Mumbai: Day Three

My third day in Mumbai, Saturday, was by far the most dynamic and insightful.  I met up with an old friend and local native to see historic parts of town, and accompanied IJM Mumbai interns to the slum where Slumdog Millionaire was filmed, and went to the nicest mall I've seen on this side of the globe.  The stark contrast of disparate worlds existing side by side was staggering.

First, my friend Ingrid retrieved me from the IJM interns' flat.  Ingrid grew up in Mumbai, then lived in Tallahassee and attended my church while studying at Florida State.  After spending time with Ingrid in my hometown, I was thrilled to be in hers.  One rickshaw, one train, and one cab later, we emerged in South Mumbai, also known as Old Town.  It was beautiful! 

Parts felt just like Savannah, Georgia, though by and large the area was distinctly unique.

I was enamored of the architecture!  And it only got better:

This is the Taj Mahal Palace (not to be confused with the Taj Mahal mausoleum itself, in Agra) that was bombed on November 26, 2008.  The palace is astounding in person and is located just a hundred yards or so from the attraction Ingrid and I had set out to see: the Gateway of India.

This structure was built to commemorate the arrival of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911. The architecture is a unique combination of Hindu and Muslim styles.

Here we are in front.  We were hoping to have our picture made with the entire gateway.

...Looks like we'll have to try again another time.

Ingrid guided me back to the center of town, where I was planning to meet up with the IJM interns. The women's train car we took was some kind of crowded.

Once off the train I had a few minutes to myself to scrounge up some lunch.  Do you know what I found?

HUMMUS.

PRECIOUS, CREAMY, NOT TO BE FOUND ANYWHERE IN MY CITY, QUITEPOSSIBLYMYFAVORITEFOODINTHEENTIREWORLD HUMMUS.  Hardly believing my good fortune, I purchased a sizable bowl and went to work.

After shamelessly devouring as much hummus as was physically possible, I met up with a few interns and set out toward Dharavi, the largest slum in Asia and the initial setting of Slumdog Millionaire.  (Check out this National Geographic report on Dharavi for more information.)  I knew we were going to be part of a slum ministry for young boys, but that was it.

The boys were watching Mrs. Doubtfire when we arrived.  I liked them already.

We played games, had a snack, played instruments, and had free time.  The boys were exuberant and we all had a great afternoon.

After about two hours one of the interns leaned over to me and said, "You know, don't you, that this is a voluntary rehabilitation center for young boys who have substance addictions?"  I was shocked.  I thought the boys were just local kids having fun.  This intern told me that one boy with whom I'd been playing was seven years old and has been addicted to alcohol since he was four.

I had a few minutes to process this revelation as the boys transitioned into performance mode.  They knew the Bollywood-style dance to Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire and wanted to show us.  Their dance undermined what little composure I had left.

One night in the summer of 2008, my sister announced that my family needed to watch Slumdog Millionaire together.  As none of us shared her conviction, the viewing took great prodding.  Once finished, though, we all agreed we were thankful to have seen the film.  Our eyes were opened not only to a part of the world with which we were unfamiliar, but to a degree of poverty that was beyond our comprehension.  As I sat in our living room that evening I never imagined I would find myself in India, let alone the very slum portrayed in the film.  I have listened to Jai Ho hundreds of times on my iPod, but never imagined I would hear it play while children of Dharavi sang and danced. 

As I watched the boys, I marveled at their lighthearted joy.  I wondered what the film meant to them.  Was it hope for designing a future more prosperous than their past?  Was it a tease?  A preposterous and cruel joke?  While we did not discuss the matter at length, and I am well aware that the film was subject to mixed reviews on cultural sensitivity, I couldn't help but think that these boys seemed to take heart.

When the dance concluded the boys ran for their coloring books to display their work.  One showed me a beautiful scene of a home and a path with one man at each end.  A staff member explained that after learning the parable of the prodigal son the boys were tasked to draw their favorite scene.  This boy favored the moment when the lost son is welcomed home with open arms.  I was thankful to know that this boy was in a place where he, too, was embraced without qualification and allowed to be a child.

As we gathered our things to leave, the boys proudly approached us with hats for the road.  They'd made them from folded newspapers.  We wore them gladly.

As we reached the main road we found some other boys who seemed to be able to put the hats to better use, so we handed them over.

This was our last glimpse of the lane by which we had entered Dharavi.  I won't forget it anytime soon.

En route to our next stop we passed one of India's quintessential sights: the family motorcycle.

Four people and groceries!  Remarkable!  Three were willing to pose as I hung out a cab window:

I loved this patisserie slogan we passed in traffic:

For evening entertainment, my friend Christina suggested we head to the mall.  I didn't fight her hard.  I expected to see the likes of Nike and French Connection shops, any of which would have been a fresh breath of home.  Instead, I saw this:

Even a professional pianist in a corner:

On one hand, I was starstruck by the luxury before me.  On the other, though, I struggled to embrace such fine sights knowing they sat just a few miles from Dharavi.  This is the peculiarity of India- prominent here, though certainly present in other countries as well- the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor not only reside in the same nation, but nearly in the same neighborhood.  Why?  Everyone seems to have their own answer, but most appear perilously simplified.  I've no clue myself.  

And that's why I'm going to Oxford.