This is a first of a series written by Dilip D’Souza on his blogsite and published here with his permission. In this series he describes the reality of people living in slums, slums being demolished.

The first article of this series.

Impressive letterhead
One of the pieces of paper the Pardhis give me is a copy of a letter from one Ramdas Athavale. A long-time Dalit leader in Maharashtra, Athavale is now a MP with the party he has successfully split to the point that it's just him: the Republican Party of India (RPI). In 1994, Athavale was Minister of Transport and Prohibition in Sharad Pawar's Maharashtra Government. And in that capacity, but also because he is a Dalit leader, Athavale wrote this letter on his official Ministerial letterhead to Arun
Gujarathi, Minister of Urban Affairs, on February 17 1994 (note that date):

Pardhi families have lived in Survey no 265 [a reference to the land on which Ambujwadi stood] in Malvani, Malad for many years. People from this community have to submit themselves to police interrogation frequently. They believe this is an injustice to them. They are even being prevented from setting up house in one place. It has been brought to my notice that there are 500 huts belonging to this community here and they are being demolished. I request that the huts not be demolished before their rehabilitation and that the families be allowed to continue to live in this place until then.

I saw no evidence that anyone had been rehabilitated before their huts were demolished. I also saw no evidence of the Honourable Mr Athavale.

Will you have some water?
Wells dot the entire expanse of Ambujwadi. This used to be swampy, overgrown land ("jungle", they tell me). The Pardhis cleared it when they moved in, filled in ditches and some marshy segments (some remain). But water remained a problem. The Municipality did not supply them any -- taking the view, of course, that these were illegals and their huts were illegal and illegals must not get water -- and so the Pardhis dug their own wells.

I'm standing over one, looking in. It's at least 25 feet deep, six feet across, lined for part of the way down with concrete; the erstwhile rim around it now just rubble. My new friends here are looking in too. A little boy runs up to peer in too; alarmed at how close he gets to the edge, Gangaram beside me yells at him to get back.

Not that there's much to see: what's at the bottom is not water, but muck and debris. Pushed in there during the demolitions. This is now a well that can't be used. Not only must we demolish these people's homes, we must also ensure that we deprive them of their water.

I stand over another well, another deep hole, but this one has long bamboo poles and timber flung in. Then another one, but this one is filled with mud and bricks to the brim, leaving a soft depression in the ground. Many more like that. Umabai Chavhan, getting ready to nurse her baby daughter Parvati on the rubble of her home, shouts across one to me: "All the things from my house are in there! The Municipality threw them in and pushed mud over it all!"

But really, what are these people doing for water? Two things happen when I ask that.

One, they take me to some plywood planks lying on the ground, almost at random. Lift one, and it's another hole disappearing blackly into the ground. A well, this one saved from the Municipality by the simple device of laying some planks over the hole. This way, Dilip Kale tells me, they managed to save one or two wells in the area. Another was saved by planks and by getting kids to sit on them; then they told the bulldozer men to leave the kids to their play.

And these are the water sources for the approximately 3000 people here. Washing, drinking, whatever.

Two, an old woman called Bhimabai Kale lowers a battered tin tied to a string into the well that's surreptitiously open for my benefit. Pulls up a load of water -- some dark specks and a couple of grimy looking leaves float in it, but hey -- other than that, it looks fine. "Taste it", Bhimabai tells me with a smile, "go on, taste it, this is what we use, it's OK!"

So I do taste it. It's OK.

We move on to the next dismal Ambujwadi sight. Very carefully, almost reverently, Bhimabai lays the plywood back over the well.

Related Links and Articles:
Dilip’s blog site
Thinking about Bhopal in the Era of Globalization
Therefore Alternatives I
Introducing South Asian Readers: mines, minerals and PEOPLE