Ground up with Govandi Arts Festival
Curator Natasha Sharma takes us behind the scenes
I really believe in the transformational power of creativity. Admitting this out loud makes me internally wince but there’s no hiding from it—I have spent most of my adult life working in the fields of art and design championing creatives, much of it as an artist and part of it as an art psychotherapist. And thus this is my truth and also the truth of Community Design Agency, a design studio that organises a community-led arts and culture festival in the marginalised Mumbai suburb of Govandi. In February 2023, the first Govandi Arts Festival celebrated the spirit and resilience of the neighbourhood’s residents through the visual and performance arts.
In the upcoming festival from the 10th to the 14th of December, 2025, Govandi’s young artists and community members will showcase their talent through film, photography, theatre, rap, murals, clowning, public art, game design, and textile-based installations, reclaiming unjust narratives that are imposed on them and their home. Ahead of this second edition, I spoke with artist-researcher Natasha Sharma, who co-founded and curates Govandi Arts Festival.
What strikes me as we converse, is that though they arrived at an almost accidental methodology of energising the neighbourhood through the arts, every decision since has been precise and intentional. The festival is built from scratch, not simply programmed as many are. It becomes clear that Govandi Arts Festival offers a platform for young artists to showcase their talents but the festival itself is not the only point, but sparking a movement through the work that happens in the in-between—the creation of dedicated community spaces, the introduction to various artistic media and mentorship, artist-led residencies, and ongoing engagement—very much is. It reminded me how much is possible with consistent support, and how allowing others to find their voice through the arts can create a butterfly effect of self-advocacy and self-expression in everyday life.
Read on for our conversation.
Natasha, what is your role and how did you end up in it?
I’m the co-founder and curator of Govandi Arts Festival. I’ve often enjoyed using arts and design together to activate public spaces. Early on in my practice when I was working in public parks and metro stations, those became sites of understanding what public space is to the city. I started to see public space as this protagonist that you could change so much about the city if you were to just work within that. I realised how much people are not asked for consent or inputs when cities are developed. For example, when you’ve been living somewhere for 10 years, and then suddenly a flyover or metro gets created, who is it getting built for? When I came back to Mumbai after doing multiple interventions in Bangalore, Goa, New York City and other places, I started to look at housing and public spaces, with the same question.
About eight years ago I wrote to Sandhya Naidu Janardhan, who’s the Managing Director of CDA (Community Design Agency). At the time, she was building a collective of people to work within a public housing, and she had interacted with Parveen Shaikh, who’s a community leader at Natwar Parikh Compound in Bombay, a resettlement colony in Govandi. The job description was for an architect but I basically wrote to her saying I’m an artist working in urban practice and I want to explore this, I have absolutely no background as an architect, but I think there are ways in which the arts can actually bring the community together in ways that architecture cannot. What was nice was that Sandhya was very open to that idea.
Tell me more about this neighbourhood in Govandi
It’s a grid of 61 buildings built in 2008, on five hectares of land. It’s actually more dense than even the densest city, which is Dhaka. Each building has about 96 flats, and each house is about 226 square feet. Five people on average live there, so each building has about 500 people. There are big alleyways, but they were full of garbage and sometimes parking. 25,000 people, more than 6000 families that had been moved from different slums of Mumbai, on railway tracks, footpaths, on the periphery of stations. The place was built by the developer, Natwar Parikh, so it was named after him. The space was previously used to park shipping containers and the same plan was used to make buildings, because that was just the most optimal way to fit cubes. So that was the thinking that went behind building housing, the most number of people, the most profit that one can get out of this.
There were just so many problems because of the infrastructure. Sewage, drainage, lifts not working, little to no access to sunlight, kids would get jaundice or have vitamin D deficiencies. I was like we first need to get into the garbage since if a public space is full of garbage, the first thing you’re gonna do is clean up the garbage, right? But that has still not happened, eight years into it. 60-70% has improved but issues like that don’t get fixed, because there has to be an alternative, another system. When you’re given formal housing, you’re supposed to think about maintenance, water, electricity. So, all these things now are paid-for things, but your livelihood hasn’t changed. There was even less support, because all of this happened through a lottery system. So it’s not like they moved your entire slum, and your old neighbours are going to be around you, now you have an entire new social ecosystem to build from what was displaced.
Right, so how did you know where to begin?
So we were left wondering how we could come together to fix something, but the arts turned that question on its head. We realised it’s not just about looking at the problem, but looking at the possibilities. Generally in life, you cannot answer a problem with a solution. That’s a very transactional way of looking at it but this is people’s lives.
So we decided to tap into the youth. The youth in Govandi had a dual sense of home, they were born in the slums, then they were moved into housing, and they are just figuring out who they are. That was where a lot of honest conversations started happening. While we were working towards infrastructure, they wanted to work towards identity. They were just like, can we not look at the garbage at all, and go to open collective spaces where we’ll have more control that we can say is our space. That’s how we did our first mural in 2019, and it was called Haq se Govandi (Govandi, My Pride).
I’m not a big fan of murals as an artist myself, because sometimes they are looked at as a beautification technique, but here they really enjoyed mural making because they felt they were expressing themselves onto something in their neighbourhood that they could say is their own, and feel some sense of agency. We created a mural where you had multiple overlapping shapes, and every time you looked, you could see new forms, and be like, oh, there’s a bird there, oh, there’s a star there. It was a way to say we are more than what you see as us, just look again. We took a 10 x 12 feet wall in one dingy and unkempt corner of the neighbourhood, where there’s very little light, a lot of people go drinking there. We thought that if we could activate that, then we’ve achieved something. Music was brought, food was brought, and we all danced together while painting, and something very festive happened. I remember Parveenji saying “if art can bring a dead wall to life”, and they were seeing that it was bringing each other to life too. So it was really the process, not just the mural itself that made a difference. After that no one said what is this mural gonna fix? Everyone was like, when’s the next mural happening?
Then we did another mural, some films, some rap and photography and realised everyone wants to be creative. Yet, all we talk about is how shitty the infrastructure is. Perhaps we should use the arts to bring attention to the infrastructure. People were yearning to come together, to celebrate something, to say ‘oh I painted that red or that yellow’. The arts were helping us solve infrastructure issues in the sense that we were able to take control over smaller things. We were also able to put proposals together for BMC and MMRDA to support us, saying see a mural is done, and it’s maintained so well, no one’s throwing garbage, the contractors put benches, the community bought plants, the electricians of the community put up lights. We kept on being in touch with them. Because they’re accountable for this so we kept saying why don’t you support us?
How did the idea for a festival come about?
When Bhawna Jaimini, who is an architect, Parveenji, and myself were observing these things, the festival felt like a very obvious thing but we didn’t see Govandi Arts Festival in one breath, rather the three concepts interacting with each other. We asked the community what does Govandi mean to you? What do the arts mean to you? And what does a festival mean to you? And do you even see these three things together? I remember for Govandi, they were like naam kharab hai, we don’t get jobs, we don’t get insurance, we can’t use our PIN code, it’s a blacklisted area, where a lot of crime, tuberculosis, garbage stories are the only things that are covered. For arts they said, arts is sukoon, arts is way to protest, arts is a way where I can just tell you who I am, arts is a way where I can be quiet without feeling judged, where we can feel safe. For festivals, they were like Diwali, Eid, we’ve heard of Kala Ghoda Festival, but we’ve never been there.
We asked when we say Govandi Arts Festival, what do you think? They were like, it’s a celebration of all of us and we get to show our talent, because we are great rappers. So they had no doubts about their talent but felt they weren’t seen and did not get access. So that’s how it started growing. If we hadn’t tried to clean the garbage and failing, doing a mural and it working, we wouldn’t have arrived at a methodology that was through the arts. It was a lot of trial and error and showing up no matter what.
What happened next?
So the festival idea took on, and we were like, okay, what do you guys want to learn? We began to offer different themes: public art, photography, rap and music, theater, filmmaking, and we had over 40 people sign up across these fields. We interviewed a lot of Mumbai-based practitioners who were ready for socially engaged work, which means they were ready to unlearn all that they know and contextualise their work, to make someone understand what documentary filmmaking is, without romanticising the idea of documentary also.
These mentorships were six months long, so we thought let’s see the work that develops, and then do a festival. They began developing original works, all of them coming for the love of arts and not because anyone was telling them to. When we witnessed that we realised—this is the work, the festival is actually a showcase.
In our four month artist residency program, one of the residents, Jerry, made a projection mapping of all the stories they told and did animation with the kids, and then we projected it on the building facades. Another thing was seven co-written stories called Awaaz, we only had Xerox copies of each story that was placed at the festival, but after that Yoda Press picked it up to publish it, and now we have an ISBN Number with Govandi’s stories.
The festival site was encroached by parking and garbage for over 15 years which got cleared for the festival, and then the community came together and asked the MLA to put metal rods so that it doesn’t go back to parking, and it was the first time ever an open ground was reclaimed because of the festival. We were also surprised by the things that were happening, right? That we were able to reclaim space, we were able to tell stories and also get it published. It’s in different libraries across Mumbai, so what does it mean to reclaim identity? It means this, it means to be seen across Bombay, and now people know that a neighbourhood like Govandi exists in a city known for Bollywood and glamour.
What happened at the first edition of the festival?
We had performances, screenings and exhibitions, workshops, stalls. After our filmmakers showed their films, they sat on a panel discussion with Shahzia Iqbal, the Dhadak 2 director, who asked them about their process. We screened about five original films that were made.
Those 3 Months was a film that Sana Shaikh who was 20 years old made about her memories of when she was 11 years old and her mum left her in an orphanage for three months, and what that period was like. The complexity of being the girl child who was sent to an orphanage when the boys were not. She didn’t know that the story might have any value, so after she wrote it in a Google Doc, she was like, “I didn’t even want to send it because this is so personal, I haven’t told this to my best friends. But here I’m sitting in a film mentorship program and everybody is willing to hear it.” She saw herself very differently after that. Everything in that film is found footage, and the only shot of her is of her shadow. But this time for the second festival, Sana, is doing theatre. The most expressive medium.
One girl, a photography mentee, photographed different mosques from the distance that she felt comfortable standing without being told, ‘you should move, only men can go to masjid.’ That was her own project, to just find her own space in her religion through photographs. Also suddenly the community felt no longer neglected. BMC, MMRDA, their local MLA, all of them walked around the festival, and the MLAs were now looking at their work. There was this shift in power dynamics like who is listening to who? Usually, these are the people who make promises and give speeches and tell you what you can be, but now through their creativity, the Govandi youth were the ones in focus. So many parents who were against this in the beginning put up 100 WhatsApp stories, called their relatives from Nagpur to say please, my bacha’s gonna perform, please come see it.
We were like, we have to hold this, right? We built all of this in one community space, which was Kitab Mahal, where we did rap, photography, film and more sessions every other day where people built new works, not knowing what they’re going to look like but now here you are seeing all of this, people crying, hugging, loving it, you know, encouraging it, this powerful moment where everyone felt so much I don’t know how to explain it, the only other place where you can have something like this is a protest site. Just so much solidarity amongst people from different socioeconomic backgrounds, everyone celebrating one thing.
Can you tell me more about Kitab Mahal and all the community spaces you’ve built in Govandi?
In 2021, we combined two allocated rooms on the ground floor and made Kitab Mahal, which was a community library, but it was used for all art activities. I sat and designed it with the community, asking them what does the library mean? What would you like? We also had trainings from Bookworm Goa to set up something like this.
During COVID, a lot of our in person engagement had to stop, and some people were unable to have proper access to education. Sometimes there would be only one phone for online classes in a family with multiple children. So we thought maybe we should create a space where people can still come and learn where there is some sense of safety, because a library doesn’t need to be a place to study, it needs to be a place where people have an entry point into imagination and understanding a world beyond their own.
Then after the first festival, we made two more spaces, HumRaahi which translates to companion, and another called Awaaz. We thought of the built space itself as a learning environment so we sat with the community, took chalk, drew on walls, and decided together: this is where the mural will be inside the space, this is where we want to sit, we want a French window, we want a place to climb. I also built a team of 8 community facilitators who are running these spaces. They get trained for library activities, expressive arts therapy, now they’re getting trained within the mentorship.
Because that’s what the festival does. It shows what is happening in between. This year, we are making a game from scratch about what it takes to make Govandi better. It’s a game of conversation and negotiations and they are placing spaces like Kitab Mahal, Awaaz and HumRaahi in their prototypes, saying these three centers should be non-negotiables in all rehabilitation and resettlement colonies, to make improvements in the neighborhood, that these should be a part of urban development planning. We are naming it Gully Mohalla and its emerging from Game Designer Abhishek Lamba’s facilitation with 4 young girls of Govandi: Khushi, Lucky, Arshiya and Aliya
Our activities for Govandi Arts Festival 2025 are happening across these three spaces, and even these feel less because this time, we have over 100 youth artists, transgender artists, women artists participating. And over 25 mentors and resident artists working towards the festival for the last six months.
Tell me more about some projects people in the upcoming edition that people can look forward to.
The themes that are coming through are friendship, collective care, gender, safety. Ifra Khan who made Nishan is making a film on what it feels like for her to walk at night in neighbourhoods like this. Other films ask questions around identity, so people are able to explore personal narratives juxtaposed with what is happening in the world.
Five women are making a tapestry about what home means to them, and they are mapping their own neighbourhood through fabric and stitching it all together, alongside textile artist Koshy Brahmatmaj. We have Aravani Art Project collaborating with us and working with the transgender community in Govandi. We have photo exhibitions that are happening—one of our kids followed a fisherwoman from the start of her day till the end, and the complexities of leaving from Govandi, going all the way to Dockyard, buying fish, and then returning and selling it here.
We have a theatre performance by HumRaahi Committee (they are practicing in HumRaahi) in which they have a dream about aliens coming to Mumbai, and picking up the most talented people of Govandi. And how are they trying to convince people and the prime minister—please save us from getting abducted, because yeah, we are talented, don’t let talented people go.
Also public art. People are painting murals, engaging their whole body to make large scale landmarks so that it makes the place more vibrant but also stays true to their aesthetics.
What are you noticing now about the community?
The mothers of some of the children in the rap workshop are part of the textile workshop, but when we all sit together, they’re all equals, they’re all artists. Rafe will start rapping, and his mother will be like, oh, you know, Rafe was writing the other day, and I was inspired so now I’m also writing poetry.
Recently we had an all-mentee meet, so all 70 artists came to one space and everyone shared what they are doing. A visual artist would introduce a theatre artist and so on. At the end, we all danced and took photographs of each other, because we were like, why are we waiting for the festival? This is it, this is us, 70 artists making work, and coming together and sharing it with each other.
Since the first edition, Those Three Months and Nishan, have traveled across India and even New York and LA as part of film festivals, and the filmmakers have gone on other panels to represent their films. After the first festival, Code43, which are a rap group that came out of the first festival and named themselves after the pincode of Govandi, have gotten over 30 paid gigs, have performed across Mumbai, and also flown to Delhi, they’ve taught people of the Gateway School of Bombay, which is for students with learning disabilities, they’ve performed at the American School of Bombay in BKC.
Matin from Code43 is actually a mentor this year but was a mentee last time. A lot of participants from earlier have taken leadership roles or are part of the team. There’s been a shift, the festival team is now 20 people who are from Govandi, and 3-4 people from elsewhere. The last time it was the inverse. This shift has needed a lot of support, to upskill, to have a certain kind of dignity in income so they can also contribute to their households, to find autonomy because you now have financial independence.
In our conversations, the community will ask where else can we go to perform? Or who all are going to come to the festival? Because they want to invite Bombay saying, listen something very culturally relevant is happening in your city. They love to perform in front of people, people have asked the rappers for their autographs after their performance as if they’re stars.
I think it also filters out a certain kind of crowd. We are not a sexy, glamourous festival, you know what I mean, so we are really just talking and taking up space on different platforms. We’re ground up, we’re humble about what we do with the arts, and we want people to see us for exactly that.
Any last words?
Guess what? We are going to be taking Govandi Arts Festival to Kochi Biennale as part of the Student Biennale, and have a parallel exhibition. Seeing our artist cohort across age groups seen as students without formal art school education fills me with pride that we are doing something right.
Thank you Natasha!
Govandi Arts Festival runs from 10th-14th December, 2025 in Govandi. Follow them on Instagram and register for your ticket here.