Scrolling X is one of my favourite things to do when I am not writing anything. I come across a lot of voices—some genuinely good, and some so out of touch with reality that it pains my soul. A few days ago, I came across a post by one Asim Ali, who appears to be a columnist, as stated in his bio, for several media outlets, including The Times of India, The Diplomat, The Hindu, The New York Times, and others. A political researcher—that is what he calls himself.
Stems from the elitist view of Dharavi as a dump anyway. In reality, the culture of Dharavi is much richer than the vulgar complexes of Gurgaon & Navi Mumbai. Built up collaboratively by diverse sets of migrants, through adaptation & innovation. Even developed their own hip hop https://t.co/Q8PrKlvF7N
— Asim Ali (@AsimAli6) April 11, 2025
He had shared a report questioning the Dharavi redevelopment project and quoted that post to claim there is a “culture of Dharavi” which is much richer than the “vulgar complexes of Gurgaon and Navi Mumbai.” He further claimed it has been “built up collaboratively by diverse sets of migrants, through adaptation and innovation. Even developed their own hip hop.”
Romanticising misery as ‘culture’
Without going into the details of the redevelopment process, land constraints, or other technicalities, what angered me the most is the fact that the lifestyle of people living in Dharavi is being romanticised as “culture”. What culture are we talking about? Slums, disease, no access to clean drinking water, no sanitation, no proper education, and the worst possible living conditions—is this the “culture” we wish to preserve?
The 'culture' of Dharavi is a breeding ground for diseases. https://t.co/oocgtUS4nY pic.twitter.com/p2kfdmMcSa
— Scion of Garuda (@ScionofGaruda) April 12, 2025
Dharavi is the largest slum in Asia. It is not a “record”; it is a blot on society. Preventing redevelopment for whatever reason should be deemed criminal. To people like Asim, I have only one question—would you take your family and live in a Dharavi jhuggi forever? Will Asim live in a place, or wish his family would live in a place where community toilet is shared by 300-500 people? No, you wouldn’t. And if you wouldn’t live there, why do you wish for it to continue to exist?
The myth of Dharavi’s organic culture
The entire notion that Dharavi has a “culture” that is organic and thriving is one of the most elitist constructs ever forced upon the urban poor. The construct is so out of touch that it finds romantic sights in stinking sewage water, leaking roofs, mosquito-filled jhuggis, and the fact that people living in slums have a life expectancy at least ten years lower than those in cleaner areas.
"In reality, the culture of Dharavi is much richer than the vulgar complexes of Gurgaon & Navi Mumbai".
— Manoj.G (@manojzxc) April 11, 2025
I am lost in it. can u tell us where is that rich culture of Dharavi ? pic.twitter.com/zagzcreROS
The desire to preserve Dharavi’s “culture” is not the voice of the people living in those jhuggis. It is the voice of those watching them from air-conditioned cars, DSLRs in hand, hunting for the next dose of poverty aesthetics they can click and sell for millions in a posh art gallery. Every now and then, some filmmaker or foreign academic lands up in Dharavi and documents the struggles of its residents. They call it “resilience”. The film gets an award. The research paper is acknowledged and published. They earn thousands, if not millions. What do the people of Dharavi get? A sense of false pride—nothing else. The drains remain open. The roofs rot and collapse. Drinking water? What the hell is clean drinking water? But sure, talk about Dharavi “culture”, bro.
Calling neglect creativity doesn’t make it so
Coming back to the seriousness of the topic, several studies on slums worldwide have clearly busted the myth of slum culture. Slums are often portrayed as sites of creativity and resistance. However, in reality, they are, at best, symptoms of systematic neglect by governments. In plain English, calling it a culture is just a fancy way to ignore the fact that people living in slums are suffering and dying a horrible death.
The dark underbelly of slum tourism
Another problematic aspect of the slum “culture” is the existence of slum tourism. In “When urban poverty becomes a tourist attraction: a systematic review of slum tourism research“, Tianhan Gui and Wei Zhong discuss the many issues associated with slum tourism. It is generally believed to be a new phenomenon, but in reality, slum tourism has deep colonial roots. It is not because Bollywood or the elite have recently developed an obsession with poverty aesthetics.
"Kulture of Dharavi is much richer than the vulgar complexes of Gurgaon & Navi Mumbai"
— Rahul y@dav (@Rahul_ydv19) April 11, 2025
Meanwhile Dharavi kulture:- https://t.co/mLmwvJmmzz pic.twitter.com/rmQh9Fe2Zv
The practice goes as far back as Victorian England and early 20th-century America, where elites would “slum” their way through the poorest neighbourhoods of London and New York. Why? For the kick and thrill. It was a mix of moral superiority and curiosity. By the late 20th century, it had evolved into a booming global industry—especially in cities like Mumbai, Rio, Cape Town and many others.
Dharavi becomes a ‘tourist product’
Dharavi was not always as popular among slum tourists as it is now. Films like Slumdog Millionaire played a major role in making Dharavi a hotbed of slum tourism. Yes, there are tour operators who offer slum tourism packages—everything from “local delicacies” to guided walks through the containment zone known as Dharavi—showing the elites how poor people live and survive. Every detail, every step, every turn, and every sight is curated by these operators to ensure Dharavi feels like something that ought to be “romanticised”.
Exploitation disguised as ‘ethics’
Slum tourism is nothing but commercial voyeurism. According to Gui and Zhong, slum tourism thrives on portraying poverty as a spectacle. But what is so “spectacular” about hundreds of people sharing the same toilet and cooking food while their homes reek of sewage? NOTHING. And yet, it is presented as something so spectacular that it becomes “culture”.
Please save Dharavi's culture saar 🥺🙏🏻
— घातक (@Neetivaan) April 11, 2025
Meanwhile the culture: https://t.co/PGXDv3dZay pic.twitter.com/qSYAsYxCIW
Operators often label them “ethical tours” and claim that these excursions help “raise awareness” or “support local businesses”. However, the commodification of poverty turns human suffering into a consumable product. The “resilience” and “existence” of the people of Dharavi are romanticised so that the elite can sip their high tea and say, “Oh, how beautiful these pictures are! You deserve a Pulitzer or an exhibition in New York’s finest art gallery!” Amid these GoPro recordings, DSLRs clicking endless photos, and all the lights-camera-action, the desperate cry for dignity has been lost. Romanticising it, packaging it, and monetising it is not culture—it’s exploitation. And the only thing worse than living in a slum is being treated like you’re part of a sightseeing stop. Think about it. How is this any different from the “human zoos” once operated by the elites of the past, where children of enslaved humans were caged and displayed?
It’s not innovation, it’s adaptation for survival
The idea that Dharavi is a story of innovation and collaborative spirit collapses the moment you start digging into the work of academics like Jan Nijman. In his paper “India’s Urban Future: Views from the Slum“, he explains that slums in India, like Dharavi, are not the result of creative urban planning. They are spaces that have been “structurally shaped by economic necessity and institutional neglect.” Slums like Dharavi do not emerge because people come together to build something culturally rich—they emerge because the system gave them no other choice.
According to Nijman, slums like Dharavi are not merely a “labour reservoir” but have evolved into a “self-organising slum economy” that acts as a substitute for the missing growth of India’s formal manufacturing sector. On barely 2 square kilometres, it sustains livelihoods for half a million people through small-scale, labour-intensive activity, born out of exclusion, not empowerment. Calling this struggle a “culture” or “innovation” is romantic fiction. It is not progress. It is a coping mechanism, wrapped in neglect and sold as resilience.
The sad side of Dharavi hip-hop
As for the “hip-hop culture” that Asim mentioned—yes, it exists. But so does the fact that these artists are rapping not to glorify Dharavi, but to escape it. While it may carry the beat of ambition and the rhythm of resistance, it is less a celebration and more a scream muffled under basslines.
For example, in the lyrics of Straight Outta Dharavi by D Abdul, what sounds like cool street wisdom is actually trauma rendered in rhyme. There are lines about wearing only underwear yet “shining”, fighting with bare hands, living in a broken home where rain drops on your face… It all tells stories that are not of culture, but of collapse.
As Jan Nijman rightly argued, Dharavi is not a creative haven—it is a survival economy. These rappers do not glorify the slum; they endure it. There is a cry for help in their lyrics—sometimes loud, sometimes rhythmic—but always loaded with the unbearable weight of being left behind by the system.
Conclusion
Let’s stop calling this culture. Dharavi is not a canvas of creativity; it is a monument to the Indian state’s failure to provide a dignified life to its citizens. The children of Dharavi rap because nobody listened when they cried. Its people build micro-economies because no policy has ever truly reached their doors.
Yet, the elite romanticise their suffering as spirit, their desperation as resilience, and their poverty as pride. There is nothing noble about being forced into a 10×10 room with a dozen people, sharing toilets with hundreds, or eating chutney and roti while dodging death by disease. Culture is a choice. Dharavi is a compulsion. Pretending that poverty is beautiful is the greatest insult to its people. We do not need the preservation of slums. We need redemption from the fact that they ever existed.
