Life in the Red Zone
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During the lockdown, homes of hundreds of millions of Indians were classified into red, yellow or green zones based on limited data on the burden of COVID-19 in the community. Households with COVID-19 positive patients were identified and marked, and entire neighborhoods barricaded or sealed.
In India’s urban cores, where millions inhabit less than nine square meters each, the need for social distancing collided with the lived realities of urban slums where densely packed one-room dwellings, home to an average of five people, serve dual roles as both living and workspaces. Bathrooms are often communal and shared with as many as 200 people. These shunned neighborhoods of the poor are the crucible of India’s dreams, where physical distancing is impossible, and social distancing unimaginable.
As migrants returned home, children stayed home from school, and summer temperatures rose, the cramped quarters—normally a respite from the outside world—suffocated their inhabitants. By April, domestic violence was on the rise. Stepping outside invited police brutality. At SEWA, the anxieties and uncertainties fueled by a novel disease and unprecedented restrictions on life were compounded by the women’s inability to be present for each other in times of distress. Even amidst natural disasters and communal riots in the state of Gujarat, solidarity had first been expressed simply by showing up, and by bearing witness. Isolation had never been a remedy.
Through repeated lockdowns, as wages dwindled and food ran out, hunger became the primary driver for using up savings, borrowing money, or selling assets. And yet, in response to the plight of stranded migrants in Ahmedabad’s Kamdar Maidan, SEWA members crowdsourced one roti from each of their homes to feed their brethren. Within weeks, they would restructure their lives, re-organize in a virtual world, and demand back their right to work.
Kartikeya Bhatotia (Research)
Hiteshree Das (Design)
Amit Dave (Photographs)