This is our life – hidden in the shadows of a city we help build
I’ve lived in this informal settlement on the outskirts of Bengaluru for over 20 years now. Ours is a community of waste pickers—people who clean the city, sort through its garbage, and yet are forgotten when it comes to the most basic of human needs. Many of us also work as masons or daily-wage labourers, doing whatever we can to make ends meet. Our homes? Little blue shanties—barely standing, cramped, dimly lit, with uncovered buckets filled with water and our daily essentials scattered around. Privacy and comfort are luxuries we’ve never known.
Water is a constant struggle. We don’t have regular access—tankers come only once every three to four days. And this water isn’t free. We have to pay ₹3 per pot. For a single day’s chores, one household needs at least 10 pots. Bathing is something we often have to put off for another time.
But water is just one part of our ordeal. The real horror begins when we talk about sanitation. There are no toilets in our settlement. Our entire slum is divided into two sections, but both suffer the same fate. We’re forced to wake up as early as 5 or 6 AM and walk over 2 kilometers to the nearest open patch of land just to relieve ourselves. Going in the dark is terrifying, but going after sunrise is even worse—men loiter around, stare, and sometimes even follow us. We’re constantly alert, constantly scared.
Padmavati, who is just 25, often says, “Two or three of us go together if we must go during the day. But even then, if we see men around, we come back. It’s not worth the risk.” There have been far too many incidents of molestation and harassment. Lewd remarks are common. Sometimes we even skip meals, afraid that a full stomach would force us to go out again.
The men who loiter are usually in groups—some drunk, some high on drugs. It’s terrifying. We’ve had enough. That’s why all 50 households in our section came together and decided to build our own toilet facility with technical support from WaterAid India. Each family contributed ₹4,00, even though it was a huge amount for us. But we couldn’t live like this anymore.
Now, at least there’s some relief. Before this, our days were filled with fear and anxiety. Eating, drinking water—everything was linked to whether we’d be able to relieve ourselves safely or not.
The other part of our settlement still lives in the same dreadful condition. Many families there have been living for 10 to 15 years without a single toilet. Their homes are near a patch of open land covered in tall, wild grass. During the rains, it gets worse snakes appear from the bushes. We lost Laxmi, a relative of Rangamma, to a snakebite while she was out trying to relieve herself.
The grass grows up to 3-4 feet—tall enough for men to hide in. They sometimes jump out at us. We have to plan our every move, every walk, every trip outside, like a secret operation. It's exhausting.
Devaki, who is 50, told me how these places often turn into dumping grounds, with stagnant water and swarms of mosquitoes. Imagine being bitten relentlessly while trying to do something as natural as relieving yourself. It’s harrowing.
Lavanya, just 17, says she’s too scared to even talk about it openly. Men follow them, chase them, stare.
Shanti, another young woman, told me how she often begs male family members to accompany her, especially during the day. But when they’re not around, we women just tag along together and hope for the best.
And during menstruation? There’s no water, no toilet, no private space. We use tiny, dark corners in our homes to change pads. It’s degrading. It’s unhealthy. But we have no choice.
Now, with the construction of a new toilet facility, there’s a glimmer of hope—a shift we’ve been longing for, for years. It may just be a small structure to some, but to us, it’s a symbol of dignity, safety, and freedom. For the first time in our lives, we no longer have to choose between hunger and humiliation. We can eat without fear, sleep without anxiety, and step outside without constantly looking over our shoulders. The toilet has not only given us privacy—it has restored a sense of control over our own bodies and lives. For our daughters, it means growing up in a world that respects their basic needs. For us women, it means reclaiming our mornings, our health, and our peace of mind. It may be just the beginning, but it’s a powerful step towards living with dignity—something every human being deserves.
