Sylvia's Journal

Life for anyone poor, men, women and children, is fragile. As we walked through the recycling section of the Dharavi slums, where we saw only men, we followed the various steps of the plastic recycling business  (plastic gets picked apart and sorted, then pulverized, then washed, then dried and then sold). Pay rises from the first step to the last. I don’t know if there is a career path but I expect many don’t live long enough. Life expectancy is low and sanitary conditions are poor or non-existent. General working condition would not pass the OHSA test: sharp edges as plastic is separated from non plastic material, sound overload from the antiquated cutting machines, fumes, live wires dangling everywhere and sewage sludge underfoot. Protection against those hazards depends entirely on the benevolence of the owner or boss.  

As for kids, I suspect neonatal, infant and under five mortality is high. Hundreds of kids ran barefoot across playfields (rubble-strewn lots) that we’d consider a health hazard.

But women are vulnerable no matter where they were born or to whom they were born. 

One night I watched the local evening news showing crowds of angry women, fists in the air. I guessed they were protesting the slow response of the courts to a series of rapes; a most recent one even making the news on NPR the day before I left: a young vet, in her early 20s, had her moped tires punctured and was raped and then burned by four youngsters. Newspapers are full of reports of rapes and gruesome murders – often perpetrated by people close to the deceased in response to some insult or injustice (perceived or real).  This one caused a media frenzy (like the one some years ago when a young woman was gang raped on a bus), probably because she was ‘one of us,’ that is, the educated elite. This made the crime seem more serious than the 1000s of similar gruesome events that are happening daily in places where the elites never come or never heard of. 

People take justice into their own hands because they are frustrated with the courts. When judicial procedures are cumbersome or courts overloaded (or corrupt or incompetent) and trust in the legal system is low, that’s how justice is done. The four perpetrators of this latest gang rape were shot by the police before they were even indicted. And the crowds cheered.

After the long walk over uneven terrain yesterday, I returned to the hotel tired and sore. It was a good time to check out the spa and see if there was such a thing as a foot massage. There was no such thing but a ‘leg fatique remover’ seemed even better. It was as if the masseuse knew about all my joint problems and muscle tightness in my lower body, pressing in the right places, and finishing up with a bonus shoulders and neck massage. I came out feeling ‘relieved of my leg fatique’ and ready for a treat in the Saptami restaurant which served me a great breakfast in the morning. For the evening meal, I read in the elevator, loyal IHG customers would get a 25% discount. This amounted, essentially, to a free local beer and the remainder vanished after tips.

Back to my room I packed and set my alarm for (too) early so that I would be ready in case the motor cycle guide showed up at 7:30AM. It turned out I could have slept in as I learned he wouldn’t show up until 2PM. So much for an ‘full-day’ motor tour of the city.

I now had time to go for a swim in a large infinity pool on the roof. If it wasn’t for the enormous metropole surrounding us, as far as the eye could see, one would have thought to be on an exotic beach, complete with palm trees. I shared the pool with a flock of pigeons who must have adapted to sipping chlorine water as they flew to and from the pool with great vigor. They have taken up residency in a corner of the pool (not in the water) and didn’t budge when I swam towards them. This is clearly their pool but it didn’t look messy as one would expect. I assume someone must be cleaning their habitat frequently.

In the end the motor guide showed up at 3PM (still for a full-day city tour), so I canceled and had a bit of a shouting match with two rude company officials who blamed the miscommunication on me and the Holiday Inn and thus refused a refund. In return I crafted a rather unflattering review on Trip Advisor, serves them right! I was disappointed though, not only did I not have the city tour, I also wasted most of the day waiting for my guide.

I got an Uber driver who regaled me with stories about being in a call center (for Delta no less) and who may well be a more dependable tour guide when I get back, albeit it not on a motor cycle (my Indian friends did not like that idea anyways). I am now in my not so fancy but comfortable hotel in New Mumbai, close to the Reliance HQ where we will have a lunch meeting tomorrow. How well that meeting goes will determine whether I will be back here next month.

From slum dwellers to the Mumbai elite in less than an hour. They may not be the crazy rich Asians but wealth was most visibly on display by wedding guests at my hotel. 

Whether rich or poor, it’s the wedding season. If it is anything like in Afghanistan (which I suspect it is), people will pull out all the stops, even when they have none to pull out. They will go into heavy debt to put on an impressive display, both in terms of clothing and food.

The people who celebrate their wedding at the Holiday Inn are, I presume, from the upper middle and lower upper classes. The women’s gowns are spectacular with lots of gold thread, silk in the most vibrant colors. The men are dressed in beautifully embroidered long shirts, long jackets and kaftans with headdresses that remind one of peacocks. If in Africa the women’s headdresses are most spectacular, especially in Nigeria; here it is the men that display their beauty (and wealth?) on their heads. I could just camp out in the lobby and watch the parade of beautiful people for hours.

But weddings are for everyone. Stages and festive lights strung between houses and trees can be seen (and heard) everywhere, including on streets, with drummers and dancers (stopping the already snarled traffic). From my fourth floor hotel room I can see a wedding celebration in full swing right now, just a few blocks away, with people parading onto the stage for picture taking, quite similar to the wedding rituals in Kabul. 

I was reminded of the most spectacular wedding I have ever participated in, which happened to also be in India and which I wrote about on my blog more than 8 years ago.

Tomorrow I will have to move out of this wonderful hotel as no standard rooms are available and I am not willing to pay the hefty cost of a deluxe room. I will move to a more affordable hotel in Navi (new) Mumbai where I will meet my Indian team mates for a meeting at one of their clients on Tuesday morning. But first my motor tour of the city tomorrow morning.

Where to start, with my Mumbai impressions? After a magnificent breakfast I sorted out phone arrangements and organized a taxi to the meeting place, which the taxi driver found after a few phone calls with the tour operator. “Where you see a bunch of foreigners in front of the station, that’s us.” Indeed. I was early and had a coffee and pakora at the Café Coffee Day where, indeed, some foreigners were also waiting for the tour to start: a young Swiss couple, just out of high school, on their way home from a 3 months tour of Asia, a Chinese and Basque yoga trainee (“we have to sit cross legged all day and focus on our breathing, this is our first day free!”). I detected little enthusiasm for the course, which is still to continue for a bit.  A second group emerged from the train, a Dutch couple and a man from northern India. The tour operator split us in two groups, the young people went off with one guide and I was in the ‘more mature’ group, which was nice as it included the Dutch.

Our guide, Sabina, hailed from the slum herself. She had finished her ‘guide training’ just 3 months ago. She had lots of data about the slum at her fingertips (size, occupancy, surface as well as health, legal, political and economic data). We saw the places where more than a billion dollars yearly gets made from recycling plastic, textile scraps, and soaps (yes, from the hotels!) and where breads are baked, leather processed and clay is turned into stoneware in various sizes. All the work is done in tiny holes in the wall, on roofs and in between houses when there is any ‘in between’ to spare.

We walked through the narrow (2 feet wide) alleyways known from the movie ‘Slumdog millionaire’ through which the kids run as they outwit the police. Being taller than the kids and not as good on my feet, it was a challenge to duck the live electrical wires above us and the open sewers below us, not always well covered. We learned about the legality of homes built before 1995, and then again, before 2017. Whatever is being built now is illegal. We wondered where one could possibly build more houses? Dharavi is full I’d say: 869,565 people per square mile (compare to about 26,000 in New York City), crammed into a space about two-thirds that of New York City’s Central Park.

The government has built high rises to get people out of the slum but people prefer to stay where they are. One high rise on the edge of the slum was built only 15 years ago. I guessed it was multiple of that. Public housing has a bad name just about everywhere I have seen it. Cheap materials are used for the apartments that cannot be sold on the open market. It makes one a cynic. On Thursday I am a guest lecturer at the MIT Peace University in Pune, which trains future politicians – Maybe I’ll ask the cynical question there.

After the easy-peasy in and out of South Africa, entering Mumbai from the air was more challenging. It seemed that all the jumbos of the world arrived at the same time. Thousands of travelers streamed in from all corners of the world into a gigantic hall. Advertisements along the long walk from the plane to the hall indicated that India plans to be one of the three most wanted tourist destinations in the next 5 years or so. If India is serious about this, it will have to up its game on immigration. 

Half the immigration booths were unoccupied. There was massive confusion about what kind of line was for what kind of visa (electronic or not). Some people waited in one line for an hour to be told to start anew in another line. I spotted a line for ‘babe in arms/seniors’ and quickly shifted to that line, which still had me waiting for an hour, but it was faster than the line for everyone else, which moved at a snail’s pace. Next time I will ask for a wheelchair. That was the shortest line.

A gentleman in front of me (also a senior), with an American passport but from here, explained to me in broken English that in India you are a senior when you turn 60. I was well into seniordom and in the right lane.

I had met a young man while waiting to board in Boston who was also on his way to Mumbai, his hometown, for a holiday with his family. Since we left Boston late I didn’t have much time to chat with him in Amsterdam, and then found him again waiting for his luggage. He gave me some pointers on ATMs and taxis and then we parted company.

Once out into the arrival hall everyone wanted my dollars. I picked a forex counter at random and asked for the rate. This was negotiable and depended on how many dollars I wanted to change which is understandable since they take a hefty commision. I had been advised to change a little as the rates and commissions are pretty bad. In spite of the exhortations to change at least 500 dollars and get a rate fairly close to the official exchange rate, I went for the lower amount.

Next challenge was a taxi. Here too was much competition among the taxi booking kiosks. Again, I picked one at random. My taxi was tiny and rickety and the driver spoke only rudimentary English but he got me and my luggage safely to the hotel at 2:30 AM.

Mombai in the middle of the night is busy. People are populating restaurants, doing road construction, and just hang out, as if sleep is optional, at least sleep when it is dark.

I am glad I booked at the Holiday Inn because the brand is consistent and dependable. It is part of the International Hotel Group of which I have a loyalty number. It hasn’t gotten me much in terms of free nights but in Nairobi it admitted me to the club level on the top floor of the Intercon and access to a lounge that was much like an airport lounge (free drinks, free food). Here in Mumbai, once my number was entered he pushed a little flag with the company logo across the counter. It read ‘thank you for being a loyal customer.’  He also said it. After the Nairobi experience this was a little disappointing. I didn’t even get to keep the little flag on its tiny wooden pedestal.

Since I have two days here I booked two tours on Trip Advisor. One is this afternoon, a ‘Dharavi tour and street art walk.’ Dharavi is the biggest slum in Mumbai I am told by my friends in Pune. For tomorrow I booked a motorcycle tour of the city which had good reviews and will ensure that I am not stuck in traffic all the time. A report is to follow tomorrow night.

Now I have to figure out how to get to the departure point for this afternoon’s tour, which has sentences like ‘to check if you are in the right spot, verify that V-Jai Restaurant and Bakery is opposite and Cafe Coffee Day is diagonally opposite.’  I have had such an experience once, some place in this part of the world, where I walked three times following written directions, each time returning to my hotel with a question mark, and finally being accompanied by someone from the hotel. I won’t have this luxury today. Fingers crossed.