From Ty's blog..a must read

This is a copy and paste from Tys blog BrainerdtoBombay about the "slum tour" she and my wife, Beth, were on a few weeks ago. Read it with pictures at http://brainerdtobombay.blogspot.com/

but in case you don't do that..here is the story.

Slumdog Millionaire Part Two
Dharavi Slum

Population: estimated at 1 million but no one knows for sure

Income Generated:U.S. profit from Dharavi income is $650 million dollars per year

Toilets: one per 1,400 bladders and bowels

Water Supply: inadequate, polluted, and rationed

Electricity: sporadic and limited to a light bulb or two hanging from the ceiling

Economy: Recycling. MANY U.S. companies ship their garbage to be recycled at Dharavi. Cardboard boxes are collected from the U.S., shipped to India, damaged sections or sections with labels are cut off (by hand), the boxes are re-constructed, and shipped back to the same companies that used them in the first place. Used water bottles and other plastic containers are shipped here from the U.S., melted down into pellets, and then shipped back to the U.S. to be formed into bottles again. Many of those will be filled up again with fresh, filtered water that is denied to slum dwellers in Dharavi.

OSHA Standards: There are no unions, nor are there rules and regulations regarding labor laws. The average worker earns between $40 and $60 dollars per month in the "factories" of Dharavi. There are an estimated 15,000 of these single room factories in Dharavi that are no bigger than my master bedroom back home. We toured several of them, and we only saw one piece of equipment that actually plugged in. In India, people are cheaper than machines. These recycling operations would shock you. A man walks barefoot on a hot tin roof, in a bed of plastic pellets and shavings in order to "sift" them to dry out. If it rains, he gets a dock in pay for letting the pellets get wet. If it's 115F he's still expected to work. He will work six days a week, nine hours a day, on that hot tin roof. I see him working on Sunday.

The U.S. companies that drive this operation violate U.S. strict government standards so this man and everyone around him breathes in toxic fumes. I climb the roof next to him, stare down on thousands of hit tin roofs, and breathe in the toxic fumes. "How can this be okay?" I ask Salim, our guide. He looks down from the rooftop, pointing, "See those police officers? Down there? They are here not to protect you and keep peace like in the states. They are here to accept the bribes from the factory managers. They keep a portion of the bribe and the rest goes to the state inspectors. Because we do actually have some laws against polluting the air here in Mumbai."

Geography/History: The islands of Dharavi go back to the 18th century. It was a mangrove swamp, primarily inhabited by fisherman from Koli. The swamp areas eventually filled out, and the islands became one very muddy and low lying land mass. Soon the island city meshed into its neighbor Bombay. Then the fishing dried up with the swamp, and migrants started pouring in and establishing their trade. There were and still are potters from Gujarat, tanners from the Arab world, tailors from Uttar Pardesh, and many others transplants looking for a big city to sell their wares in. Dharavi is culturally rich and colorful. It's dubbed, "The Heart of the City", because it is heart shaped, lying between two main train lines. The property now is worth a TON of money, because it is located near the Bandra Kurla Coplex (Mumbai's new financial district). Hindis, Muslims, Buddhists, and Christians live together here peacefully. The newest wave of migrants are flood victims from Bihar.

The Tour: My friend Beth Swenson and I arranged a tour of Dharavi through Reality Tours (http://www.realitytoursandtravel.com/). It costs about 8 dollars for a three hour tour. We were hesitant about meeting our guide in a crowded railway station a bridge away from the slum. But Salim, our guide, found us easily. Beth is blond and I have freckles. We kinda stood out amongst the others. Okay, kinda sorta stuck out. Big time.

Salim, a handsome young man in his late 20's, was wearing tight jeans and a black cotton shirt. His smile melted into my heart immediately. He was passionate about sharing the story of Dharavi as we walked and he talked. Every few minutes his cell phone would ring or he'd get a text message. His girlfriend, he explained. She can only call on Sundays so he excused himself many times to chat with her. He shared with us that she is Muslim, from a caste well above his. He is Hindu, living in a neigboring slum. She wears the burka and they see each other ten minutes per week while waiting in a line somewhere.

They are hopelessly in love. Truly hopelessly because soon her marriage will be arranged to someone else and Salim will not be able to prevent it. His only hope is to somehow find a job soon, so that he can save enough rupees to buy a house that COULD convince her parents that he can support her. That is his plan. He said that his girlfriend will need to give up nice clothes and going out with her friends once they marry because they won't have the money. She says none of that matters if they are together. He says to us, "I never say anything out loud that I don't truly believe will happen. And I say today to you that I will find a way to marry her." I want to believe him just like I want to believe that there's a viable and timely solution to all this poverty and suffering in Dharavi.

Salim dreams of children, of becoming a teacher, and of living in a "love marriage" with this girl who has never shown her face to him in public. He can speak six languages and taught himself to speak English by watching American movies with the volume turned up and by reading Sidney Sheldon novels. "TyAnne, how do you mean 'what the hell???' and what word means 'heck'!?!?" I laugh and explain. Beth finds our conversation especially fascinating as we've been talking about literacy all week at school. She's in India as our consultant.

We walk and talk shop. Once he finds out we are teachers he has lots of questions. Salim is worried his accent is too thick and that we can't understand everything he says. We understand. His accent is practically non-existent. Beth asks, "How did you learn to speak so clearly?" He replies, "I practiced speaking English aloud in a big mirror. I listened to myself talk over and over, trying to sound like the movie stars in America." Salim is a teacher and a learner. In the states he would have no doubt been able to attend college and get his girl.

These are employees at Reality Tours (Beth and I are on the far right.)


We continue to walk through the slum, seeing things that shock you to the core. But everyone is happy to see us, waving, shaking our hands. Offering us food. Beth declines while I try it all ... tamarind candy, freshly baked pastries, and Indian sweets. The children shout out, "What is your name! My name is _______! Happy to meet you!!!" They are precious.

My mirrored sunglasses go up and down from my eyes to my above my forehead. I love these sunglasses. Not because they are prescription so I can see clearer. I love them because the coward that I am lets me wear them when I start to tear up. I don't want these precious lovely children to see my pity, my sadness, my pain. I cry because in Dharavi, in the midst of all this poverty, people are working hard, laughing, smiling, and making the best of a situation that I would find unfathomable. I cry because I got to stay in school and study, pursue a good paying job, and marry my boyfriend. I cry because tonight I will sleep, freshly showered, in a three bedroom three bathroom flat that has five air conditioners up and running 24/7 while a family of six will share one bed in Dharavi. If they are lucky.

The experience is exhausting. We are hot, tired, and sore from all the precarious walking over steps, climbing up and down rusty ladders, stepping over bricks, and dodging debris in the narrow alleyways that they call streets. We need water. (I gave mine away to some thirsty children prior to our tour - there is no begging in Dharavi). Beth has to get back to plan for tomorrow's training. So we shake hands, gingerly hug Salim, and head back to Bandra.

There isn't a "happily ever after" Bollywood ending for Salim, or for the million slum dwellers.