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Journalism of Courage
ON an overcast Sunday morning I8217;m in Dimtimkar Lane in Nagpada, central Mumbai. I8217;m on my way to spend a day with a family that lives in a building, which has been declared too dangerous to be in by the Maharashtra Housing and Area Development Authority MHADA. In the last three weeks, four old buildings in south Mumbai have collapsed, killing 18 people.
I8217;m supposed to ask for the Bootwala building8212;the one 8216;8216;supported by wooden pillars8217;8217;. The air around me smells of kebabs and roomali rotis.
Bootwala building is almost empty; the ground and second-floor occupants have left. But the Bangliwalas still occupy two flats on the first floor along with eight other families.
The staircase that leads to their flat is supported by wooden posts and there are grooves on each step. I8217;m apprehensive enough to take god8217;s name. 8216;8216;Beti, do not touch the bamboo,8217;8217; advises an elderly resident, 8216;8216;and walk slowly along the corridor.8217;8217;
Virtually the entire building is propped up by bamboo poles and bricks and, scarily, the ceiling of the first floor sags.
Forty-two-year-old Fateema Shabbir is waiting for me at the door. The walls inside are peeling and the Bohri family has covered the irregularities on the floor with a large carpet. The Bangliwalas, a joint family, have been staying in the Bootwala building since 1979. The kids are watching television while the women prepare lunch.
Nothing seems amiss, the Bangliwalas go about life as usual. But I notice that the floor I8217;m sitting on trembles every time a truck passes through the lane. Am I imagining it? 8216;8216;It8217;s not as bad as you think it is, we8217;ve prepared ourselves mentally,8217;8217; laughs Fateema, who is getting ready to celebrate daughter Zoya8217;s birthday. Fateema tells me that after the recent building collapses, her sister calls her every day from New York.
Fateema8217;s brother-in-law Mohammadi tells me that the entire family stayed up the previous night due to incessant rain and thunder. 8216;8216;We literally staged a practice drill because we thought the building was going to fall.8217;8217;
I walk gingerly around the place, right behind Fateema. It is a nerve-wracking experience and I8217;m amazed at how the building8217;s residents eat, drink and live in a place that may implode any moment. Literally, any moment.
A fire in the kitchen8212;courtesy a short circuit during the recent floods8212;has coloured the space soot black. The kids want me to come out onto the balcony. I don8217;t want to go, but they insist.
The shivers of the protruding space8212;propped up by poles and overlooking a road8212;are synchronised with any action in the lane. Too many people walking by and it trembles, too much traffic and it trembles some more.
I8217;m keen to get back into the house, but the kids point to an open ground opposite their building. 8216;8216;A structure there was demolished 25 years ago, and MHADA has still not lived up to its promise of redevelopment,8217;8217; says Mohammadi.
Back inside the house, lunch is being served. But little Ahadali is in the mood for some fun. He keeps jumping around the place and I8217;m scared he8217;ll trigger a collapse.
The conversation during lunch is about transit camps8212;temporary accommodation provided by MHADA till a new building is constructed. Pointing to the Bohri thal8212;a large, common plate, which every member of the family eats from8212;Fateema says, 8216;8216;The bigger the thal, the more people it can accommodate. Can a transit camp give us that space?8217;8217; I8217;m looking at the plastic sheets attached to the ceiling, which prevent water leakages from soiling the floor, and am caught off-guard. I mumble something positive about transit camps, even though it8217;s a big lie.
8216;8216;Every morning I wake up saying this day will also pass,8217;8217; says Fatima, as she serves me some ras malai. Post lunch, at around 4 in the evening, the Bangliwalas get ready to unwind and ask me whether I8217;d like to join in. Anything could happen in an hour, I think, and hastily take my leave.
In any case, I8217;d have been wide, wide awake.
