Mumbai: Rich Man, Poor Man

(Continued from Mumbai: Gateway of India (Arrival))

Featured Photo: “Cityscape – Old and New”  Mumbai, India—2011

The meetings with my colleagues in Mumbai were productive, as I learned of their business operations and interactions with the regulatory agencies that oversee the pharmaceutical industry in India. Still, thinking back, I find it amusing that one of my fondest memories from those meetings—in addition to the delightful interactions with talented and gracious co-workers—was the chai masala, which they served during the morning break.

Made from strong black tea, spiced with cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves, sweetened with a bit of white sugar, and rounded out with steaming whole milk, the chai was so delicious that I requested a second cup at lunch and a third at the afternoon break. My colleagues were pleased I enjoyed the spiced tea so much, and they regaled me with colorful tales of chai wallahs—vendors who specifically make and sell chai on nearly every street corner.

When the meetings ended, I was treated to a grand tour of the wonderful city of Mumbai. Accompanied by my host, we set out again in the now familiar van with the now familiar driver to see totally unfamiliar sights. I snapped this photo as we approached the cable-stayed Bandra Worli Sea Link bridge, which was built over Mahim Bay in the Arabian Sea to ease traffic in the busy city.

What went unnoticed was the sign that declared “Lane Driving, Safe Driving”, but its meaning would become apparent as I continued my travels in India. For now, we were headed to the “Gateway of India”, last week’s Featured Photo. But before we got there, I would learn more about how things were in India, and how they were so different from my own experience.

Crossing the bridge, I took another photo of the graceful, geometric cables and pylons that held the roadway suspended above the Arabian Sea…

…then looked across the bay at the cityscape of Central Mumbai…

…and got a closer shot that included a fleet of small fishing boats.

What I hadn’t observed was the group of low-slung, ramshackle structures set at the water’s edge, contrasted against Mumbai’s modern high-rise buildings. But the modest village came into focus—today’s Featured Photo—as we continued along the causeway: a patchwork of dwellings in various states of repair nearby to Dadar Beach.

Struck by the disparity in conditions, I inquired and was told the buildings along the beach were mostly inhabited by local fishermen, migrant laborers, and their families. I later read that the fishermen were descendants of the original Koli community that first inhabited the area centuries ago, when it was little more than seven swampy islands.

Not far beyond the fishing village and hidden from my view was Dharavi—the infamous Mumbai slum depicted in the 2008 movie ‘Slumdog Millionaire’—a vast, squalid shantytown, overcrowded with row upon row of tiny, tin-roofed shacks, home to around one million people. For better or worse, I would see a Mumbai slum later, at the end of our sight-seeing day.

Slowly navigating the traffic-jammed streets beyond the bridge, we came upon a colorfully painted water truck with the unusual request, “Horn Please.” I surmised this to be a plea for safety, asking other motorists to honk, thereby helping the truck driver avoid collisions with passing vehicles.

Farther along we passed rows of apartment buildings which had seen better days…

…but were still inhabited, judging from the laundry hung from windows and balconies.

Along an open stretch of road that skirted the Arabian Sea, I caught a glimpse of the 600-year-old Haji Ali Dargah, a Sufi mosque that appeared to be an island refuge for these minority mystic Muslims in a majority Hindu land.

Our driver turned away from the sea toward our first destination. Soon, two tall towers rose high above the road, and I asked what they were.

I was told the taller of the two was in the final stages of construction and would be inhabited by a single family—one of India’s wealthiest. The extravagant living space, and especially the commanding height, were to ensure the family had a clear view over their less-fortunate neighbors, and well above the slums that were not far away. We continued along the roads and headed uphill…

…eventually stopping at a traffic light. As we waited, I was startled by a faint tapping on the van’s window. Beside me stood a young woman dressed in a soiled, threadbare sari holding an emaciated infant. She mouthed something as she held out her open hand. The driver quickly instructed me, “Don’t roll down the window. Don’t look at her. Just ignore them.” She tapped again as the light changed and we pulled away. I glanced back filled with sorrow and pity. But that fleeting encounter with the poor beggar continued to haunt me.

It was several years later, talking with a Scout leader who worked with my boys’ troop, that I better understood the experience and my feelings that day—not “appalled,” as had been suggested by Frommer’s, but something more akin to compassion. He himself was from India, and after I described the towering home of the affluent family and my subsequent encounter with the homeless beggar and her child in Mumbai, he conceded, “In India, unlike the US, there is no social safety net. The stark contrast between those who are wealthy and powerful versus those who live in abject poverty is right out in the open, for all to see. There’s no separation between rich and poor. Poverty is right there, in your face. There’s no trying to hide it from view.”

His observation helped me understand, but it didn’t diminish the pain I still felt for those poor, misfortunate souls on the streets of Mumbai.

(To be continued…)