Slum Heart Millionaires - A True Incident

 

                                                                                   

Slum Heart Millionaires

This true story may never hit the headlines, lacking the sensational elements of corruption, crime, sex scandals, or scams. But its human touch reflects another beautiful reality of the island city of dreams, Mumbai.

Like many Mumbaikars, I didn't take the weather bureau’s predictions seriously. I thought it wouldn’t rain as heavily —yet, the rain was relentless. Incessant, accompanied by thunder and lightning, the city was soon knee-deep in water, grinding to a halt as it often does during monsoon. For Mumbaikars, this is the price we pay for living here.

I left my office in the upscale neighborhood of Powai at 7:30 p.m., expecting a quick 20-minute drive to my home in Ghatkopar East. But as soon as I hit the road, it was as if a river had formed on the streets, with traffic barely crawling along. My car, moving at a snail’s pace, seemed almost fortunate compared to the people wading through knee-deep water. Sitting inside the comfort of my Mercedes, I had no idea what awaited me ahead.

After crossing the busy Shreyas Cinema signal on LBS Marg, a group of young volunteers—doing an admirable job of managing traffic—guided me into a lane to avoid the congestion. Trusting their directions, I turned into the lane, but unfortunately, I missed the next right turn. Instead, I found myself in a narrow alley, barely wide enough for two cars, surrounded by slums, with no way to turn around.

Before I could figure out my next move, my car abruptly stopped. The prized machine, admired by many, had gone silent in the middle of this unfamiliar lane, surrounded by random handcarts, rickshaws, and a crowd of onlookers. Ahead, I saw signs of prostitution, pimps loitering around, and drunkards wandering from a nearby liquor shop. At that moment, a group of 7-8 boys appeared, eager to examine what had gone wrong with my car.

For someone accustomed to life in high-rises, the scene could have been intimidating. Yet, thanks to my social associations with friends from all walks of life, including many who live in slums, I remained composed. My first instinct was to figure out how to start the car again or arrange for it to be towed—leaving it there overnight was not an option, as it could easily be stolen by morning.

Without hesitation, the boys began calling local car mechanics they knew. One even brought a small car over to try jump-starting my battery, though we later discovered that the issue wasn’t with the battery at all. Despite the pouring rain, they stayed, determined to help, while I tried to connect with some mechanic friends of my own.

After nearly an hour and a half, my friends managed to reach me through the flooded streets. We soon realized that automatic cars, like mine, can’t simply be push-started when they break down. Eventually, my friends and the young boys figured out how to put the car into neutral. Those same boys I had been wary of at first;  then,  pushed my car for almost 500 meters, all the way to the safe zone of  main road—LBS Marg.

By now, I had learned their names: Arman, Shailesh, Shashi Kant, and others. We chatted, and in typical fashion, I wanted to express my gratitude by offering them money for their help. But, when I pulled out a few Rs. 500 notes, they protested , and Arman shook his head and said, “नहीं सर, ये हम नहीं लेंगे। हमने आपकी मदद इसके लिए नहीं की। हम सबके साथ ऐसे ही करते हैं, ताकि लोगों को ये न लगे कि स्लम में रहने वाले लोग अच्छे नहीं होते, उनमें इंसानियत नहीं होती।” (No, sir, we won't take this. We didn’t help you for money. We help everyone the same way, so people don’t think those living in slums lack goodness or humanity.)

I couldn’t help but think of how those living in high-rise buildings often hesitate to help, thinking “अपना क्या जाता है” (What do I stand to lose?). These young men, living in far less comfortable circumstances, had hearts of gold. I told them as much, calling them “Slum Heart Millionaires.” While I was stuck in the rain, most of my well-off acquaintances to whom i informed ;  didn’t even bother to check if I was okay—except for one or two.

Finally, at 2:20 a.m., one of my friends arranged a towing van to take my car to the showroom, and I reached home at 3a.m., deeply moved by the kindness of those who had helped me, and who also keep engine of this "Maximum City" humming.  

Love You Life for your color shades

Ajit Singh