The first monsoon rains quenched the thirst of a dry city
after a terrible summer. The pre-monsoon rains caused the peacocks to display a
colourful dance amid the jungle of concrete glass structures.
The summer passed away and I survived it with the help of
coconut water every day. Coconut water is one thing which I rarely used to
drink in Mumbai became the source of my life here. I realized that you take
things like coconut water granted in your life when they are available
bountiful around you. You realize their value when you stay away from them.
The ‘Nariyalwallah’ in this dry city hardly knows any Hindi
but I formed a good rapport with him. He heard the word ‘malai’ from my mouth for
the first time in his life. His name is ‘Venkat’. The most common name here in
South India. He has put up his cart bellow a small ‘Gulmohar’ tree. Being a
regular customer, Venkat offers me one rupee discount on every coconut.
He stays away from his family some 350 kms near Andhra coast
line. Early morning a truck comes from his hometown, unloads 800 INR worth
coconut and drives away. He then stacks them up on his cart and the remaining
ones on the ground. His life revolves
around coconuts and his hand cart. The
handcart has been partioned into three parts. The bottom most has been kept for
storing his food materials. He cooks near the cart itself on a kerosene stove.
The middle one stacks his coconuts while the upper one stacks up his personal
items. Venkat sleeps on the cart sometimes with mosquito net. The cart is the hardest
place to sleep and he manages to sleep on it besides a road that has cars
plying 24 by 7 ferrying IT employees. The tree branches houses the mirror,
glass and other cutlery items.
Venkat used to keep two coconuts daily for me from the huge
stack of coconut in summers in case the coconuts finish by the end of a hot
summer day. His life depends on the coconut truck arrives early morning. No
truck, no business and he used to kill his time for the whole day by sharpening
his knife. He is loyal to only one supplier and doesn’t trust others even if it
means loss of business. He takes water from my building for which he has to
give the caretaker of my building some free coconuts. He knows my preferences
very well.
The adversities which I face daily are nothing compared to
what Venkat faces day to day. The small cart in front my building humbles me
about millions of Indians that live this daily life. The infinite labourers who
have constructed the building in which I work, the ‘chaiwallah’, all survive on
their fate. A small calamity like a medical illness strikes them very hard than
a bolt of lightning struck down on earth. They don’t live a dignified life.
Life in India is cheap. If few people die due to starvation every day in our
country, we don’t care as we have become insensitive to human life. We don’t
appreciate dignity of labour here. The labourer who cleans manholes and risks
his life by inhaling poisonous gases never gets a pat on his back for
preventing the sewer water from flooding our clogged streets.
Indians never clean the street in front of their home but we
want our homes to be sparkling clean. We never have taken a broom in our hand and
cleaned the filthy and dusty streets. We have never thanked the garbage
collector who collects hazardous waste thrown by us because we Indians don’t
take pain to segregate our waste or we don’t have the willingness to start it.
We lack a social initiative to start it but this initiative exists in every
science text book of a school going kid. The rag pickers do the job of
segregating our waste. What would happen if those rag pickers don’t separate the
metal and plastic out of waste? The role of rag pickers is looked down upon in
India. In fact, they are acting as a substitute for a failed system that
promises them nothing!
Insensitiveness has crept in our heart that we prefer to
keep things as it is and never try to change it. Community feeling is absent in
India. We first try to look after ourselves and the community comes at last.
The community feeling never existed in India even though we have such a diverse
culture.
‘Anna, paaniwala dena aur phir malai wala’……………
