Dharavi’s story is one of always pushing back further the boundaries of the slum. Go to Koliwada, its oldest settlement, and ask. Residents will say this is a 400-year-old village and not a slum; the slum, they will inform you, is on the other side of Dharavi Main Road.
On the other side of that road you will find a scattering of overgrown municipal chawls. Those tenants, who have been renting their apartments from the government for decades, will point to their neighbours who live in structures that look exactly like theirs and insist that those are the slums, not their homes.
Their neighbours in turn will say that their houses are better than many middle-class houses in other parts of the city, and will point to their flat-screen TV and internet-wired computers to support their argument.
They will direct you to the 13th Compound, where the recycling industry is located. That’s probably where the slum is – at least it looks and feels more like one.
Yet in 13th Compound people will say that this is an industrial area, not quite a slum, and perhaps those huts over there – gesturing to the edge of the settlement – are what you’re looking for. You may finally see lines of recognisable shack-like structures.
That is the place where you might spot a little girl walking on a huge waterpipe next to what seems to be her home. The girl may inform you that the redevelopment project is a threat, not an opportunity, if she can’t prove she has been living here long enough.
In all probability, her family moved there relatively recently, a few years short of the cut-off date that makes her eligible for a free flat after redevelopment. In that case, she and her family would either move to a settlement far away, or simply return to their ancestral village.
When asked what life is like, living in a slum, she would probably say it is tough – with open drains and very little civic infrastructure – but she would also invite you inside the house, introduce you to her family, shut the door and insist that the slum is now firmly outside.
This is her home –complete with an altar to a popular saint, cooking utensils hanging on the wall, a TV in a corner, and schoolbooks on the floor – and to call it anything else would embarrass you. Especially when you accept a cup of sweet tea and are told that, for all its ills, this place is still better than the one left behind.
These lines were published 10 years back in a book called Dharavi: The Slum Outside. They seem just as relevant now, at a time when a new redevelopment project is in the works. Full text and photos here: https://lnkd.in/dm7XRcPn