Slum Prep

Last week we prepped for teaching in the Kalwa slum! Brainstorming lessons for the kids was humbling. It’s hard to put a finger on what I take for granted as “common knowledge” – things I know just by growing up where and how I did, like knowing how to greet people, expressing reactions, and having a notion of geography beyond just my neighborhood. GPM calls these topics informal education, which is what we as teaching fellows bring to the slum children through our lessons. Our initial brainstorm was thrilling – we are all itching to meet the kids and start interacting with our classes. On Wednesday we planned a practice lesson. Our subject? Feelings!

Craft time! Getting in touch with our inner emoji

 

Also in preparation for Kalwa, we visited the biggest slum in India called Dharavi. Holding about 1 million people, Dharavi is 20 times more dense than the rest of Mumbai, taking the space of 500 football fields. The term “slum” doesn’t have a reputation of comfortable society, so I braced myself to step outside my comfort zone. As I walked down that first road however, I felt like I was just on another crazy Mumbai street. The taxis hollered away and people streamed by, immersed in their midday labors.

As we continued, the streets narrowed. The residential area had alleyways so tiny, even I (shorty that I am) had to stoop. These sunless strips are lined with doorways leading into single tin rooms and ladders leading to more. I saw countless tin hovels, stacked on top of one another, full of people working in the Dharavi factories.

The industries in Dharavi provide jobs for those living within, attracting many from villages across India to work and live in this internal factory system. I was astounded by everything being made in such a tiny area. The products – from clothes and soap, pottery and papadum, to electronics and melted plastic – don’t often leave Mumbai. Each alleyway held a peek into the production of something different. As I looked into the minute work spaces, faces popped up from focusing to stare, smile, or wave.

The complexity and community of Dharavi broke some of my slum stigma. It is a thriving microeconomy – with infrastructure like schools, stores, and hospitals independently supporting so many in such a small space.

We couldn’t take photos in the slum, but here is some more info and pictures: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2007/05/dharavi-mumbai-slum/jacobson-text

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee 

The Motorcycle Diaries

Although they are probably not on their way to trek across South America, motorcycles are EVERYWHERE in Mumbai. Lined in rows on the street or weaving among traffic, these motorbikes carry every type of person around the city. Every day I see men in business suits, women in jeans or saaris, and families with toddlers all whizzing by! I thought I would chronicle some motorcycle moments that I snapped from taxi windows:

Coexistence

This week we have been immersed in learning Hindi and Indian culture! We visited an Ashram – a Hindu-oriented boarding school, and learned about the basics of Hinduism. I loved thinking and discussing the similarities and differences in spirituality, history, and morals between Hinduism and Judaism.

India’s relationship with Jews is special. Through the various waves of immigration that Jews have made to India throughout centuries, they have been accepted. Along the coast of Southern India, Jews maintained their customs for years before moving upward to Mumbai. It makes sense when considering the tendency to embrace difference and variety in Hindusim, working in harmony rather than conflict – intriguing!

 

Speaking of coexistence, it is time I introduce the lovely ladies I am sharing this experience with. We have so far made a great team and laugh constantly. Basya, Debra, and Elana – I’m stoked to live with and learn from you!  

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee 

On a lighter note...

I know my last two posts have been heavy, but I am having the BEST time so far in Mumbai. Yes, I am seeing and feeling many conflicting things, but it is all good - all part of this exhilarating, complex trip that is just beginning!

I went to Limmud India in the hills above Mumbai, where I met so many warm people, had my first yoga class in India, and had countless meaningful discussions. Back in Mumbai, I explored tourist spots, including the Gandhi Museum and the Gateway to India.

Here are some picture highlights:

Chalk drawing on the floor for Diwali

Chowpatty Beach

Chowpatty Beach

Outside a Jain temple in South Mumbai

Outside a Jain temple in South Mumbai

At Hanging Gardens Mumbai - the kids know the "little old lady" rhyme!

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee 

Chabad Mumbai

I stood there, looking at the bullet holes. The place where a well-loved soul was murdered. The place where his wife came downstairs, in innocence and confusion, to be held as a hostage, tortured, and murdered. The place where thousands of travelers had sat in peace and shared a Shabbat meal because of this couple, singing the same songs and eating the same food I had done hours before. I gazed at the bullet holes and thought of my family. I thought of my future family. I thought of the families I spend Shabbat with. I felt my breath restrict and face contort, staring, thinking of what happened to this family.

It was in the Chabad house in Mumbai, one of the 8 places terrorists targeted in South Mumbai during the 2008 attacks. The terrorists took over the Chabad house. Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka Holtzberg, who was six months pregnant, were murdered with four other hostages inside the house by the attackers.

It was chilling. Chilling to be in the place where the hearts of those who brought the light and connection of Shabbat to so many had stopped, surrounded by bloodshed, grenades, and terror. Despite the empty feeling of their unknowable pain, I smiled. I thought of the Chabad couple I had just met, living in Mumbai and still hosting Shabbat meals in the building I stood. I thought of the renovations and the beauty of the new dining room, only reflecting the beauty of the couple’s hospitality and their two bubbly kids. I turned and walked out, my heart heavy, but my lips smiling.

Read more about the attack here.

The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the positions, strategies or opinions of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee