Just about half an hour ago, I had stepped out to have dinner at a nearby restaurant and was on my way back to the hostel when I decided to walk towards VT Station so that I could buy some peanuts. In my opinion, peanuts are probably the most enjoyable stuff to buy off the streets near VT – they are warm, satisfyingly tasty and quite light on the pocket. Therefore, I strolled down the road towards the station and then, on that road – Mahapalika Marg – that I saw the banana vendor. He was seated a little distance away from entrance to Cama Hospital (which, by the way, is now heavily – and quite belatedly – guarded by about half-a-dozen policemen) on the footpath, hopefully trying to sell his last bunch of plantains. He had a cheerful expression on his face that matched the tone of his voice as he called to the passersby. As I walked past him, I realized that it was nearly ten o clock and the few people on the footpath were some of the last stragglers who were running to catch the train home. Why was this man still here? Obviously, he wasn't leaving until he sold his final bunch of fruit.
It then struck me (after nearly two years of living in this area) how hard-working the people of the street actually are. This notion had always been at the back of my head, a sort of subliminal admiration for the dedication that these men put into their work but this was the first time I actually thought about it clearly. As I made my way back from the peanut vendor (another worker who put in late hours at work), I decided to buy some bananas from this guy. After all, it had been quite some time since I had eaten any fruit. I made my way to him and it was then that I realized that he was disabled – his right arm was only a stump. But what really caught my attention was the way he shrugged off his disability. He briskly cut a dozen bananas for me and deftly placed them in the packet that I was holding open for him. He wasn't there to showcase his plight but to conduct business. He pocketed my ten rupee note with a nod of thanks and the transaction was completed. I made my way back in a rather pensive mood.
I am the sort of person who detests beggars (of any sort). I dislike begging and during the few times I have been forced to beg or plead for something, I have always ended up with a bad taste in my mouth. Therefore, I tend to look down upon most beggars, including those of the street. But men like the one I mentioned above are not beggars, they are something else altogether. They are extremely remarkable people who, over the past two or three years, have earned my immense admiration. Their occupations are rather humble, such as selling panipuri or driving a taxi but they go about their work with a sense of pride that I haven't seen in most of the few top-notch executives I have met. These are the men and women who brave all sorts of odds to do what they do. They have to face the ire of policemen and civic officials for clogging up the footpaths; they have to put up with the rudeness and condescension inflicted upon them by their customers; even the weather doesn't spare them with monsoon showers frequently depriving them of much-needed livelihood. Yet, they carry on because they have no choice. Giving up their occupations means descending back into the chaos from which they are struggling to rise and therefore, they are willing to go to extraordinary lengths to keep their businesses functioning.
They are at their spots the moment the day begins. Time is indeed money for them and they refuse to compromise on it. They stay at their spots until they sell every little item that they had brought with them, for to waste any is to waste money. Money is important to everyone in this world but for these people, it is crucial to gather as much as possible. One may never know when the next bribe-seeking cop might turn up or when the BMC might confiscate their wares. More importantly, for these people, the money is a sign that all their effort isn't going to waste – that it was worth it to refuse the guild of beggars and strive for a more dignified way of life. A sign that one day, they might be able to move further up the social ladder and ensure a better future for their families. It is this hope of moving from mere survival to a more leisurely life that keeps them going. Personally, they have provided me with confidence more than once. Sometime last year, I was travelling in a taxi when the driver burst into conversation. Happily ignoring my complete ineptitude at speaking Hindi, he told me how he had arrived in Mumbai six years previously and had started off as a milk delivery boy in Dadar. Now, several years later, he drives a taxi on weekdays and an ambulance for a hospital on weekends, earning far more than he ever did in his village near Nagpur. "Mehnat se kuchh bhi ho sakta hai saab!" he told me with a grin on his face. Whenever I feel like complaining about how life is tough for me, I now remind myself of him. If I have it bad, he's had it much worse. People like him can teach people like me a thing or two about determination to succeed and dedication to one's work.
This is why I often feel angry or uncomfortable when I see such people eking out a living on the streets. I don't feel sorry for them but I do feel that they deserve better. The recession may be making a lot of upper class and middle class families uncomfortable but it is particularly overbearing on these people. Educated professionals will at worst, have to compromise on their pride and make do with low-paying clerical jobs until the tide turns in their favour but for the workers of the street, there is no such fallback. If they are forced to shut down their businesses, they often find it extremely difficult to get going again. The fact that many of them actually do get back to work in one way or the other is quite remarkable. I feel that these people deserve better simply because their work and their effort make them worthy of such reward. The problem is how exactly does one help them? I personally feel that the best way to help them is not provide them with sops or subsidies or financial aid (as useless politicians tend to do) but with tools and technology that can make their work easier. Prosthetic limbs for the disabled workers, for example, can be highly useful. Education and awareness can again greatly help these workers. Micro financing (not grants) can also be constructive. However, since these workers function in the informal economy, it is difficult to design a functioning system for the provision of such services. As unappealing as it may be, the government should probably be roped in to some extent. Government interference in the informal economy almost always ends in disaster but its presence may turn out to be vital.
The road ahead for such systems to increase the welfare of these street workers is quite long and clearly winding and it will be quite a while before any sort of meaningful assistance trickles down to them. However, I only hope that their determination to rise above their given status does not falter and that they inspire others from low-income backgrounds to rise along with them. These are people who turn away from the appealing paths of begging and crime to establish an identity of dignity for themselves. I hope that people like me understand that and appreciate the part they play in society and in our lives.
