Chotu and family, Alaknanda Market, New Delhi January 2009 Reading Ken Banks' latest post "The elephant in the room" made me think. This post is an attempt to capture some of those fuzzy and complex thoughts.
I've seen Chotu, the corner paanwallah, grow old over the last 20 some years since the first time I went to buy cigarettes from him. Early this year, I went to pay my respects to him after my arrival in Delhi although I had a supply of duty free cigarettes of the brand I preferred. Visiting him whenever I am in the country has become as much a part of my "must do's" as going to see my nephew. This year, the influence of the vast and unseen effects of being connected by trade to the rest of the world were felt in his family, that's his brother with the black hat, standing behind his younger son, laid off now from his factory job in Faridabad as 'orders' slow down in step with weakening demand. Chotu asked me if I could do anything for him, a mark of respect I realized much later, as he'd never ask anything of me, knowing that I would not find it easy to refuse. If that complex concept comes through with clarity. I knew I couldn't actually do much, not having lived in India for the past decade or so means that I have few connections left. I told him Sanjay would be coming over and he too worked at a factory, perhaps he might have some news.

Sanjay in the balconey, Alaknanda, New Delhi January 2009
Sanjay came to live with my parents around the same time they used to live in New Delhi in the very late eighties, I believe he was with us for about 7 years. A tiny little boy of 9 or 10, he was the eldest of three or four children when his father died and suddenly he found himself the head of a household. His uncle used to work for my grandfather and he brought Sanjay to New Delhi to find him some work. I often wonder how his life would have turned if he'd gone to some other household, for my parents, unaccustomed to household help, having lived abroad since 1970, would set time aside for play as well coach him in the 3 Rs. Is it child labour or oppression, since all he ever did back then was the running up and down the three stories for my mother who is asthmatic? What would be the alternative for him back in a village in Bihar, one of the most backward states in India? Or his mother and younger siblings, to whom we sent a monthly stipend on his behalf, along with clothes and other sundry goods?
After he reached his mid teens he said he didn't want to continue in the domestic line as he'd discovered an innate talent for electrical and electronic repair following my father around (dad is the ultimate early adopter geek). So we sent him off to be trained as an electrician at my uncle's factory where today he's the head of maintenance. He's around 30 and proudly shows me how he's found he's a dab hand at mobile phone repair, which he does on the side as a paying hobby. His next ambition is to go to one of the mobile phone repair training centres cropping up around lower income locales across the country. I told him about Chotu's brother's dilemma and asked him if he could help, or at least, since I'd promised Chotu, and thus my good word depended on it, would he pop down to the market and say hello? He said he would but doubted if any good could be done, too many factories were laying off the workers due to the slowdown in export orders.
There is no social security, no unemployment, nothing but your goodwill among your network as insurance. Complex webs of relationships, sometimes multigenerational (Sanjay's granduncle drove my grandfather to work in Calcutta in the seventies) mostly within extended families, or biradaries, or clans, villages and neighbourhoods, knit together a social network as security system.
I can recall no sense of ever becoming aware of "poverty", no distinct turning point of awareness as mentioned in Ken's post that started this rambling post of mine. And yet I feel as though I've always known/not known that we were privileged, and thus, we were obliged (that's not quite the right word) to do what was right, i believe, but I'm not wholly sure, the word just might be dharm. It was a knowing thing, yet one that can, I'm ashamed to say, be cast aside quite easily when one lives in India. Else the overpowering elephant will bear heavily down on your chest with his foot until you can hardly breathe. One must learn to find a middle path between the knowing/not knowing of the disparity right outside the threshold in order to stay sane enough to survive. I believe you become more deaf and blind to it the longer you are immersed in it, contextually, this complexity just maybe a post for another day.
Today I'll simply recall one day in Calcutta when it struck me that I would never have the capacity to be a "Mother Theresa" - someone who selflessly devotes their life for the destitute (you cannot be from Calcutta and not go through that crisis of conscience, methinks, be it at 9 or 19) and spent the next 20 years just being 'normal' in the context of my place in life. How I found my way back to doing what I do now, I really do not know - it would be nice to have a snappy life changing anecdote to share or heartwarming transformation to tell, but no, I fear it might actually have simply been an innate sense of niti.
cantbrico wrote: February 13, 2009 23:17