Slumdog Tourists.
In other cities you see foreigners in air conditioned spaces. Not in Mumbai. Here, the softies sweat it out thanks to the Oscar winning movie.
I happened to go to Dharavi on an assignment and that was when I saw this group being led by a local guide wearing a crisp, white t-shirt with the words - I love Dharavi. But like the reporter who was with me said, how different are we from these tourists?
The daughters
The mother
Baked pots being piled up before they are sun-dried.
Keeping count.
A lot of dust and no mask, as usual.
Here are some pics I clicked from the Potter's section of Dharavi. Dharavi is like an Indian village or more correctly, any Indian city with its different sections based on caste and trade. And minus the roads, pucca buildings and sewerage system.
This Kumbharwadi is populated by Gujarati speaking people. The people pictured here belong to the Prajapati Kumbhar caste. This family-run business is run by a strict father and his married daughters who live close by. They do not make these pots, they only bake and dry the pots under the summer sun before the monsoon sets in. They will be sold during Navratri.
The patriarch.
The daughters
The mother
Baked pots being piled up before they are sun-dried.
Keeping count.
A lot of dust and no mask, as usual.
And finally, the local deity.
