I remember the first time I walked through Dharavi — not as a tourist, not as a spectator, but as a quiet observer trying to make sense of its heartbeat. The lanes were alive with motion — children darting between tin roofs, the hum of machines from leather workshops, the scent of wet earth mingling with chai and sweat. Amid that pulse, there was something else too — an invisible current of resilience, a kind of defiant grace.   Reading The Awakening of Dharavi by Atul Arjun