I could only tell about them, their problems

Wrapping up our field studies

We met her, almost by chance

Somebody said, she cooked for flood victims

It’s a walkable distance, another suggested

A Sunday afternoon,

Third Day of

Heat and Pollution in Mumbai

We crossed a garbage pool

And then came drains choked by plastics

Undulating pathways, cesspools greeted us

We negotiated them, also an oath from an elder ragpicker

We came to her settlement made on earth

Separated from a similar settlement by plastic, polythene and tarpaulin sheets

A lotus in bloom she was

Arms folded

She smiled

She offered us water

She told us to mind the ceiling fan

‘It is low, you might have an accident’, she said

‘Tell us a bit about yourself’

I am Lakshmi Mote

I do not believe in Hindu-Muslim divide

I am a Muslim married to a Hindu

Of my two children, one has a Hindu name, the other a Muslim one

My basti people are a smart lot, they also do not believe in such divides

We are poor, we cannot afford it

We do not have cards but does that mean we do not have a right to live

‘How she cooked food,’ we asked, ‘during those hard times’

As cooking always is

We got clean water, We got firewood, We borrowed cylinders

We got money, We got the vegetables, We cut them and We boiled rice, We had food

Somebody asked ‘any new design or technology solution

That might have helped you then’

She is pensive for a minute

Somebody else says 'our unity is enough'

She replies

People said we could put some things underground

Flood will come and go,

The things will remain; they will not be washed away

As she cooks tea for us,

Somebody tells her to narrate to us her WSF experience

She smiles, and then sighs

I notice the golden ring on her ear lobe and on her nose

She says

I went to Nairobi to tell them about us, our problems

Seeing the condition there,

I could only tell about them, their problems