Revisiting Dharavi!

Two years ago, I had first arrived in Dharavi, Mumbai’s famous slum, looking for a story – and I had to find a good one, if I was ever going to start research for my thesis. Luckily, like the rest of Mumbai, Dharavi is chockfull of interesting stories, and in the little bylanes around Chamda Bazaar, in the heart of Dharavi, I discovered the story of a small Tamil community – the people of Ganesh Mandir. As an architecture student, I studied various aspects of the settlement – morphology, character of the houses and nature of spaces. But much more than the settlement’s physicality, it was its people I found fascinating – people with a rich, if conflicted history, who narrated stories about their daily lives and memories, and all of these I recorded in the form of narratives in my thesis.

Now, this thesis had long since been accepted and I had graduated from Architecture school, and as is typical of any recently graduated architect, I didn’t give my thesis any more attention. However, about a month ago, quite impulsively I decided to pay Dharavi a visit. I had often wondered how Ganesh Mandir and its people were doing. What were the folks I had interviewed up to now? How were they leading their lives – what remained the same and what had changed? Now as a responsible researcher, you might say, I should’ve probably gone a lot sooner then I did – but then an undergraduate thesis barely necessitates all that – it is enough that you spend six years of your life to earn a single degree, than for you to go on post-thesis field visits. Unless of course you suddenly realize that you’re free and in the city, and you might as well. I'm glad to say that a decision taken so arbitrarily, in the end proved to be immensely fruitful. 

24th April, 2016

It is a hot and humid afternoon. To call it humid is an understatement, because in Mumbai, the air is literally wet, and you can’t walk an inch without getting completely drenched. I miss my stop at Mahim and have to take a return train from Dadar. These things happen, and besides the evening was mine and I had plenty of time to kill.

As I climb up the steel staircase of the crossing over the tracks, onto the bridge that leads into Dharavi, the tops of the tallest structures become visible – ramshackle and profuse as ever. I descend into Dharavi, and see more familiar sights. The same butcher shop, the same cheap cinema and ‘video game’ parlour. I had walked this route daily over a two-month period in the summer of 2014. Adding to the chaos and visual noise was a new hulking structure – an incomplete sky bridge of sorts, extending over the road, with no access and ending abruptly on both ends. It seemed to have been abandoned mid-construction, soon to become a part of the scenery in this insane and chaotic place.

Past the busy intersection (which is always a busy battle between the endless stream of vehicles on the road and the pedestrians of Dharavi), Dharavi Main Road looks in good shape – recently paved, fairly tidy, and not as crowded as usual. However, Dharavi Cross, that branches off the Main Road and leads to Ganesh Mandir, is familiar – muddy, unpaved and with refuse along the street, trampled down by hundreds of pedestrians. All of these bring back old memories and sensations. As I catch of sight of Ganesh Mandir, I get a curious feeling of familiarity and expectation – like some kind of homecoming.

Dharavi Cross road, where Ganesh Mandir is located - in the heart of Dharavi

Ganesh Mandir looks the same as before, though the courtyard in front is strewn with construction materials. As always, work has been going on, but I only get an inkling of how much as I turn into the gully, and suddenly notice that all the single story houses that I had documented in my thesis had now been converted to two story apartments, with metal sheet roofing and tiled front entrances! The homes looked well built, and the insides of the houses well lit and scrupulously clean. I remembered the dingy interiors of the old houses – tiny rooms with mangalore tiles on the roof, and think that the residents are decidedly better off now. How quickly things change!

A view of the houses within Ganesh Mandir

It’s impossible to walk around unnoticed in Ganesh Mandir, and pretty soon wary eyes looked out from windows and doorways to see what I was up to. All of a sudden, an old woman chatting on a front porch recognizes me, “Why, you’re the fellow who came and drew all our houses, aren’t you? Have you finished your work?” I tell her I have, and am glad to know that people still remember me. But it was the kids who’d recognized me first, which was surprising. Soon they crowd around me, and among them is tiny Sam – “Remember me uncle? I was doing homework with Sibi, and then I took you to show my house!” I’m amazed at his memory.

Older temporary structures have been rebuilt in many cases.

   I suppose a stranger coming around to make drawings of your house must be an unusual experience, especially here in Dharavi. I still remember some old ladies wondering what it was I found so interesting. “It’s just a house after all,” old Balammal had quipped, as I measured and drew her loft. I can’t see her around today, but there are a few others whose houses I’ve drawn, so I showed them the thesis and the drawings that I had made of their houses. Many, like Kalavathy, still can’t figure out what I’d done, but are fascinated by the final product – the boys spend a long time examining every photograph and identifying places around them that had changed. “Some of the houses in this book don’t exist anymore!” I tell Reuben. He replies, quite perceptively, “But it is good that you recorded all this – as a memory. I don’t even think Ganesh Mandir will exist in a few years!” 

The neighbourhood boys inspecting my thesis in detail!

The changes have not just been physical. A number of old tenants have vacated and new families have moved in. “Is he a Hindi speaking fellow or a Tamilian?” asks one aunty suspiciously as I show her neighbours my book. She refuses to come near until she is sure that I can understand Tamil. I realize soon, however, that I've caused a bit of a commotion. People have spread the word to their neighbours, and soon a group of women have gathered around, all trying to find their house inside the book. I can’t quite describe how I feel, but I'm glad that I took the decision to come here.

"I don't understand it, but it's very nice!" says Malathi.

As the sun begins to set, the book has finally passed through many hands, and I decide to get on with the goodbyes. “I still don’t understand why you went to the trouble of drawing all this,” says Sowmya, Malathi’s daughter who’d just finished school. “College submission” I reply simply, though inside I know it was much more than that. “Well, whatever it was, thank you. I love my home, you know!” and a fetching grin lights up her face. Just for that, I muse as I make way back towards the railway bridge – just that had made my two years writing an undergraduate thesis worthwhile.

Some of my drawings of the houses in Ganesh Mandir.

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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.