The opportunity to have a conversation with Ravinder, a rickshaw puller based in Ghaziabad, gave me an insight into the life of rickshaw pullers. These are people who ferry us from one place to another in the sun, rain and cold. Ravinder lives with his wife and younger brother, who’s also a rickshaw puller. Their house in a slum on the outskirts of Delhi is a small one room tent with sewage and ventilation issues. With his younger brother planning to get married by the end of summer, privacy is also an issue of major concern.
Late last year, a major infratech developer bought the land and Ravinder was asked to vacate the premises, though he was later allowed to continue possession on the condition that he worked on the construction project as a night shift labourer.
His day begins at 6, when he wakes up and leaves for work. From 7 in the morning to 6 in the evening, he pulls the rickshaw earning 2-300 on days when the business is good. When I asked about what’s the maximum he has earned in a day, his glum response “Ek din ki baat thi. 450”. During peak summers, he falls sick without fail but continues to work because his brother doesn’t earn enough to support their family of three. Theirs is a day to day existence, where you must work today for that night’s meal. Winters are unkind too as he layers one torn shirt over another to protect himself from the cold. “Easier than summers” he calls it.
His only break during the day is to get lunch, a small meal at one of the many roadside stalls for no more than 30 Rs. He says that’s all he can afford. After 6, he rushes home, gives the money he’s earned to his wife, gobbles up his dinner and walks to the construction site where he must work till 1:30 am to earn his daily wage. Returning home at 2, he’s too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Are four hours of sleep enough, you ask him. “Karna padta hai.” He says.
“12 saalon se rickshaw chala raha hoon, kisine pehli baar baat ki hai.” Is enough to depict the thanklessness of the job. A little thank you doesn’t help much, but in Ravinders very own words “Achha to lagta hai.”
About the future, he says that he’d like to have kids, but says that’s a luxury he can’t afford presently. He says he’ll send his kids to school and his wife’s been saving for it ever since they got married. On being asked if he was happy with his life, he looks at me first then into the distance before muttering under his breath “Pehle zinda rehna hai, khushi phir kabhi dhhoondenge.”
Iqbal is his parent’s only child. In the dingy and muddy lanes of old Kolkata’s park circus area, lives Iqbal’s family. An auto driver, he earns 500-600 a day, most of which is spent on his parent’s medical bills and food. Having completed his schooling from a nearby government school, Iqbal says he wanted to continue his education but his father’s failing health forced him to pick up where his father left off. He says he’s scared the municipal corporation will ask him to vacate the humble slum dwelling he lives in. On being asked what makes him feel this way, he says “Reality”. His friends used to live in an area nearby but were evicted forcibly in order to extend a flyover to another part of the city. He says they were only paid Rs 12000 as compensation, ‘a joke of an amount’. “I might be rendered homeless anyday. That’s fear.”
He says his only dream is to save enough money to be able to pay for his parent’s hajj pilgrimage. But that dream was dealt a blow when he fell sick last summer. Not one to take his health for granted, he went to renowned doctors in private hospitals, but a slew of tests and large medical bills have revived his health, but left him close to penniless. He says it’s no big deal, and he’ll recover all that money by working as an auto repairman during his off time but his face is reflective of his troubled mind. He wants to move out of the slum, says his parents can’t live in the unhealthy environment. “It’s a cycle, he says. I save money for the hajj, then someone falls sick, then I spend all my money on healthcare, then I start saving money again.” The only answer to his problem is to move out of his filthy surroundings and move to a cleaner home. But that needs money too, and money is hard to come by.
“Future?” he smiles, “future mein kya hai? Parents want me to get married, which again I can’t afford. Abhi to bas yahi hai, kaam karna hai.”
In our safe houses in safe localities, with a safe income and a seemingly safe future, our problems with our world are miniscule as compared to those who face the world and its miserable insecurities on a daily basis. Stories from the lower rungs of the social ladder show us the harsh face of the world and are where words like difficulty derive their meanings from.
