Mother India by Tova Reich

Author:Tova Reich
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780815654544
Publisher: Syracuse University Press
Published: 2019-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

4

AND JUST AS I HAD HOPED, when the heavens caved in and the monsoon rains came crashing down at the end of June and I went to meet you at Shivaji International, I almost did not recognize you, you had slimmed down so radically. You were a stunning young woman ready to step out for all to gaze upon, any mother would have trembled with terrifying pride.

You had come to Mumbai for your summer vacation to do volunteer work in the Dharavi slum within shooting distance of the airport in which we greeted each other. Your plane had just flown low over the basti as it came in for landing, raising a mini-tsunami in the open brown sewage lakes, drowning out the sound on all the satellite TVs, the only source of light in every hovel. Dharavi had the distinction of being one of the largest slums on the planet. Community service in Dharavi was a highly coveted internship for prep school students with Ivy aspirations. There were summer camps for super-rich kids that for a fee exceeding the lifetime earnings of many slum dwellers put together offered two weeks in Dharavi sorting through the mountains of garbage scavenging for recyclables. But you were the real thing, any good admissions official could spot that in an instant. You had competed through the regular channels for the internship offered by a local nonprofit called Slum Power, you had no legacy, no affirmative action, no special protectzia, and you were chosen. It would look really great on your college application in three or four years’ time.

The next morning before eight, two strangers showed up at our door wearing jeans and bright orange T-shirts inscribed with the words, Slum Power, NGO¡—the exclamation point upside down, blooming into a raised clenched fist like a mushroom cloud. The subtext of this early-morning visit was that jetlag is an indulgence of the rich and pampered, the starving children of India can’t wait. They had come to fetch you, to take you to Dharavi for your first day—“To orient you,” as the young man explained, “since we are in the Orient,” he added in excellent English with an appealing smile that showed off a keyboard of strong white teeth in his dark handsome face. His name was Samir, Samir Khan, a Muslim, “But you can call me Sammy, mama,” he offered obligingly. His silent partner was Sita, a Hindu; Sammy was the designated talker at this party, it seemed. Slum Power was committed to diversity, Sammy said with a nod to Sita who was also smiling in such a professionally friendly way. “Multi-culti, yes?” he elaborated, shaking his head in that endearing Indian way from side to side. Yes, I agreed, and now they would be diversifying even further with you, I reflected, their token Jewess.

Sammy and Sita were codirectors of Slum Power’s internship program, he told me. They were in their early twenties by my estimation. They had come to show you how to travel safely

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