It's the biggest wart on the face of an already pockmarked and scarred Mumbai. Most residents of this gigantic city that's home to about 19 million people feel embarrassed whenever the name Dharavi comes up. A sprawling, stinking mass of tin, tarpaulin, cardboard, brick, slush and sewage that throbs in the very the heart of Mumbai, Dharavi was till a few months ago considered Asia's largest slum. In September the UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) said the Pakistani city of Karachi has now wrested that dubious distinction with the spread of its Orangi township.
Anyway, the size of Dharavi (175 hectares, housing a million people) isn't the point of this blog. Last night I was surfing channels and came across a programme called Slum City on National Geographic. I stopped to watch, and was mesmerised. I knew so little of what went on within that fragile, choking city within a city!
I knew that Dharavi was the main centre for the production of leather goods in Mumbai. Many of our American friends and acquaintances have made endless trips there to shop for bags, jackets, overcoats and belts - some even custom made. I also knew that there were several small-scale garments manufacturing units there. I knew that several designers make use of embroiderers and crochet artisans from Dharavi.
But what I learnt from Slum City came as a very pleasant surprise. Dharavi is apparently the epicentre of garbage segregation and recycling in India's financial capital. Had it not been for the queen of the slums, Mumbai would be sitting on a heap of refuse of Himalayan proportions. Mounds and mounds of inorganic waste are painstakingly sorted, segregated and recycled within the slum every single day. Plastic, tin, paper, rubber, metal - anything and everything is reincarnated in Dharavi. I knew recycling was big in Dharavi, but I had no idea of the scale.
Instead of being ashamed of its presence, Mumbai should be thankful to Dharavi and its enterprising people. The city's collective endeavour should be to find out how to assist these recycling businesses and make them cleaner, more efficient.
We know that the government's efforts to redevelop Dharavi are failing miserably. Many residents have been promised small homes with electicity and sanitation, but in alternate locations. The residents, while all for better living conditions, just don't want to relocate. When it comes to location, Dharavi is better placed than most upscale neighbourhoods. It is close to the airports, to the three main inner-city train lines, and to both the expressways that lead into and out of Mumbai. Naturally, its people don't wish to live anywhere else.
The state should perhaps start with giving the recycling businesses in Dharavi a helping hand. Maybe efforts to expand the recycling facilites will entice the people involved to move to bigger, better and cleaner spaces. Or at least to clean up their current locations. Just remember Mumbai, we're deeply indebted to these people. We owe it to them to try and make their lives better.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
A year since
A year since those horrific, numbing 60 hours in Mumbai. A year since a band of misguided young men brought a mammoth metropolis to it knees. A year since India realised just how shamefully inadequate its emergency response apparatus is. A year since we saw just how little coordination our emergency services have.
The memory of the 26/11 attacks of 2008 remains alive, with plenty of periodic reminders and public discourses on the subject. Yet it has turned out to be a year of squandered opportunities, of misplaced priorities and an unpardonable waste of time.
Our first responders remain woefully ill-equipped to take on terror, or even a natural disaster. Firemen have reportedly been given bullet-proof vests rather than better equipment to contain blazes. Our overburdened hospitals struggle to cope with any sort of pressure, be it a terror attack or a public health outbreak.
Our police forces remain largely armed with archaic weapons that can certainly not match the new generation assault rifles that terrorists favour. Just some weeks ago it was reported that the government hadn't even bothered to arrange basic accommodation for several security personnel. These men had set up camp under the imposing canopy of the Gateway of India, sleeping, cooking and bathing out in the open. This is how we treat men we expect will put their own lives in jeopardy to protect us!
The broadcast media remain shrill and prone to sensationalism, gaining no maturity from the tragic experience that exposed their tendency to stoke panic and even jeopardise rescue efforts with their overzealous coverage.
What's worse, there's no sign of the seamless coordination between emergency services that is key to effectively responding to threats of any nature. And the unfortunate thing is that there is no one person or office that can be held responsible. It was a collective, systemic failure.
Even at an individual level, we've failed. Life has trudged on, regaining the momentum that was rudely interrupted by those harrowing few hours last year that claimed nearly 170 lives. While the tragedy unfolded in south Mumbai, we couldn't tear ourselves away from our television sets. We watched in disbelief as a bunch of youngsters swaggered through our streets, killing people at random and holding the city to ransom. We - even I - vowed to ensure that this incident would change us forever. We pledged never to allow our leaders to leave us so vulnerable again. But life went on. Personal preoccupations soon pushed any proactive public campaign efforts to the backseat. The 2008 terror attacks didn't even figure as an issue when we elected a new state government for Maharashtra in October! Nothing changed.
What's the way forward? I feel we need to shake off this Indian tendency to react rather than preempt. It requires a fundamental change in belief and behaviour as a people. It won't be easy. We need strategists who sit together, think up various worst-case scenarios and ensure that we remain prepared for each at all times. I'm not saying that we could have pulled this off in the one year that has passed since the Mumbai attacks. But we could have made a start and already covered a lot of ground. That's what's disheartening. We haven't even begun.
The memory of the 26/11 attacks of 2008 remains alive, with plenty of periodic reminders and public discourses on the subject. Yet it has turned out to be a year of squandered opportunities, of misplaced priorities and an unpardonable waste of time.
Our first responders remain woefully ill-equipped to take on terror, or even a natural disaster. Firemen have reportedly been given bullet-proof vests rather than better equipment to contain blazes. Our overburdened hospitals struggle to cope with any sort of pressure, be it a terror attack or a public health outbreak.
Our police forces remain largely armed with archaic weapons that can certainly not match the new generation assault rifles that terrorists favour. Just some weeks ago it was reported that the government hadn't even bothered to arrange basic accommodation for several security personnel. These men had set up camp under the imposing canopy of the Gateway of India, sleeping, cooking and bathing out in the open. This is how we treat men we expect will put their own lives in jeopardy to protect us!
The broadcast media remain shrill and prone to sensationalism, gaining no maturity from the tragic experience that exposed their tendency to stoke panic and even jeopardise rescue efforts with their overzealous coverage.
What's worse, there's no sign of the seamless coordination between emergency services that is key to effectively responding to threats of any nature. And the unfortunate thing is that there is no one person or office that can be held responsible. It was a collective, systemic failure.
Even at an individual level, we've failed. Life has trudged on, regaining the momentum that was rudely interrupted by those harrowing few hours last year that claimed nearly 170 lives. While the tragedy unfolded in south Mumbai, we couldn't tear ourselves away from our television sets. We watched in disbelief as a bunch of youngsters swaggered through our streets, killing people at random and holding the city to ransom. We - even I - vowed to ensure that this incident would change us forever. We pledged never to allow our leaders to leave us so vulnerable again. But life went on. Personal preoccupations soon pushed any proactive public campaign efforts to the backseat. The 2008 terror attacks didn't even figure as an issue when we elected a new state government for Maharashtra in October! Nothing changed.
What's the way forward? I feel we need to shake off this Indian tendency to react rather than preempt. It requires a fundamental change in belief and behaviour as a people. It won't be easy. We need strategists who sit together, think up various worst-case scenarios and ensure that we remain prepared for each at all times. I'm not saying that we could have pulled this off in the one year that has passed since the Mumbai attacks. But we could have made a start and already covered a lot of ground. That's what's disheartening. We haven't even begun.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The priceless curiosity of childhood
I've been meaning to share this very proud mommy moment. While we were holidaying in Sri Lanka in October, our van stopped at a petrol station in a one-horse town in the island country's central province. When the driver got back into the van, my older son Kabir asked him: "Is petroleum a major industry in Sri Lanka?"
I wondered if I'd heard right. I had. The driver, a wonderfully patient man called Sarath, said Sri Lanka didn't produce petroleum. So Kabir asked where it came from. Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, he was told. So how did it get here? Through pipelines and marine tankers. And how did it get to the individual gas stations? It's offloaded at the ports and then transported by tanker trucks.
The conversation then turned to sources of energy and Kabir asked if Sri Lanka had any hydroelectric power plants. He wanted to know where the dams were. This entire exchange was spontaneous and not once was he prompted by either my husband or me. Sitting in the back seat, we couldn't believe our nine-year-old was making such serious conversation. We were so proud. And we realised just how much the sometimes punishing school curriculum in India had impacted him. This time, in a good way. Geography lessons had definitely further fuelled his natural curiosity.
Geography seems to be the hot favourite for Kabir and his six-year-old brother Raghav at the moment. Their pet game these days is something called Atlas where you have to name a place using the last letter of the place the previous player names. This takes care of many a long car ride, which is quite commonplace in the cities of Thane and Mumbai whose roads are choked to bursting point. As a consequence, the boys have learnt the names of so many distant places, including Argentina, Nicaragua, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Norway, Yorkshire, Zimbabwe etc. etc.
Their mission, every time they play it, is to land the other players with the letter A. The names of the majority of places end with 'A', so after a point you do get stuck. Raghav needs help after the first few rounds, but in the process he picks up a lot of new names.
Last weekend we were driving to a wedding in Mumbai. We had to cover a distance of just about 30 kilometres but it took us two-and-a-half hours! The streets were completely clogged with traffic that day. Thanks to Atlas, the drive that could have been a nightmare from my restless kids turned out to be quite pleasant. Adding to their delight was the fact that their grandfather, my father-in-law, was with us. And they did their darndest to land Dadu with an 'A' each time. There were hysterical fits of laughter each time Dadu got an 'A' and protested vehemently!
A couple of weeks ago when I found the kids were getting frustrated while playing Atlas because they were running out of names too soon, I told them to sit with an atlas each and use the index to find new names every time they got stuck. That really paid off. They learnt so many new names! And they're really keen to try that again as soon as their school examinations finish in the second week of December.
A child's curiosity and capacity to absorb information are just astounding. Of course I've had to answer the usual questions about how do babies come out of their mummies' tummies. So we've had conversations about the uterus, the birth canal and contractions. The subject of conception hasn't come up yet, but I expect it to any day now.
And you learn from your kids too. Every now and then Kabir or Raghav comes up with a nugget of information that I didn't know, especially about the habits of animals. And they get so smug when that happens! This is what I most enjoy about parenting - the give and take of knowledge.
I wondered if I'd heard right. I had. The driver, a wonderfully patient man called Sarath, said Sri Lanka didn't produce petroleum. So Kabir asked where it came from. Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, he was told. So how did it get here? Through pipelines and marine tankers. And how did it get to the individual gas stations? It's offloaded at the ports and then transported by tanker trucks.
The conversation then turned to sources of energy and Kabir asked if Sri Lanka had any hydroelectric power plants. He wanted to know where the dams were. This entire exchange was spontaneous and not once was he prompted by either my husband or me. Sitting in the back seat, we couldn't believe our nine-year-old was making such serious conversation. We were so proud. And we realised just how much the sometimes punishing school curriculum in India had impacted him. This time, in a good way. Geography lessons had definitely further fuelled his natural curiosity.
Geography seems to be the hot favourite for Kabir and his six-year-old brother Raghav at the moment. Their pet game these days is something called Atlas where you have to name a place using the last letter of the place the previous player names. This takes care of many a long car ride, which is quite commonplace in the cities of Thane and Mumbai whose roads are choked to bursting point. As a consequence, the boys have learnt the names of so many distant places, including Argentina, Nicaragua, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Norway, Yorkshire, Zimbabwe etc. etc.
Their mission, every time they play it, is to land the other players with the letter A. The names of the majority of places end with 'A', so after a point you do get stuck. Raghav needs help after the first few rounds, but in the process he picks up a lot of new names.
Last weekend we were driving to a wedding in Mumbai. We had to cover a distance of just about 30 kilometres but it took us two-and-a-half hours! The streets were completely clogged with traffic that day. Thanks to Atlas, the drive that could have been a nightmare from my restless kids turned out to be quite pleasant. Adding to their delight was the fact that their grandfather, my father-in-law, was with us. And they did their darndest to land Dadu with an 'A' each time. There were hysterical fits of laughter each time Dadu got an 'A' and protested vehemently!
A couple of weeks ago when I found the kids were getting frustrated while playing Atlas because they were running out of names too soon, I told them to sit with an atlas each and use the index to find new names every time they got stuck. That really paid off. They learnt so many new names! And they're really keen to try that again as soon as their school examinations finish in the second week of December.
A child's curiosity and capacity to absorb information are just astounding. Of course I've had to answer the usual questions about how do babies come out of their mummies' tummies. So we've had conversations about the uterus, the birth canal and contractions. The subject of conception hasn't come up yet, but I expect it to any day now.
And you learn from your kids too. Every now and then Kabir or Raghav comes up with a nugget of information that I didn't know, especially about the habits of animals. And they get so smug when that happens! This is what I most enjoy about parenting - the give and take of knowledge.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Why I hate Blackberry
This is going to sound like a typical wife's rant, but I hate my husband's Blackberry from the bottom of my heart. It's like the other woman in our marriage, keeping his mind straying away from home and family. He just can't resist its chimes and flashes. He checks it first thing at the start of each day, even before wishing me and our kids a good morning! On his days off he keeps going back to it by force of habit, spinning the dial and checking messages that could surely wait for the other side of the weekend. At airports, doctors' offices or anywhere else we need to wait, he turns to his Blackberry for comfort and companionship. It's as if the kids and I aren't even there! He's either answering emails or playing games. He's unable to function without that sleek, shiny black temptress touching his skin! To be fair, I must confess that he loves me to death and lets me know that often enough, but I could surely do without competition from what is essentially a mobile phone on steroids.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Pinnacles of preposterousness
In the very first front page I skim through this morning I come across two news items that are some of the best examples of preposterousness one can encounter. One in the sheer callousness it reflects, the other in the ridiculousness of the research project it publicises.
The first report is about an insurance lawsuit. The vaunted lawyer of a gigantic Indian insurance firm actually tried to convince a court that being left paralysed by a motor crash sixteen years ago was a "blessing in disguise" for the young woman asking for a larger compensation package. Can you imagine that?!
Shweta Mehta, now 27, is paralysed from the waist down. She has spent 16 years in a wheelchair and is unable to do much independently. Her medical bills are high and salaries for hired help have been steadily spiralling upwards. That's why she is asking the third party insurer for more.
So what's the insurance lawyer's logic for this absurd argument? "The accident, for the girl, was blessing in disguise as she could get better education and also compensation," he told a shocked courtroom in Mumbai. Jokes about lawyers being heartless abound, but this has to be a new low even for people in the profession with such a poor reputation. The judges, fortunately, immediately let it be known that this line of attack would just not cut it.
The other report I notice is about a research project that claims to have succeeded in putting a price on happiness and sorrow. Australian economist Paul Frijters has been tracking and valuing human emotion since 2001. He claims to have found that to a man, marriage is worth 18,000 pounds and to a woman just half that. (Now that challenges all previously held beliefs about men abhorring marriage and resenting the fetters they feel come with tying the knot). And Frijters says - more in line with contemporary thinking this time - divorce is worth over 61,000 pounds for a man and just 5,000 pounds for a woman. She, like Ivana Trump, clearly believes in not just getting mad but getting everything!
The researcher has also assessed the monetary worth of other human milestones like the birth of a child and the death of a loved one. According to him they affect a man much more dramatically (in terms of monetary worth, that is) than they do a woman.
Doesn't Frijters' research project sound like a decade-long exercise in futility? What's the point of research like this? What does it achieve? How can its findings be applied or used? What's more, who backs it? Who funds it? Who stands to gain from this farce?
I'm sure some would like to be able to study human emotion in a more dispassionate fashion, but isn't this going to an absurd extreme? Can we be as cold and calculating about feelings and sentiments as we are about money? And I absolutely do not believe, despite all of Frijters' findings, that anyone can put a price on human emotion. Mr. Frijters, I wish you luck but sincerely hope your next research effort isn't as pointless.
The first report is about an insurance lawsuit. The vaunted lawyer of a gigantic Indian insurance firm actually tried to convince a court that being left paralysed by a motor crash sixteen years ago was a "blessing in disguise" for the young woman asking for a larger compensation package. Can you imagine that?!
Shweta Mehta, now 27, is paralysed from the waist down. She has spent 16 years in a wheelchair and is unable to do much independently. Her medical bills are high and salaries for hired help have been steadily spiralling upwards. That's why she is asking the third party insurer for more.
So what's the insurance lawyer's logic for this absurd argument? "The accident, for the girl, was blessing in disguise as she could get better education and also compensation," he told a shocked courtroom in Mumbai. Jokes about lawyers being heartless abound, but this has to be a new low even for people in the profession with such a poor reputation. The judges, fortunately, immediately let it be known that this line of attack would just not cut it.
The other report I notice is about a research project that claims to have succeeded in putting a price on happiness and sorrow. Australian economist Paul Frijters has been tracking and valuing human emotion since 2001. He claims to have found that to a man, marriage is worth 18,000 pounds and to a woman just half that. (Now that challenges all previously held beliefs about men abhorring marriage and resenting the fetters they feel come with tying the knot). And Frijters says - more in line with contemporary thinking this time - divorce is worth over 61,000 pounds for a man and just 5,000 pounds for a woman. She, like Ivana Trump, clearly believes in not just getting mad but getting everything!
The researcher has also assessed the monetary worth of other human milestones like the birth of a child and the death of a loved one. According to him they affect a man much more dramatically (in terms of monetary worth, that is) than they do a woman.
Doesn't Frijters' research project sound like a decade-long exercise in futility? What's the point of research like this? What does it achieve? How can its findings be applied or used? What's more, who backs it? Who funds it? Who stands to gain from this farce?
I'm sure some would like to be able to study human emotion in a more dispassionate fashion, but isn't this going to an absurd extreme? Can we be as cold and calculating about feelings and sentiments as we are about money? And I absolutely do not believe, despite all of Frijters' findings, that anyone can put a price on human emotion. Mr. Frijters, I wish you luck but sincerely hope your next research effort isn't as pointless.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Taking the magic out of magic
I'm really conflicted about this. My kids have lately been watching Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed, a television programme that gives away all the tricks magicians use for their trade's most popular acts.
On the one hand I'm happy that the boys are now questioning every magic trick, wondering what sleight of hand has been used to pull it off. They are constantly trying to guess the secret - there's a hidden trapdoor; the magician has the ball up his sleeve; there's another assistant behind the screen etc. etc.
But on the other hand I feel a little bad that the magic has been lost. When we were children, a magic show was truly mesmerising. We really believed some people possessed extraordinary skills that helped them defy natural laws. All of us suspected in the backs of our minds that there had to be some other explanation for what we saw being done, but most didn't question it beyond a point. We just enjoyed those few moments of wonderment.
Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed has put an end to that, at least for my boys. Is that a good thing? I'm not sure. But I do hope that my kids appreciate the skill and dexterity that go into performing magic on stage.
On the one hand I'm happy that the boys are now questioning every magic trick, wondering what sleight of hand has been used to pull it off. They are constantly trying to guess the secret - there's a hidden trapdoor; the magician has the ball up his sleeve; there's another assistant behind the screen etc. etc.
But on the other hand I feel a little bad that the magic has been lost. When we were children, a magic show was truly mesmerising. We really believed some people possessed extraordinary skills that helped them defy natural laws. All of us suspected in the backs of our minds that there had to be some other explanation for what we saw being done, but most didn't question it beyond a point. We just enjoyed those few moments of wonderment.
Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed has put an end to that, at least for my boys. Is that a good thing? I'm not sure. But I do hope that my kids appreciate the skill and dexterity that go into performing magic on stage.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
To-wit, to-who
My kids are growing up fast. And just as rapidly developing a sense of humour. A couple of days ago we'd stopped at an ATM, so there were questions from the boys about money transcations and whether you can withdraw coins from a bank. We said yes, but for that you have to go to a branch. Immediately our nine-year-old Kabir said, "Ah, that gives me an idea. Who do you call when you find a twig in your soup?" Who, we asked in unison. "The branch manager!" We couldn't help but guffaw. And, as parents, we felt so very proud. For him to absorb what he hears and use it to pun is really quite amazing.
Some months ago, while Wimbledon was on, Kabir asked me one afternoon, "Mama, what do elephants play at Wimbledon?" What, I asked. "Squash!" he proclaimed with pride. That was another original.
Our little one, Raghav, also loves jokes. But he hasn't yet started dishing out original material. Our six-year-old's current favourite is: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Sonia. Sonia who? Sonia shoe I can smell it!" So we hear that one again and again. He has tried to make up some knock, knock material, but he hasn't quite struck gold so far. One of these days......
Actually, it's no surprise that my boys have taken so keenly to jokes, especially puns. Compulsive punning runs in the families of both their parents. My husband has quite a reputation. One of his best so far came when he heard that a Bengali friend of my father's had been appointed India's envoy to Germany. "Ambassador Bonn gaya," he said. Those familiar with the Bengali accent and the Hindi language will get it.
And hubby isn't the only one. His father, my father and my brother are just as bad. Every family event has the room reverberating with laughter as one wisecrack follows another. So, given the combination of genes, I suppose my boys were pre-destined to by witty. Actually, I think it's great. There can be nothing better than a life full of laughter.
Some months ago, while Wimbledon was on, Kabir asked me one afternoon, "Mama, what do elephants play at Wimbledon?" What, I asked. "Squash!" he proclaimed with pride. That was another original.
Our little one, Raghav, also loves jokes. But he hasn't yet started dishing out original material. Our six-year-old's current favourite is: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Sonia. Sonia who? Sonia shoe I can smell it!" So we hear that one again and again. He has tried to make up some knock, knock material, but he hasn't quite struck gold so far. One of these days......
Actually, it's no surprise that my boys have taken so keenly to jokes, especially puns. Compulsive punning runs in the families of both their parents. My husband has quite a reputation. One of his best so far came when he heard that a Bengali friend of my father's had been appointed India's envoy to Germany. "Ambassador Bonn gaya," he said. Those familiar with the Bengali accent and the Hindi language will get it.
And hubby isn't the only one. His father, my father and my brother are just as bad. Every family event has the room reverberating with laughter as one wisecrack follows another. So, given the combination of genes, I suppose my boys were pre-destined to by witty. Actually, I think it's great. There can be nothing better than a life full of laughter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)