Since arriving in Mumbai 8 days ago, I’ve taken 182,212 steps, spent 434 minutes on trains, ridden in 12 taxis and 14 tuk-tuks, spent 24 hours at my internship, handed out just as many bars of soap, tried at least 1 new food at every meal, attended 2 hockey trainings, and visited 4 forts. Like with all data, these numbers convey a lot about my first week in India, yet they miss everything worth remembering.
Numbers can’t capture the rush of adrenaline as you fight your way off a packed train, the gurgling in your stomach when you’ve eaten something you probably shouldn’t have, the sweat dripping down your back as you climb the 970th step to reach a hilltop temple, the beauty of a big toothless smile, the frustration of the 4th consecutive tuk-tuk driver insisting their meter is broken to overcharge you, or the surreal experience of children and grown men asking for selfies as if you’re a celebrity.
My 1st week at Doctors For You, an NGO providing medical care to vulnerable communities, also illustrated the need for balance between statistics and lived experience. Each day, Sarah (the other intern) and I travel to the Lallubhai Compound Clinic in Govandi where we observe different clinics and projects. To the north of Govandi lies India’s largest and oldest landfill: the Deonar dumping ground, a 134-hectare landfill that receives 9000 tons of waste daily. The area is not fit for a thriving life, and thus, Govandi and its neighbouring suburb, Mankhurd, are home to some of the most impoverished people in the world.
Govandi and Mankhurd have an estimated combined population of 1,000,000 people, 70% of whom live in slum areas. The region, also known as M East Ward, has the lowest Human Development Index (HDI) in Mumbai, a life expectancy of just 39 years, and child malnutrition levels comparable to sub-Saharan Africa. Data also indicates a toilet-to-person ratio of 1:145.
While these figures provide critical context, without experience, they remain just numbers. Stats don’t tell the whole story—sometimes, they don’t even tell the right one. Many of these statistics are outdated and difficult to measure, meaning reality will differ. More importantly, an overreliance on numbers to understand and address social issues can lead to misunderstanding and dehumanization. In medicine, this is especially dangerous.
Each patient is not just 1 in 1,000,000; they are a cricket player, a kite flyer, an entrepreneur, a loving parent, or a household’s decision-maker. They arrive dressed in colourful saris and delicate jewellery, Virat Kohli T-shirts, worn jeans and polos, or fabric that is barely holding together. Each individual has a story—they are not just another “slum dweller.”
Poverty is more than cut-off values and percentages; it is the day-to-day reality of real people with unique lives.
In just 1 week, I have seen so many eye-opening, shocking, and humbling things that will no doubt broaden my understanding of the world and shape my clinical practice. This is only the beginning, and I look forward to what the next 5 weeks have to offer…