Background check
More than half of our country doesn’t have access to 24/7 electricity yet—road has reached them but its durability is moot, something even…
More than half of our country doesn’t have access to 24/7 electricity yet—road has reached them but its durability is moot, something even a citywallah would empathize with—and the rest of it is already using words like ‘future superpower’ and ‘developed’ in their everyday chitchat. India is so vast that a certain amount of ignorance is palpable. After all, it’s difficult to assess, let alone assert, the ground realities of such a dense populace. What’s not palpable though is the unedited display of apathy by those who have access to information (read: Google) towards those who don’t. A major section of these culprits tend to live in a shell. No, not a bubble. A shell that is strong enough to echo their delusional predictions but weak enough to hold up against scrutiny. They speak as if they have the solution to every problem out there. They are selective in what they want to consume from the Internet too. To them, news matters only as much as the source. Cross-verification isn’t a thing yet.
What is also disturbing, among the above mentioned demography, is the lack of acknowledgement of privileges they enjoy. Taking (something) for granted is a human trait but this lot pushes it to the next stage by adapting extreme aloofness. As a result, they tend to see things in binary. ABC are good people. XYZ are not. MNO are hardworking. PQR are not. And so on and so forth goes the parade of stereotypical idiocy. At least the have-nots, no matter how unreasonable their life choices are, don’t unnecessarily burden themselves with falsified notions about the so-called ‘others’.
These observations sparked up thanks to a recent incident. Anuradha had interviewed me for her blog and it was a fun interview laden with lots of interesting questions. Of late, i’ve made it a point to NOT say no to any opportunity wherein i can speak at length about nothing in particular. Earlier, i was too lazy/snobbish to even respond to such requests. Thus, i entertain questionnaires that force me to think harder. Perhaps age does this to people like me who otherwise avoid inquisition of any scale. Through my answers, i get to exercise my right to levity. Sounds like a welcome breather, doesn’t it?
Well.
In one of the answers, i mentioned that i basically grew up in a Bombay slum. Not a big deal if you ask me because it’s great to experience the ups as well as the lows of mythical middle class existence. If anything, it enriches you as a person that you are today as well as the person you wish to be. Those who don’t know what poverty is have missed out on something indescribable in words. Anyway, i received a lot of warm feedback from a lot of people who read the interview. However, what etched my attention was how a few couldn’t hide their bemusement on reading about my background. For some bewildering reason, they assumed that i couldn’t possibly hail from a chawl. They must have their preconceived reasons.
Nonetheless, let’s dwell a bit deeper into my childhood here, now that i’ve dragged you to the topic. So, the place i spent my childhood in had everything one can possibly expect from an alive city like Mumbai. If our villages are the reason why India still has humanity ingrained in it, then Cheeta Camp is a good enough excuse for migrants to continue dreaming. I hailed from a neighbourhood where….
people were poor but decent for the most part
everybody was related by how they were addressed; Sunder anna, Shaukat bhai, Kalyani akka, Naagu maami, Elu (Elizabeth) didi, Vinayak bhau, Shanty tai, etc.
basic amenities were a matter of struggle and luck; water goes out today, electricity might go out tomorrow
television was a big fucking deal and so was telephone; blessed is the generation which transitioned to mobiles without going through a landline
schools were there but not a lot of kids with a SSC certificate, forget higher education
youth found jobs in zari (embroidery) and bag factories but sought solace in the movies they watched at the cinema hall on Fridays
playing cricket was as essential as flicking marbles or flying kites or spinning tops or learning to ride a bicycle rented from Kallu Chacha’s garage
religion was in the face, be it via early morning Suprabhatam blaring from the nearby temple or the namaaz throughout the day; the pandits played tapes of mantrams and shlokas whereas the muezzin of the locality’s biggest mosque ideally had a nectar-like voice, setting a benchmark for azaan among the smaller mosques
the only Christian family in our sector was the most respected one because all the 5 kids went to school
kids gathered outside mandir for prasad as well as dargah for nihaaz because nobody bothered to teach us that sweets were supposed to ember religious divide
all sorts of languages could be heard from Tamil to Dakhni to Patnoori to Hindi to Marathi to Gujarati to Bhojpuri; the kids mingled using the tapori dialect filled with “aa bey” and “jaa bey” assuming they were being supercool
wedding meant only one constant: playing loud music from sunrise to late midnight
movies were screened on the streets during Christmas and NYE with us kids carrying our carpets and passing out on our mothers’ laps before the films ended
some men had two wives and domestic-turned-public quarrels were rife and, alas, entertaining too
a wife, tired of her old husband’s drunken antics, chained his leg to the window grill; neighbours perceived her as a brave woman
an elderly Marathi lady (Aai) lost her mind after the demise of her beloved daughter; she was the only one who called my amma by her name (Indira) instead of Sai-ki-maa
we could smell what’s cooking — quite literally, thanks to kaccha walls— in the next door and shamelessly asked for food; my personal favourites were the spicy sambar our Tamil neighbours made and the dalcha Malan aunty prepared and later taught her daughter-in-laws how to
the public toilet was a mess for men and a delight for women
grocery was cheap but fish was cheaper due to the proximity of sea
all the kids who danced well danced at every probable function without fail
fights with respect to water, litter and whatnot happened all the time but peace happened within no time, too
gutters overflowed during monsoon which kids liked at the onset but despised later
the locals remained unaware or simply didn’t care about being surrounded by sensitive installations; a couple of atomic reactors (one among them Asia’s oldest) at TIFR barely few kilometers away
kids only cared about Trombay jetty, lal maidan (because the soil there was red), khaadi (the creek where cricket was possible at low tide) and Paylipada hillock (which gave you an eagle view of the shithole we lived in)
houses were so tiny that they ended even before they began
Muslim youth helped set up Ganeshotsav mandal and Hindu boys helped clean the streets for Friday prayers; 9/11 provoked the twist in this harmonious equation gradually although the scent of mistrust was already in the air
tempers rose in private conversations whenever some northern Muslim families celebrated Pakistan’s cricket victory over India; tempers remained private and never transformed into confrontation
Ludo was a favourite pastime for stupid kids like me whereas the mature ones stuck to Chess games that carried on for ages sometimes
barber shops had all the gossip; a police case meant a policeman duly visiting the shops first
no bargaining with autowallahs, never happened only; no meter either but fixed charge
every lane had a wise man/woman who would settle disputes, keeping the police station away as much as possible
mothers, of all religions, raced their sick kids, while staying committed to allopathy, to the much-respected Shia maulana who would perform dua
burglary happened rarely and sexual misconduct was unheard of
women gathered to share neighbourhood updates as much as helping someone who was incapacitated to cook for her family
people genuinely cared and smiled and asked about each other’s well-being because in last millennium, it was fashionable to look out for each other in a place that had very little going for it
people were overwhelmingly illiterate, yes, and yet managed to understand the importance of education
people secretly loved being the fact that their neighbourhood was unique as it was abutted on three sides by naval establishments (prominently ‘Bureau of Sailors’) and on one side faced the sea
people couldn’t wait to leave for a greener pasture
My brother and i often discuss our past and we both agree that whatever it was, for however long it carried on, the place provided us a solid base in realizing the extent of economic disparity in our country. If people could live in such dehumanizing conditions without compromising on their humanity, then anything is possible. Like my friend from across the border loves to remind me, hope is a good thing.