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Ashwin Advani

AIF Clinton Fellow, Class of 2014-2015

By AIF

March 25^th, 2015

Film, photos, and text by Ilana Millner | Media Fellow, Class of 2014-2015

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Ashwin Advani

On a Wednesday morning in early March the men’s second-class compartment of a south-bound Mumbai local train is uncharacteristically empty; its passengers sit or stand with limbs hung loose, each man allowing himself the liberty of slight shifts into vacant space as the train rattles along at a fast clip. Ashwin Advani holds an overhead handle and stares out through the open door, watching the kaleidoscopic landscape tumble into itself—the seaside bungalows of Bandra into the opaque river of sewage into the ever-skyward creep of high-rises.

He tenses slightly as the train nears Mahim; moving towards the door, he grips the overhead handle a bit tighter with one hand, as he does his backpack strap with the other. When the train slows to a near stop, he jumps lightly onto the platform, hopping forward a few quick paces before returning to his normal gait. Other commuters fill the space he’s left, each man a dancer in an endless urban do-si-do.

Exiting the station, Ashwin deftly navigates through the typical roadblocks of the typical street: a pineapplewala selling fresh sliced fruit covered in a masala powder; a sandwichwala pressing pickled beets into soft, buttered bread; three older women climbing the stars in an impenetrable row, forcing those behind them to slow down in frustration. Ashwin crosses the overpass above the train tracks, descends the stairs, and continues to weave his way through the well-shaded street. The apartment blocks are of standard geometry, but on the ground level the scenery has begun to shift. He is now in Dharavi.

Nearing his destination, Ashwin squeezes between an idle taxi and a man pushing a large cart piled high with long metal pipes. He steps across a puddle, then around a shrinking pile of gravel and the women who are scooping it into large pans. The sun bears down more intensely now, and the dust in the air has thickened. Ashwin finds himself moving upstream through a current of uniformed schoolchildren, and then finally turns left into the pale pink complex of chhota (little) Sion hospital.

Dharavi.

SNEHA

There, on the third floor, is SNEHA, the Society for Nutrition, Education, and Health Action, where Ashwin is currently serving as a second-year AIF Clinton Fellow. SNEHA is a secular, Mumbai-based non-profit organization, which addresses four areas within the greater field of public health: maternal and newborn health, child health and nutrition, sexual and reproductive health, and prevention of violence against women and children. SNEHA describes its approach as two-pronged: “we work at the community level to empower women and informal urban communities to be catalysts of change in their own right, and also collaborate with existing public health systems and health care providers to create sustainable improvements in urban health.”

A mother and child stand next to a large pottery kiln.

Ashwin, a Boston native, earned his BA in International Affairs (concentrations in global public health, and conflict and security) from George Washington University’s Elliott School of International Affairs in Washington D.C. Although he continued to harbor a strong interest in the field of public health after graduation, he set that aside to pursue a successful, five-year career in management consulting. However, the further away he got from the course work that had inspired him as an undergraduate, the more dissatisfied he became. Looking to return to his original interests, Ashwin left his job, applied for his OCI [Overseas Citizen of India] card, and moved to India in December 2012. He connected with AIF’s office in Delhi and spent three months there as a paid intern; along the way, he decided to apply for the Fellowship. “And,” he says, “that was that.”

There is, perhaps, no better place than SNEHA for Ashwin to gain the kind of exposure and experience that he was searching for. Founded in 1999 by Dr. Armida Fernandez, a respected neonatologist at the Lokmaniya Tilak Municipal General Hospital (locally known as LTMG or Sion Hospital), SNEHA is renowned for its innovative efforts to serve some of Mumbai’s most vulnerable populations. Dr. Nayreen Daruwalla, Ashwin’s mentor and the director of SNEHA’s Program for Prevention of Violence Against Women and Children (PVWC), explains Dr. Fernandez’s motivations for founding SNEHA:

“In all of [Dr. Fernandez’s] work for thirty years, she came across many women and many children who came to the hospital with all kinds of medical problems. For example, problems like when women delivered, they delivered low-birth weight babies or stillborn babies; and when the women were questioned about care and support, they often disclosed that they had no support from anyone at home. The medicine part of the whole intervention was served very well, but what happens when the woman goes back to the same home environment, where she’s beaten up, she has no support? That is how [Dr. Fernandez] and her colleagues in the neonatology department decided to start an NGO.”

Ashwin (Right) chats with his mentor, Dr. Nayreen Daruwalla (Left) at the Dharavi Biennale's Colour Box installation.

SNEHA’s geographic reach is extensive, and its scope ambitious. The organization operates in many communities across Greater Mumbai (Dharavi, Ghatkopar, Kandivali, M/E Weard, Santa Cruz) and beyond (Kalyan Dombivali, Mira Bhayander, Thane). As Ashwin puts it, SNEHA has a “very good reputation for good interventions in tough environments.” It has earned the respect of those within the larger public health and international development communities in no small part due to its impressive emphasis on research projects that critically evaluate the function and impact of its programs, and illuminate issues within the community.

The list of services that SNEHA provides is long; it has established twenty-nine antenatal care clinics within government health posts; it performs monthly screenings of acutely malnourished children in Dharavi, provides Medical Nutrition Therapy when appropriate, provides regular home-based care, and counsels mothers of malnourished children. It also provides health and life skills education, vocational training, and mentoring and counseling services to adolescents and youth, in addition to education on family planning methods for men and women.

Amongst its most lauded initiatives is its Maternity Care program. In addition to establishing emergency obstetric referral protocols, the Maternity Care program also facilitates coordination of services and management of cases amongst the various facilities involved. “We are looking at upgrading medical services and upgrading tertiary care at peripheral hospitals to provide immediate help to a pregnant woman,” says Dr. Daruwalla.

Ashwin Advani

While SNEHA has many important initiatives, Ashwin spends most of his time with the Prevention of Violence Against Women and Children (PVWC) program, where he works closely with his mentor, Dr. Daruwalla. Dr. Daruwalla holds a Masters in Clinical Psychology and a Doctorate in Social Psychology, and was recruited by Dr. Fernandez to establish and nurture the PVWC program in the very early days of SNEHA. As Dr. Daruwalla explains, the program began with providing counseling services for women facing violence, but evolved over the years to encompass and emphasize the important dimension of prevention.

Today, the PVWC program provides crisis intervention and counseling, and helps women to access legal and pre-litigation services, medical help, and shelter. It also engages in community outreach and public awareness campaigns about gender-based violence, and collaborates with public systems (police, health, and legal) to ensure that women are able to both access and effectively utilize beneficial public services. Finally, it engages in advocacy at local, city, state, and national levels, for acts and laws related to violence against women and children.

A doctor treats her pregnant patient at a clinic in Dharavi.

Creative engagement

In addition to serving the community of Dharavi, SNEHA also works to challenge the public’s typically negative perception of the urban informal settlement. One such effort recently made international mainstream news: SNEHA’s incredible, second-annual Alley Galli Biennale (more commonly referred to as the Dharavi Biennale), a social engagement project and public art exhibition that was conceived of by Dr. Daruwalla and Dr. David Osrin (University College of London, Wellcome Trust).

Ashwin, who volunteered with the Biennale, describes it as a project that examines the “convergence of health and art.” The Biennale brings together both local and outside artists, mentors, and curators to work on community-based, collaborative art projects that incorporate educational discussions on topics of health. Furthermore, it invites the general public into the community to view the art in the spaces it was made, and to meet the people who are making it.

Women rehearse backstage before their performance at the Dharavi Biennale.

The audience cheers for the women on stage at a Dharavi Biennale performance.

Artist Shilo Shiv Suleman and the mural she created with local women and girls for the Dharavi Biennale.

Young critics read the Biennale's community-illustrated — Young critics read the Biennale's community-illustrated "Comics Epidemic," a comic anthology curated by Chaitanya Modak.

For the Biennale, women from Dharavi sewed a quilt mapping instances of domestic violence in the community.

An installation of painted pots connected by thread, inspired by discussions about sexually transmitted diseases.

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Women attend a workshop on the subject of spatial and emotional boundaries, led by mentor artist Shilo Shiv Suleman.

complex context

In order to understand SNEHA’s mission and operations, it is essential that one grapple with the spaces it works in—the most famous (or infamous) of which is Dharavi. Held up internationally as the casual standard for all slums, Dharavi has taken on the mythical quality of a name without a place; a floating stand-in for all spaces that fit the basic typology of an urban informal settlement.

There is no definitive definition of a “slum;” no two slums are the same, and there are no two identical households within them. The most widely used (and appropriately broad) definition comes from UN-HABITAT, which describes a slum as:

“a group of individuals living under the same roof in an urban area who lack one or more of the following:
1. Durable housing of a permanent nature that protects against extreme climate conditions.
2. Sufficient living space, which means not more than three people sharing the same room.
3. Easy access to safe water in sufficient amounts at an affordable price.
4. Access to adequate sanitation in the form of a private or public toilet shared by a reasonable number of people.
5. Security of tenure that prevents forced evictions.”

According to the 2011 National Census, almost forty-two percent of the people in Mumbai live in slums. Of the 28.3 lakh (2,830,000) total households in Greater Mumbai, 11.36 lakh (1,136,000) are slum households, and another 15,274 are “houseless households,” meaning households that live in the open or on the roadside, under fly-overs, on railway platforms, etc. (source: Praja.org)

A housing block in Dharavi.

A second-floor stitching workshop in Kala Qila, Dharavi.

Men gather on the street to watch a Dharavi Biennale mural installation in Kala Qila, Dharavi.

While many houses within Dharavi fit UN-HABITAT’s loose definition of slum dwellings, still others defy the definition altogether. Written about and studied extensively, Dharavi is an expansive, bustling community with many intimacies and intricacies. Spread over approximately 530 acres, estimates of Dharavi’s population size have varied widely, with news articles claiming numbers from the hundreds of thousands to the millions. The most recent official data from the 2011 National Census enumerates the population of G/N Ward—the municipal ward in which Dharavi is located—as 599,039, but does not provide the specific population of Dhavari.

Adding to Dharavi’s complexity is its advantageous location and its status as a commercial powerhouse. Wedged between the Mahim, Sion, and Matunga local railway stations, Dharavi is easily accessible for anyone looking to purchase the pottery, leather, or recycled plastics that the community produces. Perhaps more importantly, Dharavi’s residents are able to leave and enter the community with relative ease and for relatively affordable prices. The cost of a second-class train fare averages around ten rupees (INR), or fifteen cents (USD). This is a significant factor when considering resident’s ability to access jobs and goods in various parts of the city.

The train tracks at Mahim station mark the geographic boundary between Dharavi (left) and Mahim (right).

Laden with the context of innumerous articles, papers, movies, and rumors, Dharavi is both itself, and not itself. It is often spoken of as one homogenous block, but in fact it is a conglomeration of communities. It is important to understand the community as a whole, but even more so, as its parts: each galli (alley), each home, and each resident. Navigating this space presents the possibility for many discomforts, as well as many pleasures:

On a physical level, there are gallis that are beautifully shaded by old-growth trees; they’re well swept, and great financial investment has been made in the construction and upkeep of single and multiple-family homes. There are open, shared community spaces where children play games, women leave papad out in the sun to dry, and wedding celebrations are held.

Ashwin Advani

Ashwin Advani

Clothing manufacturers pose in their shop in Kala Qila, Dharavi.

Ashwin Advani

A lane in Dharavi.

Dharavi is generally referred to in negative terms, but there are, in fact, many beautiful spaces hidden within it.

In contrast, there are also narrow gallis with channels of open sewage, still water, and hardly any lighting. These conditions are exacerbated during the sweltering summer months, and the monsoon brings a dangerous element of flooding and sewage spillover. Pottery kilns disgorge roiling clouds of black smoke, and particulate matter hangs heavily in the air, waiting for beleaguered lungs to receive it. People live closely with animals—goats stand idly in lanes, tied by rope to posts outside shops, chickens lose feathers in massive stacks of coops, and butchers carry out their trade in open storefronts.

Houses of various shapes and materials line Dharavi's 60 Feet Road.

A woman stands next to giant pottery kilns in the Kumbharwada neighborhood of Dharavi.

Ashwin Advani

A polluted canal full of sewage and waste material, near Mahim station and chhota Sion hospital.

In galli after galli, languages from across the country float out from behind curtains and weave their way through the tangled trellises of wires overhead. Residents face issues of sanitation, public health, and access to water—among many others—and simultaneously enjoy the benefits of the complex communities they inhabit. Many families are upwardly mobile, some even middle-class, some with major investments in their spaces and livelihoods. Others are barely surviving; eking out a living as manual laborers without steady income.

Ashwin Advani

Community backing

Maintaining a healthy relationship with this complex community is critical to the PVWC program’s ability to effectively provide services in Dharavi. SNEHA now has about one-hundred sixty resident community workers known as sanginis —a Hindi or Marathi term of endearment meaning [female] “friend” or “companion”—working with the PVWC program; however, Dr. Daruwalla recalls how difficult it was to even imagine this kind of community backing when SNEHA first started. She says that even if women encountered violence directly, they were often resistant to forming groups around the subject of gender-based violence.

SNEHA’s approach to community engagement evolved through many years of effort; Dr. Daruwalla says that the PVWC team was able to make breakthroughs in community dialogue once they began to consult the community on other day-to-day issues they were facing, such as sanitation, garbage, and water connections. Violence, approached indirectly, eventually came up as just another daily concern. Dr. Daruwalla sees this as a simple but critical lesson for anyone working in the field: “[U]nless you listen to what the community says, you cannot bring about any social change.”

Ashwin Advani

Occasionally, major traumatic events within the community have also prompted action. For example, Dr. Daruwalla cites an incident in 2003, in which a local woman was burned and murdered by her husband in the apartment that they shared. As Dr. Daruwalla recalls, women living in the same building saw smoke, broke down the door of the couple’s apartment, and found the woman’s corpse. The women called the police, but the police failed to arrive quickly. “So [the women] actually carried the body,” says Dr. Daruwalla, “and they went to Dharavi Police Station; they put the body there, they jammed both the doors, and they said, ‘We are not going to do anything unless you find this husband who has done this to the woman, and unless you take some steps.”

Following this incident, the PVWC program reached out to the women in the community who were finally ready to push for change. “We were very clear that the solution—the plausible solution will come from you. We cannot give the solution,” says Dr. Daruwalla, “but we can support you in terms of giving you knowledge, in terms of giving you networks, in terms of backing you up and giving you support; that works.”

Ashwin Advani

Engaging residents is the just first step for SNEHA in establishing an effective professional and community support network; in order to achieve their goals, the PVWC team must also engage the organizations and officials responsible for providing myriad other public services that the community has the right to access. “Because we have a mandate, we don’t want to create parallel systems,” says Dr. Daruwalla, “and we believe that the public systems inherently have very good systems.” However, Dr. Daruwalla says that many service providers within these public systems excuse themselves from addressing issues of violence when they see them, claiming that they are not trained or equipped to handle it. “To us, it is not about training,” says Dr. Daruwalla, “it is more about recognizing and acknowledging that you are a service provider, and as a service provider you need to understand gender-based violence, and need to see it as a public health concern.[…] You cannot ignore when a woman comes and shows signs of violence, or talks to you and wants help.”

Ashwin Advani

The Little Sister project

Ashwin is modest about his contributions to the PVWC program, but the long-term work that he has done to nurture the development of SNEHA’s Little Sister pilot project has been critical to its successful launch. As Ashwin explains, the Little Sister project explores how mobile technology can be used to crowdsource information about the prevalence of domestic violence in Dharavi.

Although the latest National Family Health Survey (NFHS-3, 2005-2006) concluded that 28% of ever-married urban women aged 15-49 years had experienced physical violence in the past year, many experts believe that incidents are vastly underreported due to the secrecy and social taboos surrounding issues of domestic violence. This is illustrated in the fourteen-percentage-point gap between the following statistics from NFHS-3: while the survey concluded that the lifetime prevalence of violence against ever-married women in Mumbai’s slums was 23%, over shorter recall periods, 37% of women in Mumbai’s slums reported violence in the preceding year.

Because accurate reporting and data analysis can lead to better interventions, SNEHA seeks to capitalize on its already substantial network and begin collating both the existing information about Intimate Partner Violence (IPV) that comes in through its Crisis Counseling Center, and the information that sanginis collect through conversations in the field. “[W]e started the project about a year ago and I was involved from the beginning,” says Ashwin. “We were given a proposal that was approved by UNDP, and we took it forward with figuring out how we wanted to tackle the project; from what sort of technology partners we wanted, to what we wanted to do with smart phone and non-smart phone technology, in terms of features: data collection, response coordination, and so on.”

Ashwin Advani

“And so I started from that early stage, just helping putting the project together, figuring out what we wanted to do, and then choosing partners. We actually figured we could create our own data collection tool on our own using Open Data Kit, which is a platform I used to essentially design mobile surveys to register cases of violence. We found technical partners to use an alert system, and from that point on I helped manage the project from an operations standpoint—helping create training materials, purchasing smart phones for sanginis, running training sessions, and so on.

I was, on one hand, helping to manage the project along with the actual project coordinator, Koushiki Banerjee, but I was also helping to figure out the high level strategy. I was an intermediary between the people who ideated the project—Nayreen and David—as well as helping with the day-to-day management of the project. Now, most of my role is strategic; figuring out how to move the project forward in year two, year three, and see how we can integrate our technologies.”

Ashwin Advani

Ashwin Advani

Ashwin Advani

Ashwin Advani

Ashwin Advani

One way that Ashwin has helped to ensure the continued operation of the project is through his contributions as an author and collaborator on SNEHA’s various funding proposals, such as that for the Vodafone Mobile for Good awards, which SNEHA won in December 2014. That award for twelve lakhs is specifically dedicated to the Little Sister project, and represents a significant financial contribution to an endeavor that Ashwin has so patiently nurtured over the course of his time at SNEHA.

Dr. Daruwalla is quick to emphasize the value of Ashwin’s dedication: “[Ashwin] has been pushing things in a very patient and diligent way, on how things should be going on the Little Sister project, which is a pilot project and now we’re upscaling it. So it has been of immense help to have him on board to help all of us think through and write up things, and do our work better.”
Ashwin is similarly grateful to be involved in a project that capitalized on his strengths, as well as inspired him to acquire new skills and explore new fields: “What was new to me was learning about the mobile technology space, what was out there, and using it for a pretty unique purpose, which is not only collecting information, but also using that information within the system to help our field workers respond to cases of violence.”

Ashwin Advani

Finding a Rhythm

Ashwin’s ability to remain steadfast and calm also serves him well outside the office in the rush and tumble of the megacity on the sea. Mumbai is a cubist portrait of modern India: the fractal-faced beauty, the prolific polygon. Dharavi is an essential part of this body, as are the many other neighborhoods and the over eighteen million people that make up Greater Mumbai. Just as one must understand Dharavi in order to understand SNEHA’s work, one must also understand Mumbai in order to understand Ashwin’s experience as a Fellow.

A sunset view of the Bandra-Worli Sea Link.

Reflecting on the almost two years that he’s lived in the city, Ashwin says: “I’d come to Mumbai before; I have family here, my dad was born in Mumbai, and I didn’t expect, honestly, when I joined the Fellowship last year, to be placed in Mumbai. But it’s a city I’ve come to love. […] In addition to Boston and Washington DC, I see Mumbai as a home. It’s a very massive city, it’s the ‘maximum city,’ there’s a lot going on. People find it very hectic—it’s a term often used here. As I see it, there’s craziness in the city, there’s tons of people, tons of noises, and traffic, and crowds, but it’s also a place that’s very easygoing if you want it to be. You can either join that mad rush, or you can just find your own way, go at your own pace.”

A view of The Imperial, a twin-tower, residential skyscraper complex in Tardeo. The towers are the tallest in India.

A public park near the Mumbai Central train station.

Mumbai's Mangaldas Market is famous for its endless rows of fabric shops.

An informal settlement in Shivaji Nagar, Govandi, near the Deonar dumping ground.

Finding this personal rhythm and establishing a balance among worlds in Mumbai is a difficult, continuous process. Ashwin, like many, moves between spaces of extreme contrast every day; from Bandra—the quiet, palm-tree shaded, upscale neighborhood where he lives—to Dharavi, and back again. This mental whiplash is something he is constantly grappling with. “Every day is like something different; some days I’m in my own world when I’m in the office—I go to the office like a very everyday sort of thing. Other days, things catch me by surprise; whether it‘s the pollution, whether it’s another story [of violence]—you never know when something’s going to affect you. Sometimes you’re in a rhythm, sometimes you’re completely off.”

Ashwin says that he often asks the SNEHA counselors about this: “I mean, they are dealing with these women, and these issues, and these stories [of domestic violence] every day, all day; and then they go home to their regular lives, and still maintain positive attitudes. Maybe they‘re desensitized at this point because they deal with so much of it, but I ask them: do they have an on/off switch?”

This question is one of many that arise for those working on issues of social justice, development, and violence: where do I belong in this space? As an outsider, how am I impacting this space? Are my contributions positive or negative? If I see poverty and violence during the day, how can I forget about it at night and go on with my “normal” life? Should I let myself forget about it at night? These questions are all rooted in an acknowledgment of privilege, and rarely have definitive answers. For some, posing these questions to oneself can lead to a sense of moral—and even physical—paralysis.

Bandra station.

A pragmatic (if sometimes unconscious) way of handling these questions and related anxieties is to compartmentalize. “Even when you’re in the office you can get really detached from [the issues],” says Ashwin. “[T]he actual content of the work often doesn’t involve these issues. The content of the work is just running a program and running a project; thinking about funding, thinking about managing a project better.” Ashwin recognizes the value of detachment as a coping mechanism, but it also weighs on his conscience.

Regarding the conditions he observes in Dharavi, Ashwin says: “at times it can be frustrating, and at other times you just take it as it is what it is. There are things you can change and things you can’t change; whether it’s certain luxuries that you may have at home, or in your office, or in the community.” Ashwin says that for some outsiders, visiting Dharavi can be very jarring, while for others, it is simply the opportunity to see something new. “And for us, it’s the same I think. It can be both. You accept it, but you don’t accept it.”

A woman enters a galli next to a barber shop in Dharavi.

leading by example

Asked about his decision to stay with the Fellowship and SNEHA for a second year, Ashwin says that it was primarily due to his respect and admiration for Dr. Daruwalla. In Ashwin’s own words, he is “profoundly motivated by and extremely interested in” not only the program’s work, but also in Dr. Daruwalla’s leadership style. “There are so many instances where you see her commitment to the community; commitment to where she came from as a social psychologist and as a counselor—and that translated and stayed with her even as a director of the program,” says Ashwin.

“We’ll be in day-long meetings where we’re talking about planning for the program, very large proposals, very important proposals, strategic visions for the next few years of the program, and this office is also a counseling center, so it can get pretty crazy—people can be yelling, arguing, crying, all of that. And in certain cases, [Dr. Daruwalla’s] old clients still come to the counseling center and she’ll have to get involved during a loud disagreement—and she can still calm people down. She still has that respect in the community, and she’s not afraid to still do that and then jump right back into these long meetings.

And it takes a lot, I imagine, to be in one mentality of management, but also to deal with these day-to-day issues that are very difficult—difficult is probably not a strong enough characterization of the problems that people who come to the counseling center go through on a regular basis. […] You constantly hear a lot of these cases; about violence, abuse, sexual assault, financial exploitation, and even death. [Dr. Daruwalla’s] always having counselors come into her office and ask her opinion on how to handle certain cases and clients, and she’s always willing to do that. And that’s always been her priority: helping these people.”

Ashwin (right) and his mentor, Dr. Nayreen Daruwalla (left) in her office at SNEHA.

“As a mentor, she’s always encouraging you to do more and to take on more,” says Ashwin. “And me, personally, not that I’m not confident in my abilities, but she has always wanted my opinion on all strategic issues for our program, and operations for our program, and it feels great to feel valued […].” An example that Ashwin cites comes from his recent work analyzing and presenting both qualitative and quantitative data about clients’ experiences and the help SNEHA provides, all collected through the counseling center. In order to complete the analysis, Ashwin underwent a crash course in STATA (a general data analysis and statistics software), and at times found himself feeling overwhelmed “[Dr. Daruwalla] would see me getting stressed out because I was doing something for the first time,” he says, “and she just had this unflinching confidence in me that I was able to do it.”

Dr. Daruwalla readily extols Ashwin’s work: “I think Ashwin‘s role has been very, very interesting, in the point that he gives a different perspective than people within the organization; also, because he comes as an outsider. […] I like his perspectives because they’re neutral, they are not emotional, they kind of come with a third eye perspective; a person who comes in and who sees things happening here. He has been a great help to me, especially to me, because I think he’s like a sounding board to me, and I keep telling him my problems and he helps me think through those problems. And I value that a lot, because you do need a sounding board, and you do need someone whom you can confide in, and whom you can talk to about how you feel or how you think in an organization. So, his role has been very instrumental. And I’m very thankful to the American India Foundation for giving Ashwin to us, because otherwise we wouldn’t have done this. It definitely does help.”

An illuminated evening vegetable market near 60 Feet Road in Dharavi.

Moving parts

Reflecting his time with AIF and SNEHA, Ashwin says: “the experience in general—having the ability to be a part of a good team with a great boss and work with great people has reinvigorated my desire to work, in general; whether it’s in this space, or public health, or even not something to do with the social space, I just know that I can handle a lot more, and that there was a good experience just from a Fellowship point of view. I’ve obviously worked in a pretty—I wouldn’t say tough place—but a place that has a lot of moving parts, and might not be for everybody. […] When I think of the future, I feel no matter what I do—and I don’t know what I’ll do—but I’ll be more comfortable adapting to whatever situation I can. And, I have a better sense of what I bring to the table.”

The sky cracks open at dusk, and the pale pink yolk of the sun runs across the horizon in blazing color. Ashwin says goodbye to his colleagues at SNEHA, exits chhota Sion hospital, and joins the crowd of commuters crossing back over the train tracks to Mahim station. Life flows around him: currents of violence and kindness and prosperity and deprivation—the entirety of the human experience contained in each one of the men and women who bump and jostle on his walk to the train platform. Ashwin keeps these small annoyances in perspective, choosing to shrug them off; instead of fighting the flow of the city, he lets it carry him forward, exploring, learning, questioning, and adapting as he goes.

Commuters cross from Dharavi to Mahim, where many will board a Mumbai local train at Mahim station.

Write your story here. (Optional)

A woman strikes a power pose during a community performance for SNEHA's 2015 Alley Galli Biennale.

Footnotes

Film, photos, and text by Ilana Millner | Media Fellow, Class of 2014-2015. © Ilana Millner for the American India Foundation.

FootNotes

Film, photos, and text by Ilana Millner | Media Fellow, Class of 2014-2015. © Ilana Millner for the American India Foundation.

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