Doctor or Urdu Teacher?

The mind struggled with what the eye saw. Or the immersion was too abrupt.

Just a 30-minute ride had brought together two worlds. My world, nestled in a gated high rise, was celebrating the new high of the stock indices. Sangam Nagar had different headlines.

A slum, barely a few kilometers from the high rises of Worli and Wadala, Sangam Nagar, is perhaps poorer than most other slums in Mumbai. This is one of the places where migrant laborers make their first homes in the city of glitter and hope called Mumbai.

As we go deeper into Sangam Nagar, the multi-story shanties give way to single-story shanties. Roads become narrower. Distance from civic facilities like schools, and dispensaries increases. The buzzing markets near the entrances give way to sporadic shops that sell daily essentials or promise 'immediate money transfers'.

Narrow passages combine two essential services. Multi-colored plastic pipes carry water to those homes that can afford to pay for the pipes (and monthly charges). As we walk on these pipes, I am told that water is a precious commodity that gets traded by those who have the piped connections. I am in no mood to converse as I struggle to avoid falling into the dirty water that provides the second essential service of drainage. It is a constant companion in the street.

Water is not always scarce. In monsoons, it becomes abundant. But, it is not the bounty that one wishes for. Given that Sangam Nagar abuts a "bay", the seawater surges in and can rise to 3/4 feet in the narrow streets. The mind goes numb as it thinks of the consequences for the inhabitants trying to raise families in the 80-100 sft shanties.

Sangam Nagar is not all despair. Life thrives. Small shops promise "instant money transfers" to send money to families left behind in distant homes from where residents migrated. Small sewing factories churn dresses for the local trade market. Every third or fourth shop combines selling groceries, prepaid SIM cards, and mobile top-up vouchers. Young kids with their laughs and shrieks run around as carefree as they can be.

I am accompanying a volunteer from Sneha (https://www.snehamumbai.org/). Sneha works with communities and extremely dedicated people from government bodies (Aanganwadis) to decrease health inequalities for the vulnerable, particularly women and children.

After the customary overview presentation about Sneha, we step into the streets to meet some people impacted by them.

Nagma, 32, hailing from a small town in Uttar Pradesh, married very young and moved to Mumbai where her husband works as a laborer in the docks. She augments her income by sticking shiny gotas (sparkles) on dupattas (scarves). We speak about how Sneha has convinced her family of the virtues of vaccinating her children.

Her pride is uplifting as she introduces her 15 and 13-year-old daughters who go to a nearby school. The elder one comes under a withering look for not being studious. The younger daughter seems to be the "scholar" in the family. The quiet, dignified Nagma is puffed up as she speaks of her daughter's scholastic achievements.

I turn to the younger daughter and ask, "So, what do you dream of becoming?"

She immediately responds, "Doctor."

The mother chimes in, "I have been telling her to learn Urdu and become an Urdu teacher. She is so capable!"