In Mumbai, we used to live in a crumbling building bang on the beach, in a tony neighbourhood known as Seven Bungalows in Versova. A thin strip of shanties was all that separated the building from the beach. If one looked straight out of the fourth floor windows, there was a spectacular view of the Arabian Sea, dotted by fishing boats and the occasional distant liner, headed to or from the harbour. But that idyllic picture was quickly shattered if one looked down at the beach, particularly early in the morning—because it was dotted with a long line of people squatting and defecating along the waterline, oblivious to the joggers and morning walkers, who turned their faces away and pretended not to see.
Later in the day, particularly in the evening, the same shoreline would be dotted by young couples snuggling up, some with large umbrellas which they believed offered them some token privacy, desperately shooing away intruding vendors trying to peddle tea, snacks, cigarettes, and even balloons—all the while keeping an eye out for policemen looking to extort money from them. One hot summer evening, as I was returning from work, I met a smartly dressed young man emerging from the neighbouring shanties, and we got into a conversation.
I made the mistake of asking why people used the beach when there was a large public toilet available. Almost defiantly admitting that he too was among the morning squatters along the beach, he asserted that if I had ever visited that public facility, I would certainly not be asking that question. Moreover, for early mornings, there was a token system which began at 4 am, and anyone unlucky enough to get a token after six would probably get a slot an hour or more later. It was even worse for women, he said, because they would either have to use the beach or public toilets much before dawn, or wait till the men, who got priority, finished in the morning.
As for the couples on the beach, he pointed out that he shared space with two families in the tiny two room tenement he had on the beach, totalling almost five adults and six kids. While they had worked out some ‘arrangements’ which would allow each couple half an hour of privacy twice a week in the slot, on other nights there would sometimes just be a thick blanket hung from clothesline to give people an illusion of privacy. Or there was the beach. Yesterday’s Supreme Court ruling which declared that privacy was a fundamental right made me wonder: What happens to the people who can’t afford it?