Hello From Hindustan: Elephant Festivals, The Lost Draw String Bag and a Visit to Slum Dog Millionaire Country

Ganpatty-The Elephant Festival

The neighborhood where I live is pretty calm. During the day, you hear the regular shrieking horns and the shrill calls of hawkers peddling their goods and services. But by night, the honking reduces to a hush, the young children scuttling to school are tucked away in bed and neighborhood dwellers have retreated to the comforts of their apartments.


One of the many Ganesh Idols Throughout Mumbai this week

A Ganesh made out of flowers near the Matunga Flower Market

That hasn’t been the case the past week. Every night, my neighborhood has turned into an outdoor street festival as Mumbai and the state of Maharashtra celebrate the Ganpati festival. Last week, a large flatbed truck was outside our hostel carrying a 10 foot wall of its speakers on its back. Behind the truck, a group of teenagers and adults danced to Punjabi pop songs. Later that night on a main street about 100 feet from my hostel, another group of festival goers danced to a drum line and threw red dye on each other. On Sunday, thousands of people congregated at my favorite park to cast off their Ganesh idols into the ocean, a custom done after 1, 5 or 10 days of the festival. Taxis were crammed with children chanting “Ganpati” and clutching Ganesh idols. Limbs dangled from small delivery trucks as the trucks plodded their way to the park in the traffic jam. The main field of the park, usually a haven for soccer and cricket players, became a makeshift parking lot for taxis and cars.


Have you ever seen a flatbed truck with a 10 foot high wall of speakers?

The festival celebrates the birthday of Lord Ganesh, the god with an elephant head and human body. The festival was a purely family affair until the 1890s, when Lokmanya Tilak, an early Indian freedom fighter, made the holiday a public affair in hopes of promoting greater unity in Indian society.

Babba’s Bag

Baba and his exclusive B'nai Jeshurun drawstring bag

All I wanted was to look at a gorge in silence for 10 minutes. I was in a sour mood after vendors trying to sell me fake minerals and Indian tourists asking me to take a photo with them as if I were their favorite Bollywood actor.

For five minutes I had the peace I wanted. I looked out onto the gorge, admiring its waterfall, and thinking about the Buddhist monks who had built the Ajanta caves next to the gorge about a thousand years ago. It was turning into one of those “Wow, I am so glad I came to India moments to study abroad.” Then Baba came.

“Hey will you come to my village? It won’t cost any money,” he said with an impish smile, and gentle, innocent voice. He was a student at a local college and was returning from getting a haircut. He lived in a village on top of the gorge about a 10 minute walk from the gorge.

“I’m fine. I need to leave soon,” I quickly responded. I shifted my eyes back to the gorge to indicate to Baba I was not interested in visiting his village.

“I promise no money involved.”

“I’m sorry I’m not interested.”

Ten minutes later, I was swimming with Baba and little kids from his village in their local swimming hole. T

“This is every traveler’s dream to go and see how locals actually live,” I thought as I walked past the shanties in Baba’s village.

Every where I walked in the village, people called me “gora”, a word for white person. Baba said I was the first white person to ever visit their village.

After a refreshing swim, Baba and I headed back to the gorge overlooking Ajanta. We spoke of how we would stay in touch and wished each other look in the future. Then Baba popped the question.

“So, we will never see each other again, do you have a gift for me?”

“No, I don’t have a gift for you.”

“But I showed you my village. Please give me a gift so I can remember you.”

“What do you want?”

“Your shoes,” he said pointing at my sandals.

I was shocked. Baba was supposed to be proof that there were strangers at Ajanta actually interested in getting to know me, that I was not just some potential customer. Swimming with the kids, walking around his village, was it a piece of rehearsed theater, or a gesture of kindness?

“No you can not have my sandals. Do you want 500 rupees?” I snapped back, annoyed with Baba’s request.

“I do not want money,” he said.

I shuffled through my bag looking for something to give to Baba. I finally settled on a draw string bag with my synagogue’s logo.

“Will this bag do?”

“Yes, thank you. I will remember you forever Gabriel,” he said.

As I walked back to the gorge, Baba put his new bag on his over his shoulders. The empty bag gently fluttered in the pleasant breeze. Baba had a new bag to show off to his fellow villagers. I had a cracked confidence and a strong desire for a cold drink to wash down the taste of confusion Babba left with me.

Village Boys cooling off

Cowabunga! I'm the fair skin blob in the background.

Dharavi-Slum Dog Millionaire Country

Dharavi is famous around the world, because it is the slum where Slum Dog Millionaire is set. Today I toured Dharavi with my advisor Smriti and the other international students and saw where 1 million of Mumbai’s residents live. It is the second largest slum in the world. Dharavi is referred to by its residents as the heart of Mumbai for a few reasons. It is situated in a prime location between the suburbs of Mahim and Sion and not terribly far from South Mumbai. Additionally, when seen from above it loosely resembles a heart shape.

There are three distinct areas of Dharavi. There is an industrial section filled with plastic factories. The owners of the plastic factories do not live in the slum. They live out in the suburbs and according to our tour guide, drive around in fancy cars and look your typical upper class Indian. The factory workers though, are migrants from the states of Gujrat, Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh who toil for 10 hours a day in factories without wearing protective gear for a hefty salary of 150 rupees (about 3 dollars). Scrap pickers pick up plastic from around the city and lug eight feet long sacks of plastic bag to the Dharavi on their heads. The plastic is then sorted, crushed and finally processed and then sold off to companies who use the material in materials such as plastic chairs and computer parts.

The second area is a commercial district with a market and the third area is residential. Some parts of the slum were wide open and comfortable. Sun flooded in, children flitted around staring at different Ganpattis in between asking us for money, and bright pastel colored apartments dotted the landscape. But in other areas, the slum was narrow and dark. If you didn’t watch your head, you would have been hit by a low hanging beam and potentially lost your way in the slum’s labyrinth.

Ajanta and Ellora Caves

I visited the Ajanta and Ellora Caves near Aurungabad a few backs. Ajanta is a series of Buddhist caves from about 1000 years ago. Ellora has Buddhist, Jain and Hindu caves.