back to the basti's

I went back to the bastis a couple of days ago. This time I was with a couple of other volunteers who wanted to do some interviews. We went to Atal Ayubh Nagar first. The smell was even worse this time. It was about 110 degrees, maybe hotter (45 C). This time it was not about to rain. It was unmistakable this time. Atal Ayubh Nagar is getting gassed every day. Between the first row of shacks and the factory wall is a grassy area where we found a group of children running around and playing. This close to the factory, the air was so full of the chemicals I found it difficult to stay there for more than a few minutes. At the other end of the strip, I ran into Islam, a young guy who was on the padyatra. He lives in Annu Nagar and works as an electrician with his older brother. I like him a lot, and hadn't seen him since arriving in Delhi with the padyatra. After hugging hello and asked him about this smell. He said without any hesitation that it comes from the chemicals in the factory and that the hotter it is, the more fumes are released. To describe it as a "smell" is not totally accurate. It is partly a particular scent, partly a texture. It feels like fine sand paper in my nose and throat.

We later visited Shehzadi in Blue Moon Colony and then headed to the solar evaporation ponds beyond that, which is where Union Carbide dumped tons of chemicals to just sit there. There is now just one big pond. When we arrived, a few boys were hanging out by the edge, doing something. Several cows were grazing on the grass growing around the water. Their milk will be poison.

Near the pond I ran into both Nasir Bhai and Chhote Khan, with his unmistakable, huge hennaed beard. Chhote Khan, exuberant as ever, absolutely demanded that we all follow him to his place for tea. By time time we got there and sat down on the floor, the small home was surrounded by about 50 or 60 children and some adults, all pushing to get inside and see us. Of particular interest, I think were the pale girls, especially one new blonde volunteer. I had been to Chhote Khan's once before and didn't get anything near this response. Chhote Khan was having to push the doors shut on people.

After we were bunkered down, Munni Bi, Chhote Khan's wife, complained that the city hadn't brought tank water in days, and they had all been forced to have nothing but the contaminated water. Meanwhile Chhote Khan was busy arranging sticks of wood burning under the pot of tea. When he handed them out to me and the girls, they looked at me and asked if it was safe. "Probably," was all I could say. "It's mostly milk." It was delicious. No small cup of tea could be more dangerous than refusing tea from Chhote Khan.