Current Status: Thesis. Hatch.

The pile of books around my feet, all open with notes in the margins and pens folded inside of the pages pretty much explain where my thoughts have been this December-January.

1. How Will You Measure Your Life? (Clayton Christensen)
2. I'd Rather Be in Charge (Charlotte Beers)
3. Swordfish: A true story of ambition, savagery and betrayal (David McClintick)
3. The Sicilian Mafia (Diego Gambetta)
4. Bio-degradable notebook
5. La Economia de los Paramilitares
6. Stealth of Nations (Robert Neuwirth)
7. How the Irish Became White (Ignatiev)
8. Cartel (Sylvia Longmire)
9. Gangland (Jerry Langton)
10. Illicit (Moises Naim)

I'm in every which place. But very happy. So many things to think about/read and do research for. I picked out my final class shopping schedule for Yale... and now here I am. Going through more research and theories and reaching that sweet spot in my thesis where I ACTUALLY WANT TO WRITE IT!!

I love being gloriously productive. It makes my life easier/happier :)

HATCH is... HATCHING!

Remember that women's leadership project I've been working on... forever?

Well! It's moving along. We're going to send out the class invites today so that people have some time to think about whether or not they want to take the class.

http://hatchyale.wordpress.com/ => the earliest promises of a website...

We'll see you soon!

Research in Dharavi Part II: Actual Cases

It is not hard to find women working in Dharavi. Even before we arrived in Dharavi, we met some women working as sales people in the women’s compartment of the train. One woman dropped her bin of pomegranates onto the seat beside me before going through the compartment haggling prices on the fruit. Another woman sat in the doorway vending bags of pistachios while her son played under the seats of the train. From the entrance to the main road going back towards Sion Station, women sell Chat and other snack foots and they carry baskets of fruit and roasted peanuts, selling them along the street. There were far fewer women working on the main road than the men operating snack stores, barbershops and restaurants. Women working in this street tend to be with their husbands or a male figure while they work, hardly any of them are here alone. Overall, women seemed to be far less involved with the public face of these businesses, and far more involved with the behind the scenes work. This also seems to be true given the statistics of female versus male street vendors in areas of the city like Colaba.

Once we started moving through the dark, twisting alleys in this informally planned space, we saw more women. Each little house front had clear signs of someone caring for the space: whether it was plastic flowers hanging from the doorway, curtains sewn and hung over the open door, carefully swept front steps, and clothes drying from wires outside of the home. Women sat together chatting in small candy and odds-and-ends stores in the less public parts of Dharavi. 

We ran into three older women, probably in their late 50s, sitting in a circle chatting and making brooms out of dried grass and twine. They explained to us that these are sold in bundles to stores and businesses outside of Dharavi. Just across the narrow dirt and rubble road from them was a young woman in her early 20s printing on an old fashioned printing press. While she worked, her husband sat on the floor stacking and cutting pages. She showed us how she ran a round of printing and then went back to work. The little shop sold paper, printed goods, and provided a cheap printing service for manuscripts and books. 

A third young woman, at most sixteen years old, was sewing pants with a sewing machine in the doorway of her home. She was working alone. She had a pile of finished men’s trousers beside her, and she excitedly showed us how much English she knew by pointing at various things in the room and giving us the word for it in English. Most of the women that we saw producing goods independently were working alone or with other women off the main streets. In this capacity, their work seemed to be very limited in its interaction with customers or clients.

A few industries within Dharavi are famously run and operated by women. One clear example of this is the Popadam industry in Dharavi, which is run entirely by widows. The widows work in a collective to make this kind of bread, which is then sold in restaurants all across the city. Women making and drying this bread fill one of the public spaces in Dharavi with colorful saris, kids running around between the baskets, and baskets with drying bread. Their work is limited by the weather: the process in which the bread is dried and cooked requires the round sheets of raw dough to lie on wicker baskets to dry before it is cooked, so they must find other ways to supplement their income during the monsoons. 

The traditional fish market is also an industry dominated by women. Bombay began as a Koli fishing village, and this rich history remains in the heart of Dharavi, where Koli women have sold fish for generations. Women originally inherited this job because the men would fish while the women sold it, but now, even as others have taken up the job as local fishermen, the Koli women of Dharavi continue with this tradition (see appendix A). There are 60 women who sell fish in this space, and the tradition is passed down through women in family. Once the sons in the family get married, their wives are trained and expected to sell fish in the same way the elder women do. These women go to the wholesale fish market from 4:30-5:00 am, buy fish in bulk, and then return to open their market stalls at 9 am and then again at 6 pm until the sell all of their fish. Each woman has a marked block where they sell their fish, and the stands are passed down through generations of women. While there are men selling fish in other parts of Dharavi, this market space is an integral part of Bombay and Dharavi’s shared history as a Koli fishing village. While other factors have changed, the presence of women in this part of the industry serves as an important piece of Dharavi’s economic activity.

Outside of these professions, the majority of workingwomen are drawn into a few keys industries that offer them informal “contracts.” Often they are given work in construction sites in a sort of delivery service, where women bring supplies like bags of cement back and forth between trucks delivering supplies and the construction site. Another 1.68 million women are employed as domestic labor for the middle and upper classes outside of slum areas across India.[1] Many another women are employed as low skill labor within informal garment production in Dharavi, offering help as assistants to trained tailors and finishing garments before they are sold off to western companies. These jobs often have very low entrance barriers, which is appealing for women without training in specific skill sets, but their wages were usually far under minimum wage standards and come with very low job security.[2] 

Another option for work comes from self-employment and running local, small-scale businesses that often end up employing other workers. The benefit for women who start their own businesses is that they control their own wages and have direct access to their profits. On this level, they are more likely to receive the same wages as men working in the same industry. Street vendors are some of the most visible workers in the informal economy for any part of the city, and about 40% of them are women.[3] Often, these women can run and operate their own small-scale business while competing alongside men without significant barriers to entry based on gender or skill set.

We found a one-room schoolhouse run out of someone’s first floor apartment and children poured out of the room chewing on sweets and being led out of the alley by their sisters. The kids looked ranged from ages three to six and they were taught by a young woman who looked like she was in her early 20s. One clear benefit of a community like Dharavi was that children could go through the streets in groups while their parents worked and it was safe enough that boys and girls alike did not need constant supervision beyond that provided by the community. The space and the street belongs more to these families here than the streets in middle class neighborhoods do to those families. Only when we stood in corners, watching games of cricket or cards, did groups of children gather around us, curious about what had drawn our interest, and often older women would appear and shoo them away, giving us more space. In some ways, the neighborhood helps lessen the burden on working mothers who need to care for the family as well as complete domestic work, an added benefit of living in Dharavi rather than living in other parts of Bombay.

Even the space seems to have certain expectations to it for men and women. We walked through a few “men’s spaces,” where we were the only women present. Often these spaces were filled with little boys and men of all ages playing cricket. We typically found women interacting socially by sitting in their door thresholds and chatting with their neighbors. At first, most the women looked at us cautiously, or even warily, but we grinned and said “Namaste!” to all of the women we saw along the way, and often they returned our greetings very kindly. Their presence in the social sphere was much less public than that of the men in the community. Unlike my interactions with men in other areas of the city, all of the men that we encountered in Dharavi provided us with respectful amounts of space and only communicated their curiosity about our presence in Dharavi by asking if we were lost and needed directions. Besides the typical problems workers in the informal sector face, women also face cases of sexual harassment, limited access to restrooms near their work places, and limited bargaining power in their workplace.[4]

---

[1] Geetika, 535.

[2] Ibid, 535.

[3] Ibid, 535.

[4] Mathew, 8. 

To the Women Street Vendors in Colaba

I purposely look for the women on the causeway (this is a long street in Colaba where street vendors gather to sell their wares everyday. You can find anything from the harem/"genie" pants, to wooden elephants, to henna, stamps, silver rings, metal glittery bangles, shoes, (occasionally pirated DVDs... though these are mostly in Fort, along with the roadside used Dildo stands [yep. So many reasons that is an uncomfortable and, naturally, dark alley to walk through when we walk back home from Fort])... etc.

I look for the women for several reasons. Let me get the #fairtradeshadegrownveganhipster reason out of the way first. One: Statistically, women working as street vendors in India are very likely to be the sole breadwinners for their households/families. A few of the women I've found and slowly befriended are supporting themselves and themselves alone, but as far as I can tell, a few of the others also seem to be supporting their kids. There is a lot of incentive for women to enter the informal economy because there are lower barriers to entry, women can earn the same wages as men when they are self-employed, and there is less (definitely still some... but less) gendered-based job discrimination.

I keep running into the old woman who sold me my jingling anklets. She smiles at me now and winks. It's good to see, because she is usually huddled into a corner looking a little frightened that people in the sea of legs around her might step on her or the blanket she uses to show her wares. She's tiny and wears a green sari with blue and yellow stripes, the top of it draped over her head. Her hands and feet are tiny, but she is a very effective saleswoman: She catches you looking, grins the most mischievous, charming... enchanting! smile, looks at what you pick up for a moment and then quickly picks something better, hooks it around your one ankle and then the other and perfects it. All before you notice what is going on... But here's the thing: She picks something that works for you better than you would have for yourself. Truly. And I pride myself on being a designer/very set in my fashion decisions. So this woman is clearly good at her job. She may also just know that I am not so secretly in ADORATION for her, and will seek her out to make sure she is there whenever I walk the street. For whatever reason, her face will always stay in my mind. And the music in my step (but actually). 

Two:  When you ask them for an opinion, these ladies give it to you straight. 

Which is how I run the show too, so I appreciate it. You say, ooh I like that (stamp/book/etc) and they'll say... yeah it's ok but here's a better one for the same price. Unlike the men who look at me, think HAHA GLORIOUS IT'S A DUMB WHITE CHICK and then try to sell me things at a 500% mark up (woo woo), they'll cheat me at a more reasonable level and then dont try to flirt with me when we bargain. They realize, believe it or not, I dont actually visit street stalls to flirt with/pick up men. Not really my scene. So I appreciate the interaction as business partners that I get from the women.

Three: There are less of them. They are competing with loud, aggressive, and actively seeking men who wink, call and touch you to try and get you to look on their wares. Women dont do that. As someone who wishes EVERYDAY that I could blend into the wall and walk down the street unnoticed, like I do in the US, this is golden. I see you and reward your patience. Mostly because it makes me so much more comfortable when I talk to you. It's a little overwhelming when you are uncomfortable because you are bargaining and you are trying not to be grossed out by someone making a pass at you. The number of times I've answered: No I dont know where I live/I dont want your number/erm... haha... um NO. is astounding. 

Four: They sometimes have better taste than I do. As seen by the henna print that the woman printed on my hand yesterday with wooden stamps. I started to pick my own, which she took out of my hands and replaced with her favorites. And friends, they are far better than what I was looking at.

As proof by the fact that my entire body is now covered with semi-permanent prints in gorgeous paisley henna designs. I look a little bit like an overzealous human paisley scarf, but I LOVE IT.

Because I can.

Women in Public Spaces

Apologies, I know I havent been as good at writing the last few days. We've had some adventures... Since you last heard from me in any serious matter (as in, before the brief episode that I described with the old woman and my anklets) I have visited the Chor Bazaar (the "Thieves Market." It received its name because once upon a time the royal family came to visit Bombay and Queen Victoria's violin was stolen from the ship. Eventually it was recovered in this market, where someone found someone else trying to sell it...), we walked around Bandra (one of the cooler districts) because we wanted to celebrate our friend Ada's birthday but... it was a dry day for the entire city since elections were going on. The irony. We went through the markets around Coloaba, I went through some of the alleyways near here that are rumored to have independent designers... and made some friends with women making their own designs for clothing and selling them right there (seriously cool work). And I kept working on my Dharavi project.

Something interesting: I rode in the women's compartment on the train when I went with Emilie to Dharavi tomorrow, spending the day intentionally getting lost and figuring our way out. The women's compartments are these genius spaces on the train for just women. There are less people, you dont get groped, and everyone relaxes. AND NO ONE STARES AT ME!!! Great success. I can finally blend into the wall. Only the little girls peer at me curiously. Which I can totally handle. 

I guess I never quite realized how much I love the anonymity of big cities until right now. When I can never, no matter how hard I try, blend into the walls. Even though I'm in the sun everyday here, I'm never going to catch up. So... I have to embrace feeling like a weirdo, glow in the dark pokemon kind of thing for now (thats how people look at me sometimes. It's made easier by the fact that I am wearing kurtas everyday now. But still...). We sat on the train and I took notes on what I was going to work through once we got to Dharavi, the vendors arrived. A woman dropped her crate of pomegrantes on the seat next to me, startling me from my furious scratching in my notebook and tried to sell me a pomegranate. I was tempted. They were beautiful and I would have to peel them... which meant I could eat it... but then the idea of the sticky red juice all over my kurta and my hands screamed BAD IDEA.

It's still not raining much... so I was going to be sweaty and sticky. Decided against that. 

Once we arrived at the train station we encountered our first group of little boys. Something to keep in mind: the area surrounding Dharavi is middle class and has pretty nice housing, super markets, tailors etc. Then over the train station and all over the place is the tight, twisting city space of Dharavi. So we ran into some of the boys from the middle class neighborhood, who saw us, grinned evilly and said, "Hello. Candy!" Just like that. Like, oh hey foreign girls give me candy now. 

We said "hallo" and kept walking. They kept yelling after me and then chucked a rock straight into the middle of my shoulder blades. I flinched but didnt turn around. I was not going to give them the attention that little boys around the world seem to demand. (I speak with experience: I have a charming and very outgoing little brother)

I knew they werent from Dharavi because we climbed the bridge to cross over and they dashed in front of me midway. Hands on hips. Staring up at me and I smirked back. "CANDY!" To which I replied, "Nahi" (this means no in Hindi). At that point, they let us walk past and we went straight into the wider streets of Dharavi. 

Within seconds we were surrounded by people coming in and out of the area. Some smiling, some looking at us cautiously, some grinning. We also ran into another, larger group of little boys. But they werent demanding. They smiled and laughed and asked us what our names were. I told them simply, "Diana" and a few of them chanted, "oh what a beautiful name. It is a beautiful name." 

They followed us for a while, more little boys joining in. Curiously staring at us from behind stands in the street, cars, motor bikes, and occasionally goats before they joined in. They asked us where we were from. "England?" they said, point up. (Not sure why up...) No, we told them. Emilie pointed to herself and said "France" and then to me and said "Mex-i-ko." They shrugged. Not many of them have heard of either of these countries, which was better. We dont tell people we are from America anymore because they get a strange look in their eyes. In Colaba you almost see the money signs pop up. 

I drew a mental map for myself during our wandering, but my understanding of landmarks is pretty limited. I mostly remember the color and shape of buildings, since I cant read anything on them... It was a sunday, so the streets were quitter than when we were there last. It was a much nicer experience, to be honest.

We stayed on the wide street and went right for a while before we turned into a dark alley. After a few minutes we noticed a peculiar and familiar smell. That's when we heard the noises. We were in the butchers district of Dharavi where they practice Halal. This means that the throat of the animal is slit in a particular way to allow the animal to bleed to death and purify the meat. There is a struggle while the animal knows that it is dying and usually it produces sounds that are... a bit disturbing. So, of course, Diana and Emilie, the two vegetarians of the group, walk by a chicken undergoing this kind of slaughter and we both simultaneously gasp and cover our mouths, eyes wide in horror as we see a chicken screaming while its white feathers soak up it's blood and it's wings flap wildly, flinging blood against the walls of the small space. 

Both looking a little pale, we left that area of Dharavi and quickened our pace until we found an open square filled with men and boys of all ages playing cricket. One man approached us and asked if we were lost/looking for something. We said no, and he was very gracious before he returned to his game of cricket.

SEE! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! He didnt look at me like I was a prostitute, he didnt ask me to buy anything from him, he just asked if we were lost because we were in some random square in the middle of some unknown area of Dharavi. This is why I prefer being here. They let us watch their game without a second glance, and then a new army of little boys appeared and began asking us questions until we crept down another dark alley and into another district.

A little further down from this apartment with murals, we found an open square with women working. HOORAH! This is what I was looking for! A few women were sitting in a square chatting and making brooms out of long, dried grasses and twine. We said, "Namaste" with huge smiles and they immediately smiled back and invited us to sit with them. We asked them about their work, what they were making, and they mimed answers in response. These were older, Hindi women with brightly colored Saris. Across the square we found a younger woman working at a printing press while her husband sat on the floor stacking pages. We asked her about her work and she also mimed and showed us how she was printing these pages. She smiled at us shyly and we thanked her before we kept walking. 

We continued this way through the darker alleys in the center of this district for a while. Finding young women perched into thresholds, windows, and stairways chatting with each other. The younger women looked at us warily until I smiled huge toothy grins at them and greeted them. Most of them would laugh or gasp with surprise, and say "Namaste!!" back excitedly before saying something rushed and excited to their friends. 

We walked by a school with children holding candy wrappers as they chewed on sweets. The older girls carried the smaller children, and when we pointed to the room and said "school" they nodded and stared at us wide eyed. 

We found another little girl (probably around 11 years old) working at a sewing machine in the doorway of her apartment repairing pants. When she saw us she grinned. We asked her about what she was doing, and she started pointing at things in the room and saying the words in English. "Pants." "Fish" (there was a fish tank next to her) "Machine" "Door" "Girl." It was awesome! We had fun playing with her too. 

After our first adventure with the butchers, neither of us were sure that we'd be able to handle the wander. But we slowly found our place among the women and it was far more comfortable than I imagined it could ever be. I was grateful to have Emilie with me because it is a very confusing space. There is a lot of darkness, rats the size of small kittens, and areas with a lot of sensory overload going on. Originally, I was going to be exploring and writing by myself for this project. Which in itself is super intimidating. Now I have a partner in crime and I relax a lot more. 

Our return back had us jumping into a very crowded train during rush hour. Luckily we found the women's compartment and someone behind me essentially picked me up and threw me into the crowd on the train. My inner control freak positively died, but at least I made it on the train in one piece.

I have a lot to think about now. I'll be going back and forth all week doing some interviews, observing and wandering through this crazy and wonderful place. But it has really put a few things into perspective for me. I'm sure I'll have more to say by the end of the week, but here's to my first trip nearly alone to Dharavi!