A riveting account of how the deadly Coronavirus was contained in Asia’s largest slum. An explosion that could have pushed not just Mumbai but all of India on the back foot was nipped in the bud with no manual to handle such a travesty. Kiran Dighavkar’s The Dharavi Model is a thrilling chronicle of the measures that were taken to prevent the spread of Covid-19 in Dharavi. They helped save many lives. It is also the tales of those who lost their lives fighting the battle against COVID-19. The model applauded and implemented at a global level is passionately penned as a book.

Located in the heart of Mumbai, Dharavi is estimated to be the largest slum in Asia. Often referred to as ‘Little India’, it has been home to thousands of migrants from across the country providing opportunities for work and livelihood. As such, Dharavi presents a fascinating paradox: the convergence of stereotypes associated with the slum — poverty and misery — and an effervescent economic vitality, impelled by globalisation and international capital flows. Bringing together 20 years of painstaking fieldwork, this book reveals the social, economic, political, and urban complexities that define Dharavi beneath the shadow of Mumbai, the financial capital of India. It provides a rare account of the slum’s history, with a special focus on the original populace of leather workers — who form the backbone of its urban informal economy — their work, organisation and increasing political awareness. Dominated by a population of ex-‘untouchables’, conventionally stigmatised by poverty and low status, Dharavi illustrates how traditional caste-based occupational and regional divisions continue to be strong and affect structures of political governance and economy. At the same time, it testifies to an intimate encounter with consumerism, liberalisation and technological innovations, and its resultant cultural globalisation under the heady influence of media, advertising and cinema transmitted by the city of Mumbai. This book traces the mega-slum’s gradual transformation as a thriving trade centre, through an informal economy’s successful adaptation to global markets, in turn establishing an urban paradigm. It will be useful to those in sociology, anthropology, urban studies, politics, public policy and governance, and to those interested in globalisation, transnational migration and town planning.

A native of Bombay, Suketu Mehta gives us an insider’s view of this stunning metropolis. He approaches the city from unexpected angles, taking us into the criminal underworld of rival Muslim and Hindu gangs, following the life of a bar dancer raised amid poverty and abuse, opening the door into the inner sanctums of Bollywood, and delving into the stories of the countless villagers who come in search of a better life and end up living on the sidewalks. As each individual story unfolds, Mehta also recounts his own efforts to make a home in Bombay after more than twenty years abroad. Candid, impassioned, funny, and heartrending, Maximum City is a revelation of an ancient and ever-changing world.

To understand modern India, one must look at the business of cricket within the country. When Lalit Modi--an Indian businessman with a criminal record, a history of failed business ventures, and a reputation for audacious deal making--created a Twenty20 cricket league in India in 2008, the odds were stacked against him. International cricket was still controlled from London, where they played the long, slow game of Test cricket by the old rules. Indians had traditionally underperformed in the sport but the game remained a national passion. Adopting the highly commercial American model of sporting tournaments, and throwing scantily clad western cheerleaders into the mix, Modi gave himself three months to succeed. And succeed he did--dazzlingly--before he and his league crashed to earth amid astonishing scandal and corruption. The emergence of the IPL is a remarkable tale. Cricket is at the heart of the miracle that is modern India. As a business, it represents everything that is most dynamic and entrepreneurial about the country's economic boom, including the industrious and aspiring middle-class consumers who are driving it. The IPL also reveals, perhaps to an unprecedented degree, the corrupt, back-scratching, and nepotistic way in which India is run. A truly original work by a brilliant journalist, The Great Tamasha* makes the complexity of modern India--its aspiration and optimism straining against tradition and corruption--accessible like no other book has. *Tamasha: a Hindi world meaning "a spectacle."

Sarja is a 11years old, sad, and angry boy. At 11, he looks big and strong for his age. His kind mother, Geeta is a rural Indian archetype: the overworked, stressed-out, barely-keeping-it-together single mother. His father is in prison for multiple robbery cases. The villagers are cold and overbearing, and his schooldays are made hellish by bullies. If this wasn’t enough, he has nightmares and uncanny callings from an age-old monstrous peepal tree that stands ominously on his way to school. The legend is that a monster called Brahma Rakshas, living under this tree, for years unknown to people, lures kids with the black devil fruits and then makes them wrestle until one dies. And, one stormy night, the legend comes true when Sarja meets the Brahma Rakshas. Set in a fictional village of Deogiri, a small haven of human civilization, away from the din of city life, thiss story is a coming-of-age story of a young boy who goes on an adventure ride filled with riddles and monster wrestling.

A book that challenges the conventional notion of a slum. Spread over 175 hectares and swarming with one million people, Dharavi is often called 'Asia's largest slum'. But Dharavi is much more than cold statistic. What makes it special are the extraordinary people who live there, many of whom have defied fate and an unhelpful State to prosper through a mix of backbreaking work, some luck and a great deal of ingenuity. It is these men and women whom journalist Kalpana Sharma brings to life through a series of spellbinding stories. While recounting their tales, she also traces the history of Dharavi from the days when it was one of the six great koliwadas or fishing villages to the present times when it, along with other slums, is home to almost half of Mumbai. Among the colourful characters she presents are Haji Shamsuddin who came to Mumbai and began life as a rice smuggler but made his fortune by launching his own brand of peanut brittle; the stoic Ramjibhai Patel, a potter, who represents six generations from Saurashtra who have lived and worked in Mumbai; and doughty women like Khatija and Amina who helped check communal passions during the 1992-93 riots and continue to ensure that the rich social fabric of Dharavi is not frayed. It is countless, often anonymous, individuals like these who have helped Dharavi grow from a mere swamp to a virtual gold mine with its many industrial units churning out quality leather goods, garments and food products. Written with rare sensitivity and empathy, Rediscovering Dharavi is a riveting account of the triumph of the human spirit over poverty and want.

Urban slum dwellers—especially in emerging-economy countries—are often poor, live in squalor, and suffer unnecessarily from disease, disability, premature death, and reduced life expectancy. Yet living in a city can and should be healthy. Slum Health exposes how and why slums can be unhealthy; reveals that not all slums are equal in terms of the hazards and health issues faced by residents; and suggests how slum dwellers, scientists, and social movements can come together to make slum life safer, more just, and healthier. Editors Jason Corburn and Lee Riley argue that valuing both new biologic and “street” science—professional and lay knowledge—is crucial for improving the well-being of the millions of urban poor living in slums.

Leading thinkers offer fresh insight into the workings of vibrant, ecological, equitable communities and their economies.

In the late 1800s, Indians seemed to be a people left behind by the Industrial Revolution, dismissed as “not a mechanical race.” Today Indians are among the world’s leaders in engineering and technology. In this international history spanning nearly 150 years, Ross Bassett—drawing on a unique database of every Indian to graduate from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology between its founding and 2000—charts their ascent to the pinnacle of high-tech professions. As a group of Indians sought a way forward for their country, they saw a future in technology. Bassett examines the tensions and surprising congruences between this technological vision and Mahatma Gandhi’s nonindustrial modernity. India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, sought to use MIT-trained engineers to build an India where the government controlled technology for the benefit of the people. In the private sector, Indian business families sent their sons to MIT, while MIT graduates established India’s information technology industry. By the 1960s, students from the Indian Institutes of Technology (modeled on MIT) were drawn to the United States for graduate training, and many of them stayed, as prominent industrialists, academics, and entrepreneurs. The MIT-educated Indian engineer became an integral part of a global system of technology-based capitalism and focused less on India and its problems—a technological Indian created at the expense of a technological India.