Mumbai: Day Two

I settled into the IJM Mumbai office on my second day in town.  As noon approached, a legal intern found me to say he'd just learned that if we left in the next five minutes I might be able to interview the judge of the court I had come to see.  I was elated!  We grabbed our things and ran out the door.  Our journey from the office to court required a rickshaw, a train, and a cab.  I got to see more of the city en route.

In the last post I failed to mention the impact of the ocean aside a major Indian city: it's open.  It's home-on-the-range open.  To be in such a crowded (though certainly enjoyable) place and be able to see an end in sight is an unmatched relief.

Mumbai doesn't waste any room; every part of the city runs straight to the water's edge.

This guy was pedaling a mobile lemonade stand along the shore!

Thought for the day, brought to you by a local church:

 

Aside the sign you'll note a painted tire.  Those things hung in nearly every tree I saw in the city.  No one with whom I spoke knew what the tires symbolized.

Another striking character of the city were the upscale auto rickshaws.  They were so nice!

 

Auto rickshaws where I live run on short and specific circuits for costs that are generally consistent but never memorialized.  Mumbai autos have meters, like our taxis.  Tampering is apparently a mild issue in town.  Every meter I saw bore the same three words:

Just so we're clear.

These rickshaws were SO clean!  They were delightful!

I was struck by Mumbai's sizable Muslim presence.  Muslims in the city where I live tend to stick together in rather isolated areas.  These men, conversely, bowed toward Mecca for salah right outside the train station.

One thing in Mumbai was just the same as here: packed trains with perilously swung-open doors.

 

Back to the court we set out to see.  Mumbai's Prevention of Immoral Trafficking (PITA) Court is physically small, but legally and culturally august.  No other court in all of India is dedicated solely to trafficking cases.  In the U.S. Department of State's Trafficking in Persons Report 2010, (a compelling read easily consumed in small pieces for anyone desiring to learn more about the state of modern slavery,) the creation of more PITA courts is one of the top deterrents recommended against Indian slavery.  The courtroom sits inside this courthouse:





While not perfect, the PITA Court is a beacon of hope for Indian abolitionists.  What's so great about trying all trafficking cases in one special court?  Two big things, among others: repeat offenders are easily identified, and re-trafficked victims are more easily located.  Trafficking, especially commercial juvenile sex trafficking, is far and wide organized crime.  Patterns can be identified and acted upon when information is consolidated.

I've considered focusing my dissertation at Oxford on the potential creation process for PITA courts throughout India.  Naturally, I was thrilled to visit this one.  Upon arrival just after 2:00 p.m. the legal intern and I approached the judge's assistants to ask for an interview.  They said she was occupied but may be free sometime before court went into session at 3:00 p.m.  In the meantime, we hung out in this hallway outside the courtroom.

2:30 p.m.


Judge still busy.

The bottom three feet of courthouse walls in the city where I live are splattered with stains from the casting off of spitting tobacco.  Whomever is responsible for this court seemed to have smartened up and painted that zone a darker color to make the tobacco streaks less prominent.  (Dip is huge here.  I'd place it somewhere among the top five national pastimes.)

2:45 p.m.

Judge still busy.  Reiterated our desire for an interview to her assistants, none of whom were particularly assuring.  Heart sunk a bit.  I prayed and prayed.

We also had a chance to creep around the courtroom, watching advocates prepare for trial.

2:55 p.m.

No sign of judge.  Court in five minutes?  All hope seemingly lost.  

Observers sit in these plastic lawn chairs.  For what it's worth, I found them rather comfortable.

3:05 p.m.

Still no sign of judge.  

Seriously?  Seriously.

Criminals appearing in court here are kept in these cages.  The culture is entirely averse to handcuffs.  Even alleged traffickers being removed from brothels are taken by the hand, or literally by the seat of their pants.  They're never cuffed.

3:07 p.m.

Staggered and stupified, we found ourselves ushered into the judge's chambers.


What about court?  Apparently it could wait.  The judge was happy to speak with us, and allowed me to record a 20-minute interview before heading into court.  This was huge.  Huge.  She answered all my present questions and gave me her personal email address in case further questions arose down the road.  Interview completed, we made our way to the court room and observed a few proceedings.  I took a good while to calm down from my elation over that interview.  What a blessing.

Having exponentially exceeded my expectations for the trip by the afternoon of day two, I was hard pressed to imagine things getting much better or more meaningful.

My imagination, I'm learning, is severely deficient.