ was set you know!” he grins. “Mumbai’s gangster past – well that’s where it began – of course I’m sure pretty sure it’s safe now!” My uncle’s enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself very excited at the prospect of a visit.

     Rohan agrees to drop me off in his car, and so half an hour later, we’re on the Sion Link road, crossing the bridge leading to the T-junction, on the north side of Dharavi. I see the Mithi River, here almost completely hidden by mangroves. I get off at the corner, say goodbye to Rohan, and then try and peer into the mangroves. I can’t find flowing water, just pools of thick green decaying sludge. I remember how, as children, we’d go looking for mudskippers along Gorai creek in Borivli – I can’t imagine finding any mudskippers here. Turning onto the main road, the northern edge of Dharavi can be seen to the right, across the road. I spot what could only be a Tamil shop – a little ‘potti-kadai’, though the signboard is written in Marathi. Perhaps it’s the way things are displayed, or maybe how it has been constructed. I walk over and get myself a Slice. Two other men come by and start chatting with the shop-owner, who, to my delight, has a Tirunelveli accent! I have just found an annachi kadai!

  “Annachi, how do I get to Kamaraj Nagar?” I ask, excited that I can talk in Tamil. ”Over there” he points. “But it’s all gone now.” I blink, not sure if I’m understanding right. “What do you mean gone?”

“By gone I mean gone.” Annachi shrugs. “You can go look for it if you wish,” and he goes back to arranging soda bottles on the back shelf of his tiny potti-kadai. Convinced that he has no idea what he’s talking about, I resume my search.

As I walk down the road, I notice that there are almost only Tamil people all around. Auto-drivers, shop owners, a crowd of people waiting at the bus-top across, women in saris with jasmine flowers in their hair, returning from the temple (Which incidentally, is a Murugan temple). It seems so strange to see a chunk of Tamil Nadu transplanted here, in the heart of Mumbai.

But where is Kamaraj Nagar?

I decide to ask the owner of a little mobile shop. He looks up, surprised. Why, he asks, with an amused smile on his face (He also has a Tirunelveli accent) I try and explain roughly what I hope to do. The annachi mulls it over, still amused. The he points  - “You see that big ONGC building over there?”

“Yes.” It’s been in front of me for the last five minutes.

“Well, Kamaraj Nagar is now under that building. Good luck finding it.”

    Everything in flux – always in the process of change. Something is always disappearing. Maybe Kamaraj Nagar, with the name written in Tamil on the signboard, maybe it existed – maybe it didn’t. Now it’s just a memory, an imaginary place. I wonder how Periappa will react when I tell him.

     

Part 2: Inside Dharavi

I decide to get off the main road and go into Dharavi. It feels a bit like plunging into the sea. “It’s no problem, there’s only Tamilians on this side. Just go past the temple into the gully” the mobile-shop annachi told me. As I walk in, I get the feeling that I’m being swallowed up. 

A chawl inside one of the Tamil-dominated areas in Dharavi

Here, Dharavi is not very different from many other slums that I’ve seen in Mumbai, except that I hear Tamil everywhere. A little shop sign reads ‘Murugan Laundry’. I see lungis and gold-bordered saris. One man carries a yellow cloth bag with red printed text on it – the sort that you get in temples back in Chennai.

    

This narrow, winding gully could in fact be in Vyasarpadi. Old women sit outside, chatting with neighbours as they go about their daily chores. Little children run around. The gullies branch endlessly and in seemingly random fashion.

Talking with some housewives in Kannadi chawl about their homes and daily chores

    I eventually end up on Dharavi Main road. I randomly turn right, wondering where it will lead me. Here, one starts to see the diversity of the place – there are many restaurants run by Muslims from UP, little Marwari pawnshops, bakeries, medical stores, a large mosque, a couple of schools, all interspersed between houses. The main road is wide, chaotic and winds about like a river. For some curious reason, it’s impossible to tell where the street ends and the buildings start. It seems like the street just fades out, and then the buildings are there. Also, I don’t know what one would call a street façade here. There is no such thing.

A typical main street in Dharavi

      I take another random left, past a little courtyard with a chawls all around, where some guys are playing cricket, into a little gully. Most families living in this chawl seem to be Tamilians as well. Outside one of the houses, I see a family relaxing on that hot Sunday afternoon. I decide to stop for a while and ask them some questions. They seem surprised by my request. “Talk to him.” One of them tells me, as a man emerges from inside the house. He is middle-aged, kindly looking, with glasses and a Tamil paper in hand. He tells me his name is Ramdas.

Part 3: A chat with A. Ramdas

    The two of us sit outside his house on a raised concrete platform. He offers me some water, as I explain to him what I am trying to do. Ramdas is happy to answer questions, and share his life story. He is 40 years old, and has been in Mumbai for the last 27 years. He is originally from a small village near Tirunelveli – he has a strong Tirunelveli accent as well. Here's a pat of the conversation that I had with him:

How do you earn a living?

“I work in a medical agency in Ghatkopar, I have been working there for quite a while. A relative of mine got me into it. It’s a good job, though it doesn’t pay much.

     “ I’ve only lived in Dharavi since I came here. I first came here as a bachelor. We used to live in what is called a ‘pongal veedu' (Pongal House). It was just a long room, with space for about 30 people to sleep – all bachelors like myself. You got a mat to sleep on and a little chest for your belongings – that’s it. It’s called a pongal veedu because they make pongal for breakfast for everyone. That was good.”

How and why did you decide to leave your hometown and come to the city? And why Mumbai, rather than Chennai or Bangalore?

“ I got good marks in 10^th Std. I wanted to study further, but then my father died, and there was no one to support the family. I worked for a while in Tirunelveli town, but my cousin was working here in Bombay. Come to Bombay, he said – there is plenty of work here. So that’s how I came here. My first job was at a restaurant in Matunga. I switched jobs a couple of times, After a few years I went back home and got married. I came back with my wife and we rented this house. I’d started work at the medical agency by then – the pay was better and I could afford it.”

We talk a little bit about the Tamil community here.

“ Yes, there are a lot of Tamil people in Dharavi. We used to occupy a much larger area. But now many of them have moved to other parts of the city like Matunga and Sion – and Kamaraj Nagar was demolished. But there are still many Tamil people.

    “ We do all kinds of jobs. Some people come as auto-drivers, open general stores and small shops (Especially the Nadar community).”

I mention that I saw some jewelry shops on the main road owned by Tamilians.

   “ Yes, many are in the jewelry business. Others have opened restaurants. Some, like myself, work in some or the other industry: pharmaceuticals, garments etc. Still, it isn’t east to find good work here. I had good 10^th std. marks, but still, my first job here was wiping tables and fetching spoons and tumblers.”

Are there any Tamil community organizations or ‘sangams’?

“Yes, there are many: The South Indian Association and the Tamil Sangam, which is in Sion. There are also many caste-based sangams: the Adi-dravidar sangam, Nadar sangam, Thevar sangam etc.

    Religious institutions also support the Tamil community here. There is the Ganesh koil, the Murugan koil, and many Tamil churches. There are Hindu, Christian and Muslim Tamilians – but there are no divisions within the community. There is a strong support system.”

A little boy who’s just finished bathing peeps out of his house. He smiles at us mischievously as his grandma rubs his back with a towel. Ramdas turns to him and says, “Are you done bathing already? Being a good little boy then, today?” and the little boy squeals in delight.

Do all the Tamil children here go to school?

Yes, yes, all the kids go to school. You know how it is in our culture – education is very important. It is the only way to come up in life. There are many schools in Dharavi – mostly Marathi or Urdu medium. But there is a Tamil school in Kannadi chawl, and many other Tamil schools in places like Ghatkopar and Matunga.

Do your children go to a Tamil medium school?

No, they go to an English medium school in Mahim – Good Shepherd. These days, to know English is also very important. My wife doesn’t know Hindi or English, so we only speak Tamil at home. But my children speak Hindi and Marathi fluently.

We talk about what it’s like living in Dharavi.

Hardly any Tamilians come to Dharavi nowadays. In fact, they’re moving out. These days, there are many people from Rajasthan, UP and Bihar coming to Dharavi. This area has many Muslims as well as Hindus from UP.

How do these different communities get along?

Oh, about 20 years ago it was very bad. When the riots happened, everyone fought with everyone else. But now we all live peacefully together – there are no problems. These days, brawls are caused by mundane things – someone throwing their garbage in front of the neighbour’s house, that sort of thing.

This next part of our chat, I’ve summarized as follows. Near the end, Ramdas really warmed up to me, and we were just chatting, rather than it being a strict question-answer session. I don’t particularly remember the questions I asked, but took notes on all he said:

Infrastructure:

“Toilets are common for a particular chawl. The BMC comes to clean them once a week. Last year, the Tamil Sangam helped build a new toilet block, with five cubicles for women and urinals for men. But we have a space for bathing in a corner of the house. This part of Dharavi, because it is close to the main road, has piped water supply and we get water for 4 hours a day. We store the water in these water tanks (All over Dharavi, one can see tall blue drums which were originally used to store chemicals and which are then washed and reused as water storage tanks)

“ My house is about 150 sq. ft. We have to pay Rs.3000 per month as rent, after paying a deposit of Rs.50000. There are six people in the family, so space is tight and we need to adjust. But houses are constructed very fast here, in just two days, so it is easy to make space for more people.

Safety:

Dharavi used to be very unsafe. It was known for its crime and drug abuse. You know, when I was a bachelor here, you couldn’t get out after 8 pm. But now it is very safe. You can walk out even at midnight with no problem. We don’t worry about the safety of the children any more.

Leisure:

I don’t get much free time, but when I do, we usually go out as a family. We like to go to many places – Marine drive, Chowpatty etc. We also go for Tamil movies. Before, Aurora theatre in Matunga used to be the only Tamil theatre in Bombay, but now there are many theatres. I’ve been all over the city. We usually only take the train. Dharavi is surrounded by stations all round, so it is very convenient (Three stations – Mahim Road on the Western line, and Sion and Matunga on the Central line, mark three corners of Dharavi).

   Of course, in the summer holidays, we go back to our hometown. The children get to spend time with their grandparents, and I get a chance to relax. Not just me, but a lot of people still have family or houses back in Tamil Nadu, which they visit in the summer. If you come here in then, most of the houses will be locked up.

While Ramdas had a few complaints, he also seemed quite proud of being a Dharavi resident. I asked him to enumerate both good and bad things about living in Dharavi, according to him.

Good:

1.     The community here is very close. There is a strong support system. Tomorrow, if I need 10000 rupees for a medical bill, I can go ask anyone, and they will give it to me without blinking – because there is mutual trust.

2.     It is in the center of the city, and is well connected to the rest of the city by public transport.

3.     You can find everything that you need here. Whether you want clothes or groceries – You don’t need to get out of Dharavi for anything.

Bad:

1.     Though there has been some development in recent years – the area still lacks many basic amenities. The development has also been unequal – some parts of Dharavi are in much worse condition than here, with no toilets or water supply.

2.     There isn’t much space, and we have to adjust with the room that is available. Sometimes this causes a lot of inconvenience.

3.     My children have no connection with their homeland. My biggest regret is that they will grow up without learning our language properly – nor our customs.

By now, I’ve been sitting with Ramdas for close to an hour. He tells me that it’s a good thing that I came on a Sunday. “ Any other day, nobody will talk to you. Nobody here has the time. The people of Dharavi work very hard.”

Would you move out of Dharavi if you had the chance?

“No, I would prefer to live here. Dharavi is the best place in Mumbai. Perhaps my children will get good jobs and earn enough to move to some other neighbourhood. But I won’t go anywhere else.”

I thank Ramdas for his time and prepare to leave. As I pack my bags, I ask him if he has ever thought about returning to Tirunelveli, if he had the means to support his family there.

“Certainly I would – without a second thought. Back at home we have the wide green paddy fields and the fresh breeze. You can lead a simple, peaceful life. My children will also grow up with their grandparents – listen to their stories and learn our culture properly. Yes, I certainly would go back if I could.