After two and half months at almost the conclusion of my three month artistic immersion into Dharavi, the architecture, streetscape and public space of the corridors I frequent daily have emerged as public space. Be it that we are interacting with these spaces daily with our paint brushes, chai connections, etc., indeed we are getting more intimate with these spaces.

And so finally, through prolonged periods of observing and experiencing a street (while painting murals for hours on end), the lives of the recycling workers, elderly men, families, and walker-bys have defined these places. The conversations that draw on aside a parked motorcycle, over a shared chai and biscuit… a truck or “goods carrier” that rolls in to drop off a fresh batch of barrels… and the handful of workers from the bakery or recycling “go-downs” that periodically pause and smile as color is splashed onto their surrounding walls.

Most recently our color was splashed over some of the live-work spaces at Blue Dog corner… named after the blue dogs that call it home. Blue not because they’ve arrived from Pluto, but because they’ve been showered by the blue pigment that periodically blows out of the neighboring dye shop. Originally it was an analysis of the streetscape that gave way to a design… the canine occupant’s nests… the blue barrels that double as stools…the steep staircases that lead to sleeping quarters/workshops. Or the abutting recession in the aluminum that gives way to the corner’s chai stand.

Creating this mural may in fact be a collision with the industrial work-camp nature of this place, but it has and is being welcomed and invited. To me, biased as the designer/painter of the mural, it has highlighted and consequently celebrated the life that occurs with the streetscape and public spaces it interfaces. Be it the cleaning of chemical waste from plastic barrels, the crushing of drums down into wall panels, the hauling of heavy bags of recyclable plastic, or the baking of bread hours on end, these are streets of peace and togetherness. Smiles emerge and hands are held. The sensitivity remains, even amidst a migrant-based work that I can still only partially digest as a privileged Westerner.

Beyond the celebration it is clear; these people muster an optimism and togetherness to improve their situations that can be felt and witnessed on the streets. And once this life, this struggle this survival is surpassed, the otherwise crude materials and jagged streetscapes begin to feel different. They somehow begin to take on the sense of a shared home. These streets seemingly allow anyone and everyone to collide, non aggressively, and now seemingly inside, I’m going to miss them when they’re gone.