The beam of light peered through the cracked roof and settled on my eyelids, slowly prying them open. As my eyes opened my sweet slumber ended and I sat up and looked around. Around me, my father mother and siblings lay curled up on the cold concrete floor dreaming away their worries. In the far corner of the room stood the stove, watching over the sleepers while the lonely light bulb clung to the roof. Slowly, I got up and stumbled across the only room of our house towards the door. I grabbed our only remaining container and creaked open the door. I stepped outside, closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the waves brushing onto the garbage-filled shore and the shimmering of the few patches of sand still exposed. I opened my eyes and watched as each wave placed a new layer of trash upon the beach. I remember the first time I had stood and watched the waves pound against the shore. It was my first day in Dharavi, we had just moved there from a small village a few hours outside of Mumbai in hope of finding a better life. At first I hated the smell of the rotting sewage and decomposing fish, and the sight of all that garbage made my eyes burn, but now, for some strange reason I actually liked it. Of course a few other things I never got used to and would really like to change, like not having a water supply at home, living in such a cramped space with my family, the flooding during the monsoons, all the diseases and not being able to go to school. I turned around, picked up the container and started walking down the alleyway. The alley was barely a metre wide and stretched almost as far as the eye could see. The floor was littered with rags, plastic and other waste and a puddle stretched right along pathway, twisting and swinging around the trash like a river through mountains. After a few minutes of walking I reached a small clearing with the tap. I turned the rusting knob and filled the container to the brim with fresh, clean water, then I turned back around and began the excruciating journey back home. The container weighed about a tonne and I was forced to wrestle with it just to move it an inch. After what seemed like hours I finally reached the house and creaked open the door again I pulled in the container and left it to the right of the door. I looked around the room yet again, only now no one slept. My father and mother had left for work, leaving my sister at home to fold the torn blankets. I spent the rest of the day watching my sister and repairing whatever I could in the house. The night arrived sooner than expected and the light bulb yet again struggled to light the room. My parents soon arrived and I fell into my slumber only to repeat everything again tomorrow and every day until my sister is old enough to look after herself and then I will have to work.
Some images of Dharavi, a slum in Mumbai:
sources:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/shared/spl/hi/world/06/dharavi_slum/html/dharavi_slum_intro.stm
http://artsytime.com/life-in-slums-of-mumbai/
http://www.worldvision.in/?1330
http://www.mumbai77.com/pages/mumbai-slums/
