I’m not much of a chai person, I like my coffee. However, I do enjoy a roadside cutting once in a while.
But I was really excited when my group was asked to sip tea as a task—first, from the Trident Hotel at Nariman Point; and then from a roadside tapri at Dharavi (the world's biggest slum area).
Like all JM tasks so far, I hadn’t been to any of these places before, neither had my two teammates. So we gleefully set out on what was bound to be yet another thrilling excursion.
As soon as we reached Andheri Station at 11am, we knew that the five minutes spent in front of the mirror at JM, readying ourselves to enter a five-star hotel, were going down the drain.
11am isn’t exactly a peak hour, but this was Andheri Station after all.
As the Churchgate Fast drew into the platform, passengers began hopping off the still moving train, which is a norm. One chap lost his footing after jumping off and went crashing into another one’s suitcase.
We squeezed into the second class compartment as the duo began describing each other’s mothers and sisters.
Mothers and sisters seemed to be the hot topic in the jam-packed general compartment as we shoved our way through.
The rule of thumb in a crowded general (men’s) compartment is to not come face-to-face (read middle-to-middle) with one another while squeezing through, for obvious reasons.
A young lad who flouted the rule was in for it as he got ridiculed by a clearly testy (excuse the pun) passenger.
The compartment began to clear up after Mumbai Central and we finally got a place to sit for the last 10 minutes of the journey. Drenched in the humidity and sweat, I decided to catch some breeze at the entrance of the compartment.
After getting off at Churchgate, with our shirts clearly crumpled and soaked in sweat, we decided to walk down the breezy Marine Drive to the Trident.
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| Marine Drive (click to enlarge) |
Security was tight in the compound of the hotel, what with the Delhi High Court blast the previous day. It was then that we realized that this wasn’t the best day to visit a five-star hotel in South Mumbai which has been at the brunt of terrorist activity in the past.
We attempted to speak to a security guard who was screening the baggage outside the entrance. He was understandably apprehensive of divulging any information and asked us to speak to his duty manager. When we pressed him further, one of his colleagues came over and shooed us away.
Oh, to be a journalist!
After giving up on the security guards, we entered the main lobby of the hotel. The doorman and the concierge checked us out from head to toe and shot us condescending looks. What are these young ruffians doing here and what will Mr. Donald and Mr. Trump think?
We asked for the café and were guided to this ritzy lounge overlooking Marine Drive, flanked with comfy-looking chairs and couches. We placed ourselves by the window and were silently admiring the ambience of the place when a courtly attendant came to take our order.
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| The cafe lounge at Trident (click to enlarge) |
When all three of us ordered tea, he was kind enough to offer two teas in three cups, seeing as we were students. He asked us to have a look at the breakfast menu on display, which was priced at a cool Rs. 900. We politely declined.
As we waited for our tea to arrive, we silently observed the patrons of the café. There were businessmen dressed in trousers and sports jackets, tourists in tee-shirts and shorts, and Indian families dressed for a wedding.
Whatever the attire of the patrons, it was an atmosphere that spelled out exclusivity.
Even we tried to gel in with the crowd and picked up the International Herald Tribune (priced Rs. 30) and one of the many pink-sheeted newspapers on display.
Our tea soon arrived in what looked like expensive china. All the ingredients were separated and were to be added according to your liking and taste.
The tea was served steaming hot and had a rich aroma. We downed five cups among the three of us, which was more to finish the whole pot, knowing that each drop would cost us no less than Rs. 50! But, it was good tea, nonetheless.
The attendant then came up and asked us how the tea was. After giving him a positive feedback, we chatted with him a little.
His name was Ravi Shankar (sans the Shri Shri) and he hailed from Kerala. He revealed that he was the senior supervisor of the joint and made Rs. 40,000 per month—a respectable amount. The 52-year-old travelled from Powai every day to the Trident. He was pretty amicable to us ruffians, unlike some of the hotel’s other employees.
We asked him if we could talk to some of the other patrons of the café. He refused, saying that it would disturb their privacy.
After thanking Mr. Shankar for his hospitality, and footing a Rs. 300 bill for a pot of what was, apparently, Assam Tea, we walked over to the reception, hoping to catch someone who was willing to talk.
We were met with the same reply dished out to us by the security guards—Talk to the duty manager. This chap was nowhere to be seen.
We let ourselves out of the hotel, a little flustered with the cold, inhospitable attitude tossed at us by majority of the hotel’s employees. But we could understand their stance, which was coming from a purely precautionary motive.
We saw a Gucci store in the premises of the hotel. Hoping to find some candidness in there, we walked in.
We were greeted by a smiling, pretty, young girl whose face was covered with 15 layers of makeup. After introducing ourselves, she willingly took us around the store, describing the products and sections on display.
The store was chic and oozed with elegance and class. The products and the fashion line was swankly displayed and made you want to try something on. Some of the tee-shirts were very modish, so I checked the label for the price. It took an admirable effort on my part to prevent my jaw from dropping after reading “Rs. 15,500” on the tag.
The young store-attendant, Natasha Andrews, told us that the store was frequented by many Indians, including the crème-de-la-crème of Mumbai. Surprisingly, very few foreigners visited the store.
Ms. Andrews was a little surprised when we asked her questions about herself, and not the brand. She only revealed that she was 25 years of age and worked there as a fashion consultant. Thanking her, we promised to put in a good word about Gucci.
We left the store admiring the elite culture in South Bombay, or SoBo. It wasn’t as if we never had an idea about it. It’s just that we underestimated their affluence, which could pay for a Rs. 900 breakfast and a Rs. 15,000 tee-shirt.
After grabbing a quick lunch near Churchgate station, we headed towards Dharavi for the second leg of our task.
We were asked to find a Papadwali chawl in Dharavi and have chai from a nearby roadside stall.
On reaching the Sion-Bandra Link Road, which is on the outskirts of Dharavi, we stepped into Dharavi’s main Police Station to ask for directions. A kind, old policeman instructed us on how to reach the heart of Dharavi.
We followed his directions and soon found ourselves in one of the narrow lanes of Dharavi. We spotted another small Police Chowki and asked for specific directions to Papadwali chawl.
The policemen there told us that there wasn’t any chawl by that name. However, there were chawls where people, more specifically women, laid out papads in the sun to dry.
Assuming it was the same place, we followed their directions deeper into Dharavi.
One of the first points of difference from the first leg that struck us, other than, obviously, the surroundings, was the accommodating and cooperative attitude of the people.
From the policemen to shopkeepers to random pedestrians, everyone took a personal interest in helping us find the way. We could see that it was a genuine desire in them that wanted to help us and not any monetary motive.
We soon spotted a few papads laid out on inverted baskets in the sun to dry. We followed their trail deeper into the Dharavi until we reached the house of Mr. Anil Karpe.
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| Papads kept out to dry (click to enlarge) |
Mr. Karpe, 47, works at Omega Engineering in Andheri East and earns Rs. 7000 per month. His wife rolls out papads the whole day to make ends meet.
Mr. Karpe informed us that papad companies like Lijjat and RK supply the dough to housewives across Dharavi and collect the finished product at the end of the day. They pay Rs. 26 per kg as a standard rate across the area.
Mr. Karpe said that one kg could encompass 90 small papads and 64 big papads. Since his wife wasn’t in the house at the time, he took us across to his neighbour’s house where three women were rolling out papads.
Ambika Devi, one of the women, said she rolls out 5-7kgs of papads every day to make ends meet. The 23-year-old’s day starts at 6am every day and ends at around 11pm. After finishing the household chores by 10am, she sits making papads till 5pm and then gets back to managing the house. She is helped by her mother-in-law and her sister-in-law in making the papads and said that she earns around Rs. 200 as profit each day for her efforts.
Mrs. Devi then showed us how they used a stove to dry the papads in the monsoon when there isn’t enough sunlight.
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| Papads being dried by a stove |
After thanking Mrs. Devi, we chatted with Mr. Karpe some more. He informed us that many such households do not have a man to fend for the family. He said that many men lost their lives to alcohol, fights and the likes, and left it to the women to make ends meet. Ms. Devi’s was one such household.
We thanked Mr. Karpe for his warmth and hospitality, and left the premises with a satisfied, yet stunned, look on our faces.
As we sipped a refreshing five-rupee chai at a nearby stall to complete our task, we reflected on the number of times we had enjoyed a Lijjat papad, unaware of the arduous, monotonous, and highly unyielding labour and sacrifice that goes behind it.
The difference between a five-star chai and a five-rupee chai was almost insignificant compared to the experience of observing two extreme lifestyles in this baffling city of Mumbai.
