At 8:30 AM on July 1, 2008, in Dharavi, the largest slum in Mumbai, India, Roton Mahesh walked out of the small shack where he lived. The shack, a rudimentary wooden house constructed from mismatched wooden planks and plastic sheets, barely spanned ten square meters. Inside, it was crowded with four people: Roton, his parents, and one of his younger brothers.
He stretched his arms and was about to take a deep breath of the morning air, but the stench hit him like a wall, causing him to pause. The overwhelming smell of decay and waste almost made him gag.
It was then that he remembered. This was the future where he belongs. This was the largest slum in India.
The soul inhabiting Roton's body was no longer his own. The previous night, the soul of a Rich businessman had replaced the original owner.
In his previous life, Roton had been Aarav, an Indian businessman who had lived and worked in Mumbai for over a decade. He had become quite familiar with India, especially Mumbai and its surroundings, as his business required frequent visits.
He knew Dharavi well, as it was famous around the world due to the film Slumdog Millionaire. However, during his past life, as a businessman with a comfortable income, he had never lived in such conditions. He had resided in a relatively upscale area of Mumbai, far from the slums.
The environment in slums, while vastly different from that in main Mumbai, was still manageable. The city was notorious for its unique blend of smells, but Dharavi was in a league of its own. The air was filled with a suffocating mix of rotting waste and sewage. The heavy rainstorm the previous night had caused sewage to flood the streets, mixing with mud and human excrement.
"I've already told my friends that the next promotion spot will definitely go to you," said Roton's mother as she caught sight of him.
"You women always talk nonsense. With so many people competing, who's to say Roton will get it?" retorted his father, old Mahesh.
"Why talk nonsense? Our Roton knows English, and the director really likes him. Right, Roton?"
"I'll try my best," Roton replied, only able to sigh inwardly.
He understood why his mother was boasting. There was little else she could hold on to. In their world, the fact that her son was a policeman had elevated their status. Whenever his mother spoke of him, other women in the neighborhood couldn't hide their envy. That was the extent of their pride.
Whenever disputes arose around them, old Mahesh, despite his age, was often called upon as a mediator. It was a well-known fact that having a son who was a policeman, no matter how low-ranking, opened doors.
Recently, the police station had a vacancy for a first-class officer, and naturally, his mother believed her son was the most capable and would get the promotion.
At 21, Roton was a fairly good-looking young man. He wasn't dark-skinned like some of his neighbors. He worked as an officer at Spanda Police Station, one of the lowest-ranking stations in Mumbai.
Three years ago, after graduating from high school, he had passed the assessment and joined the police force. However, even after three years, he was still a second-level officer.
In the Indian police system, there are three levels of officers: second-level, first-level, and police sergeants.
For second-level officers, there were no insignia on their shoulder straps or armbands; their uniforms were plain.
At the moment, Roton wore a khaki police uniform, lacking any additional markings or armbands. Moving up the ranks was a slow and challenging process. Besides years of service, promotion often depended on one's connections. Without those, even after ten years, promotion might not be guaranteed.
First-level officers wear two downward-pointing V-shaped emblems on their armbands and two horizontal stripes on their shoulder straps. The rank above that, the police sergeant, has three downward chevrons on the armband and three horizontal stripes on the shoulder straps.
Low-level police officers in India work long hours, averaging 13-14 hours a day, with few holidays, if any. Only senior officers enjoy benefits like holidays.
For someone like Roton, a low-ranking officer, being promoted to a first-class officer would be the pinnacle of his career. For more than 90% of low-level officers, reaching the sergeant rank was their highest achievable goal.
Roton was ambitious, though. Despite starting as a police officer right after high school, he had applied to an open university to further his education. After three years of online and offline study, he had earned his bachelor's degree.
This university was designed for working people, where students could complete the required coursework while holding jobs. Graduating from such an institution allowed people to sit for the Indian Federal Civil Service Examination, which was necessary to pursue higher-ranking government jobs, like that of a district chief or even a deputy county head.
The federal civil service exam was notoriously difficult, with an acceptance rate of over 1,000 to 1. In India, passing this exam was equivalent to a huge leap in status, securing a government job that could make one a district official or even a deputy county chief. However, it was a challenge that only the best of the best—like top students from prestigious universities, doctors, or lawyers—could hope to conquer.
For Roton, this path was not an option. He wasn't an elite, and he didn't have the background needed to succeed. Instead, he focused on passing the State Civil Service Examination, which would allow him to become an Assistant Deputy Inspector in the police force.
The police ranks above the standard officer include three levels: Assistant Deputy Inspector, Deputy Inspector, and Inspector. Each rank came with its own insignia: Assistant Deputy Inspectors had a five-pointed star on their shoulder straps with a red and blue line underneath. A Deputy Inspector had two five-pointed stars, and Inspectors wore three.
An Assistant Deputy Inspector was already a prestigious position, one that could only be reached through exceptional opportunities or state exams. It was rare for someone in a local police station to attain such a rank. Becoming a Deputy Inspector or Inspector was the ultimate career goal for most officers.
Roton knew the system well, and while the idea of becoming an Assistant Deputy Inspector seemed almost impossible, he believed it was achievable if he worked hard and made the right connections. Local police officers, like himself, were limited in their advancement. The only way to climb further was to join the federal police force.
Federal police officers had much higher prospects and could eventually rise to the rank of Police Commissioner. The path to federal police was either through internal promotion or by passing the Federal Civil Service Exam.
For now, Roton's goal was clear: pass the state civil service exam, move up the ranks, and secure a better future for himself. He knew that as a policeman, even a low-ranking one, he had access to privileges that could open doors in a system where wealth and power meant everything.
As he made his way out of the slum, Roton walked toward the Spanda Police Station. The difference between the slum and the surrounding areas was stark. Just a few blocks away, the infrastructure was more developed, showing the gulf between the rich and poor.
On the way to the station, Roton stopped for breakfast at a roadside stall. The food was unappealing, but his hunger overpowered any qualms he had. Vendors always greeted him with a smile, a benefit of his status as a policeman. The local police never paid for meals, as it was an unspoken rule that vendors would provide food in exchange for the protection the police offered.
By the time Roton arrived at the police station, it was already 9 AM. While senior officers, like the chief and deputy chief, would arrive around 10, lower-ranked officers like Roton began their shifts at 8 AM. His daily responsibilities included patrolling and maintaining public order in the jurisdiction, which, due to its proximity to Dharavi, was always under pressure.