Salaam Bombay - Beginnings

Mumbai: the metropolitan hub of India, where the richest of the rich reside with the poorest of the poor. It's a city of culture, of theatre, of film and glamor, of trends and nightlife. It's a place of extremes and diversity. It's also where more than three hundred people gathered to protest the wrongdoings of chemical companies, to make sure that the world doesn't suffer through another "Bhopal".

My escapades began last Tuesday, November 7, when we took the Kushinagar train to Bombay through a not-so-thrilling 14 hour train ride, reaching the City of Bollywood at a very early 4 am on November 8. I knew we'd have a little difficulty when as soon as we got of the train, we realized we weren't at Mumbai CST, the station our ticket claimed to stop at. CST, we presumed, meant Mumbai Central, so we took a cab to that station, only to find out that 1) Mumbai Central only had local lines and 2) Mumbai Central was not Mumbai CST. In fact, it was Victoria Terminus, something which we are somehow supposed to know because of course, the two sound so alike. Oh, Bombay...

So at 6 am we are finally at Mumbai CST, exhausted and hungry. After a refreshing masala dosa, Kate and I head out to find Ambedkar Hall, the place where we will be staying the next few days. According to directions, we take the local train, get off at the Dadar station, and head in a direction which we think is east. Of course, since nothing can possibly go right, it turns out being west. But because there are no arrows pointing out directions in this chaotic city we walk till the very end of the road we are on, because it also happens to be the direction multiple people point us to when we ask where Ambedkar Hall is. But people never really know what they are talking about, so in retrospect we shouldn't have listened to them. Not that we had a choice. Upon reaching a dead end bordered by a stony beach, we enter what seems like a memorial to the great Mr. Ambedkar. We are told that this is the Ambedkar monument and not Ambedkar Hall, which is on the other side of the railway station. Sigh. Arrows pointing out directions could have definitely come in handy at times like these.

It's 2:45 and we've finally reached the humongous tent of a structure we were supposed to reach a few hours ago. Famished, we are greeted by a multitude of women who smile and hold our hands. I'm feeling rejuvinated already. The food consists of rice and dal, and I kid you not, rice and dal never tasted better than at that moment. We are told that everyone is heading out for a protest at 3 pm, which by now is 3 minutes away. So we rush to finish our food and head out with the throngs of men, women, and children that traveled over 700 km to express anger, passion, and disapproval at what was happening in one of the most posh hotels in Mumbai- India Chem 2006.

Only the largest chemical conference in the country, India Chem 2006 (http://www.indiachem2006.com/) was to be held from Nov. 8-Nov 10. We protested chemical companies' exploitation of the disadvantaged by standing along the road by the Andheri train station. Large yellow and blue banners, photos of the living dead were held high by the wrinkled arms of old women. Children passed fliers detailing the crimes of Dow, and passerbys going up and down the station's steps had no choice but to see the faces of these children, the faces of corporate double-standard. Men were present as well, and their baritone voices rang loud and bold as they responded to Sathyu's call. "Ladenge! Jeetenge! Ladenge! Jeetenge!" We will fight, and we will win- they knew what they wanted and weren't afraid to demand it. Professional cameras lined the other side of the railing, but I didn't see anything in the paper until after the second day of protesting. Two hours later, the older men and women were getting tired. Some of them were sitting on the road because they couldn't stand anymore. But the place was still packed with energy, the chants still ringing high in the air. The purpose had been to make a statement- we are here, and we haven't forgotten.

Any exhaustion that had disappeared during the infectious enthusiasm of the protest quickly returned as soon as we got back to the hall. Each family had their section of the hall territorially marked out by a bedsheet they had spread on the stone floor. Yet the sheet was by no means a wall, and people interacted with each other, moving from one sheet to another. I did the same, and each 'house' that I went to was as warm and welcoming as the next. People talked to me as if I was one of their own, and that was a great feeling, knowing that you are not seen as an outsider amongst a people you want to work with. I met a few girls around my age and we talked for hours about their lives so vastly different from mine. We helped prepare some materials for the next day of protesting, and enjoyed a dinner of sabji, roti, chawal, and dal. Despite a not-so-great start to our day, it had turned out to be more than I could have hoped for. The warmth and strength of the people around me was greatly motivating, and I felt like I was a part of something amazing, something that words really can't do justice to. Words also can't describe how tired I was by 11 pm, and after a brief struggle to use the ladies bathroom shared by over a hundred women, I finally crashed - metaphorically, that is.