looking back-
from PWWF to WSF and beyond. . . Part II | by Nicole Jaquis - February 24, 2004 |

It is amazing when the things you are learning begin to truly present themselves as real life examples, especially when quite some time passes before you begin to take notice. The World Social Forum carries messages of anti-globalization; in Mumbai the superficial impact of the large contingent of musical Adivasi and Dalit activists, making their rounds on main street Nesco Grounds, created enough distraction for any spectator to lose sight of the issues. Watching them parade repeatedly past in forward-moving circles, one could stand in awe for hours, lost in the illusionary resemblance of being backstage in a theater. Their traditional attire looked like exotic costumes to anyone seeing them for the first time. This fantasy world allowed my mind to wander and eventually wonder if there may still exist a vast population, who has not yet been affected by the creeping infiltration of negative globalization coming from the west, specifically American influenced WTO and IMF.

Yes perhaps those people still exist, (although quickly diminishing in numbers) ones who have not yet eaten a veg-burger from McDonald’s or a 300 rupee pie from Pizza Hut, must less thought about buying mineral water bottled by Pepsi-Co. Still one has to be reminded that the presence of those visible signs of Globalization is not the only mark of the actual launch of its harness. However the mere fact that the WSF was held in Mumbai, a cosmopolitan city with drastic contrasts between those forced to live in slums and the wealthy, elite, minority who have most likely spent time abroad in places like NYC and London, is an example in contradiction; demonstrating how two worlds can live simultaneously side-by-side and virtually never interact must less impact each other with their individual ideals.

To reach one of the flats in which we stayed during the Forum, we had to traverse through a fishermen’s slum. I remember our first late night drive home, wondering where the hell this guy is leading us, giving me directions over the phone, “turn left, go straight several blocks, see that sign? Ok now turn right.” Once past several rows of tightly packed shacks, we entered through a security gate into an enclosed parking lot full of shiny (no doubt expensive) cars. Our friend lived high enough above the slums to have a view of the ocean. Only by leaning over the railing of his balcony windows could one actually see his neighbors’ lifestyle. I am certain from below one could also see the marble balconies looming over them. The question is, do either of them ever truly care to wonder about how the other half lives?

Several weeks after the Forum we re-visited the village of Arail, just across the Jumna River from Allahabad. An ancient Hindu pilgrimage landmark, famous for the confluence of three rivers (and Goddesses) Ganga, Jumna, and Saraswati. It has been three years since Projectile Arts brought over 20 young artists to live and work there during the first Maha Kumbh Mela of the millennium. It was obvious to me, having lived at Adi Veni (the house we helped renovate) for four months during 2001, that the inspirational energy of the Mela has continued to flow through the residents of Arail. Additions to many of the homes and a new main road have been completed. Plots of land have been set aside for farming, with crops now beginning to sprout, and a new bridge is under construction that will give the residents direct access to the city of Allahabad. On the surface they seem to be really prospering. However as one walks up the road from the beach towards the houses, one can’t help but notice the new billboard on the wall of Felahri Baba Ashram, that reads “Your dream house awaits! Sahara City Homes, realizing the dream of the common man. Coming soon”. I first wondered how the villagers feel reading that sign, if it made them question the quality of their own existence. Then I realized that sign is in English and most of the residents of Arail only read Hindi.

One afternoon I accompanied Damodar, the eldest and now married son at Adi Veni, on a motorcycle ride two kilometers to the Sahara City Homes real estate office. We were welcomed by a security guard, who promptly led us into an air-conditioned trailer reminiscent of the construction site trailers I saw regularly sprouting up throughout West Palm Beach (where I grew up) during the gated community development rage throughout the 80s and 90s. We took a look around the office, walls decorated with posters of happy looking couples about to start their dream life in their new Sahara City home (starting at 5 million rupees). On one wall there was a map of their proposed gated community. Everything was in English. So I did my best to explain to Damoder (in Hindi) what each landmark was, “there will be several schools, parks and playgrounds, a community center for sports and art activities, a hospital, and of course a multiplex shopping mall with a movie theater,” all inter-dispersed among neat and organized rows of cookie-cutter houses.

“Please sit. Will you take chai or water?” one of the agents asked (in English).
“No thank you” I replied (in Hindi).
“So do you want to buy a home here?” the agent asked (again in English).
I did my best to keep all my replies in Hindi, so that Damodar could understand and not feel left out. “No, actually my friends live in the village up the road and we are just curious what is going on here. Do you have any pamphlets we can take back with us?”
“Yes” he said (in English) and instructs (in Hindi ) some young kid to fetch them for us. He hands me a large magazine sized, full color brochure advertising the suburban community. “Don’t you have any literature in Hindi?” I ask. He says no. “You are setting up a community right next to a Brahman village where everyone only speaks Hindi and all the literature you have is in English?” I exclaimed. What are they thinking?

Then he instructs his assistant to go in the back and fetch another pamphlet for us. The boy hands me a newspaper sized two-page spread. The cover page photo of two
Bollywood icons posing as residents outside their new Sahara City Home, implied the illustration that even the common man can realize his dreams, as if to say “You too can live the life of film heroes.” We sat for some time looking over the paper, then Damodar gave me one of those head nods letting me know it was time we make our exit. When I asked if I could take the brochures with me, he said the English version was 100 rupees. In the village I never carry that amount of money in my pocket, and was glad that I did not have it, just to make a statement and not buy it. He said the Hindi one was free, so we took that.

What they are thinking is these villagers will not be the ones living here. They want to attract upper class, upper caste, English speaking professionals to raise their families on the sacred banks of the Sangam; potentially changing the face of the people who have lived there for hundreds, thousands of years, and thus turning this pilgrimage spot into a privatized landscape for the elite. My fear is how will this development project affect the locals? How will they feel when neighbors, just a few kilometers away will be living (in comparison to theirs) such a luxurious lifestyle? Will they feel left behind? Will they feel inadequate? Will the village and its traditions survive? Or will these people become eventually convinced that they should go after this false dream as well?