Rahul Writes

(Smaller Gods)

Even in scarcity

It was yet another rainy evening in Mumbai. As my bus stopped (or may be moved too slow) as the rush hour traffic snarled through a particular locality, I saw some hutments made on one side of the road. They were perhaps nomads who had settled there for some months. I glanced through their men, women and children who were carrying on various activities of their household. Suddenly something caught my attention. Or someone

He was an old man, perhaps in his later 60s but looked like in his 80s; near skeleton, but had long hair with beard flowing over his clothes which were grey ' all proving nothing but an abject poverty. Why did he catch my attention? Oh, there he was He was raising both his hands up to his shoulders and smiling! Not only smiling, but he was like blessing someone! I looked in his line of sight ' and I found two younger strong and obese men walking on the road. They were returning him smiles in a gesture. So the old man, who was a portrait of paucity, still had the heart to bless someone richer than himself raising both his hands like Lord Brahma and with such a broad smile! In second thoughts, I found it must be something with the way India is ' here people are respected just because of their age!

Just ten meters away from him, I caught another breath stopping sight. There was a kid of about five, lying on his aaram kursi. It was an old style chair, with a reclining seat made up of cloth, which were more popular in the past as resting chairs. This chair was a small one, specifically made for children. As the boy rested on it, he was bending towards one side and watching something on the ground, may be some insects or birds. He seemed to be lost in his world, and I imagined him singing a song. Such a desolate condition of his wandering family, and yet they had cared to keep this kid entertained. On his aaram kursi the boy must be feeling like a prince! Or a baby Krishna for sure

I also remember another scene from a traffic signal. Some street-children were playing in between doing their beggars job. At one place I saw three kids of around 5-10 years, perhaps they were siblings. One boy and one girl were decorating another girl. They had made her wear bangles in her arms, had kept a piece of clothes over her head like an anchal, had pleated her hair to look nice and balanced, and then there was something which touched my heart The boy had found a piece of ornament (of course artificial) which is used by Indian women to put over their mang (parting of the hair). It seemed that they were playing dulhan-dulhan and the siblings were trying to decorate their youngest sister as a bride! I wondered if these kids have really dreamt of nice wedding for their sister as it happens in the homes on both sides of the roads! Still, their happiness to see their little sister look like a bride, though in whatever condition clothes and ornaments happened to be, was wonderful beyond comparisons

When I think about it, I smile at myself. For some time I had wondered if the scenes that I witnessed told me how even the poorest of the poor in India carry part of the same culture and share similar values with the rest. I don't think it was only this much. I think the scenes proved in front of my eyes ' that Life can Smile ' even in Scarcity.

(Smaller Gods)

Like Mother, Like Son

There was nothing unusual about the day when I entered the restaurant for an evening tea. As I waited and stared at the crowded street, I found I had a companion. Sitting next table was a young boy of around 10. His clothes were telling that he was born into a financially poor family. He sipped from a glass through a plastic straw After some time he called a lady who was negotiating with the neighbour tomato-wallah. She seemed to be not getting her right bargain, so she came to him. Mother. He called her making signs like aao-aao raising both his hands. When she came nearer, he offered her the remaining of his glass. She sighed and declined. But he insisted. She gave in, sat down and finished the glass ' the content was enough only for one sip. I guessed it was lemon water. It would have cost them Rs 5 or 4. Then the mother and son left

There must be something unusual about that day in their life Which made them sit in a restaurant for some time. Son offering his last sip of lemon water to mother. Mother sighing and accepting. Then both moving out and becoming one with Mumbai crowd

Truest of our feelings and best of our character traits are neither written, nor proclaimed: they are seen in our actions

(Rahul)

Strange are the people, strange are their dreams; strange are our lives and strange are our means. But great is our country where people go out to achieve their strange dreams in their own strange ways while carrying on to their not-so-strange lives.

Story of two Dosa Sellers

(India) (People)

Dosa vendor turns painter

From mixing dosa batter for this stall, Pradip Lal now mixes paints for his own collection. The first of his paintings was showcased at the amphitheatre at Carter Road in Bandra.

A resident of Orissa, Lal (28) had come to Mumbai six years ago to find a job. The class 10 student who wanted a job as a billboard painter was forced to work as a dosa vendor when he didn't find a suitable job.

"The dosa stall owner paid me Rs 2000 with which I supported myself and my younger brother. The money that I made from tips went towards buying canvas paper and pencils", said the painter, who lives in a rented room in Bandra.

At his first art exhibition, Lal hopes to create an impact enough for some artist to consider him as a student. "I want to learn modern art. May be I am too old or not fit for JJ School of Arts. If a painter notices me here and takes me as an apprentice it would make the effort worthwhile," Lal said.

(Alifiya Khan, Hindustan Times, Mumbai, Jan 17, 2009)

Dosa seller spends Rs 12,000 on son's ODI dream

Ramudu alias Ramu has a dream. He wants his 12-year-old son Rathna Ganesh to become a famous cricketer like Mahendra Singh Dhoni. This is not an idle dream.

"For 30 years, I have been selling dosas on the pavements and I don't want my son to be a dosa seller," Ramu says matter-of-factly, but in a tone edged with steely determination. To achieve this, he sends his son to a coaching camp in Basavanagudi. He also takes his son to watch cricket matches (Test or ODI) whenever they are held at Chinnaswamy Stadium so that he soaks in the ambience of the big game and is motivated by the stars out in the middle.

On Thursday, Ramu went to the stadium at 7 am to buy two Rs 1,000 tickets. There was already a big queue by then and tickets were available easily, except that each ticket cost Rs 6,000! He hesitated for just a fraction of a moment before buying two tickets for Rs 12,000. Incidentally, Ramu, who has a pavement stall at V V Puram's Food Street, earns between Rs 10,000 and 15,000 a month. These two tickets have eaten away a month's income.

'My son's wish is the most important thing for me. With god's grace, I have saved a small sum in my bank account. This I want to use to make my son a cricketer. I earn around Rs 500 a day. With this, I have to run my family and spend on my son's education and cricket. I know it will be difficult for me after spending my entire month's earning for the cricket, but…" he trailed off."

(Atul Chaturvedi, Bangalore Mirror, Nov 21, 2008)

*!*

If we have interesting real life stories like these, who would ask for fictional stories and movies? If we have inspirational examples like these, who would ask for motivational speeches? If we have dreamers like these, who can stop us from becoming a great India again?

Smaller Gods

One Rama in my Life…

The day before, someone asked me, "Who cooks up food for you?". I told him that each meal of the day was prepared by someone different :) V T will say how lucky I am :) :) Yes, I am lucky, not for those who prepare food for me, but for that I get my food when I want :) Here, I will tell you about my break-fast wallah :)

Rama comes from Andhra and his boy (not his son, but a hired one) is Ganesh, of about 15. Every morning, Ganesh takes bath, comes to the pictures of the Gods that they have installed, changes the old flowers, lights up new incense sticks, prays and then starts his work. Rama too is a true workaholic and I have never seen him out of his canteen.

The other day when I entered, the scene in this canteen was very different. Five ladies were inside and Rama was blushing and smiling like never before :) :) Ladies were having their Sheeras and Upmaas and were flattering him by asking how did he prepare such tasty upmas? And that they were never able to make such ones in their homes! He was smiling and smiling and smiling And in between he was giving them some tips on the delicious upmaa.

And then the ladies came to a business. They asked for some sheera to be parceled. Now it was time for me to smile. As per the rules of his canteen, parceling was not allowed. I waited to see if his heart wins or his brain :) If his smile wins or his work-ethic…

Brain won :) He said no!

Rama of the modern times lived up to his image. He kept his righteousness

Picture: Who is right, who is not? Sons challenge Lord Rama…

Smaller Gods

The lady and her ear-ring

While I cross a railway bridge each morning and all evenings, I see a lot of people: a variety of J. But yesterday when I saw her, my eyes got fixed for a moment. She was a lady of around 45, slim, short, fair, and with a white stick. Her eyes revealed that she was completely blind, though she hadn't put on any black glasses. What caused my eyes to fix for a moment were her long pendants (as her ear rings). No one wears such things these days at public places because of risks of snatching. I also observed that she had prepared herself well, had put on a neat white saree, her hair was well pleated, and she was looking nice and happy.

We all think ourselves at loss several times, we feel sad, we feel low. Think about that lady: she can't see this world and struggles for her day to day survival. If she feels like dressing well, puts on nice ear rings, and walks with confidence, I know: life is beautiful. Thank you God, for giving me eyes so that I could see her. And learn.

Life

Personal

Gods in small things

In my world, small is all that matters. After all, big is made up of small things! So in my own style, I steal some small moments from the lives of the not-small people around me. Here are some six encounters I can recall now:

1.  

I never knew my neighbourhood ice-cream wallah was so good at wit. Around 10 in the last evening/night, it was cold outside. When I was having my/his fruit salad, I asked him: "Aren't you feeling cold?" He replied instantly: "It is you who are having ice cream; why should I feel cold?" lol!

BTW, this was the same ice cream wallah which inspired me to write the article on "Mass customisation: the ice cream wallah way".

2.

This is about my neighbourhood kirana store. A lady and his son run the store, while her daughter is also the in charge some times.

Once I saw a very beautiful handwritten slip of some articles. I asked the lady whose handwriting was that. She took one minute to think. Then I realised that if that was her daughter's it won't be proper for me to appreciate her further. So before she could answer, I told her that the handwriting was beautiful and it was great to see there in a shop!

She asked her son, if it was his. He said no. Then she suddenly became very happy and told me that it was her daughter's and she was very good in her studies. I noticed the glow on her face while she was telling that. Normally people like her are proud of their sons; it was so nice to give her a reason to be proud of her daughter!

3.

This is when I was posted in my Raipur plant. We had a stenographer with us. I try to help myself and take minimal help from others. One day I was punching holes in some document, to fix it to a file folder. I was punching around 10-15 sheets at one go, and then assembling them as the final report. But the alignment of two bunches of papers never matched. I knew that the stenographer must have some way to do it better. When I asked him, he brought my attention to an arrow mark, which is always there on the punching machine. We have to fold the paper to create a half mark, and then just have to match the mark to the arrow; the paper would be aligned properly. I was proud of my confidence on him. I thanked him, and he smiled.

4.

This is again with another stenographer in the second company I worked in. She had a 5 year old son, who was to take part in a speech making competition in his school. He had to speak 5 sentences on the topic "My city Thane". She emailed the entire department for some suggestions. Not surprisingly, I was the only one to reply J

My one sentence was an instant hit: "Thane is the younger sister of Mumbai." She loved the sentences, and thanked me a thousand times. Some days after that, she came to me beaming with happiness: her son had got the first prize and the entire school had applauded him when he said "Thane is the younger sister or Mumbai." Wow!

5.

Last time when I was at my hometown, I went to the neighbourhood floor mill. A young boy and a younger girl were managing the business J When I asked the boy when I should come to collect, he replied: "Come at 6.30 " and then asked: "What is the time now?" I laughed. Then his sister came from outside, and having sensed the question, she replied: "Come in half an hour". I knew who was the smarter of the two I noticed that there were 6 bags ahead of my bag.

When I came back after 40 minutes, I found that three bags were still remaining to go before my turn came. But they took my bag ahead. I then went on to explain to them that they could calculate the time. One bag can take an average 10 minutes to grind, and hence the 6 bags would have taken 60 minutes minimum! So they should have said 60 minutes to me! And they agreed.

Later their father told me that the boy was elder to his sister, but had left the school after 7^th. The girl was now also in 7^th and regularly attended her school. She even taunted the boy for running away from classes, and the boy ran after her. Innocent childhood Their father told them that he had got a job offer of a clerk though some known person, but couldn't get it because he was not 12^th pass Small Gods inspire others J

6.

And I can't forget the old kachra wallah who kept knocking at my door every morning and scolded me if I opened the door late. I had written about him in the article "Learning work-ethics from a kachra wallah".

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Rahul Wishes you a very happy Republic Day! Let us make India greater and greener!

Faithfulness

Kumar Rahul Tiwary

One of my friends told me this real story. His father was posted in a small forest town at that time. One day, while he was passing through a stretch adjacent to the forest, 5-6 wild dangerous looking dogs surrounded him. There was no one else around. Suddenly, a small local dog arrived nearby and invited attention of the dangerous dogs. Then he started running away in a particular direction. My friend's father too ran behind that dog. The wild dogs, because of some strange reason, didn't chase him! He was safe. He then took that dog to his home and domesticated him. After a long association, one day, there was something wrong with the dog, may be he had eaten something wrong. He was eagerly waiting in the house, for his master to return from office. As soon as my friend's father came, the dog ran towards him, lovingly hugged him, played with him, and then moved away. He went to the bathroom, vomited blood, and after some time, he was dead.

I know many of us have stories like this. I remember the story of Sona, the female deer of poetess Subhadra Kumari Chowhan, which she described in her story. Also, I remember one story I read on some of your blogs, where the authoress described how she found and lost her faithful pet.

God of Smaller Things

A story in my "Breathless style". No full stops; go on reading.

He is a road side cobbler; of around 40. He may be 50, but it doesn't matter. He occupies part of the pavement besides Mumbai's busy traffic. He sets up his stall every morning and winds up in evenings. After working throughout the day, he returns back to his home, somewhere on the outskirts of the city. He lives in a slum. His life is full of adventures, if you call it so. It has to be. The roads of Mumbai are not that boring after all. His life is dangerous too. It has to be. Be it the policemen, or the speeding cars, many can get in to endanger his peace of  working life. But perhaps it is less dangerous than the life he led in some remote village, the one which he left forever and came here to be a drop in the ocean of Mumbai. There he was like a less privileged, the fact proved itself everyday in his life. People of his own community were never considered equal to the rich and powerful in his village. But he has some attachment for his birthplace. He should have some. After all, each and every tree in his village and each and every goat in his village knew him. Why he left is another long story. Perhaps he could tell his story to you when Holi comes. The memories of celebrating Holi in his village linger in his inside. Every Holi, he feels nostalgic; some film maker should meet him at time and his story may turn into a film like Vastav. But he is happy most of the times. In this city, he is equal to all. Many Brahmins live in his slum, and they don't look down on him. His kholi is bigger than the Brahmins', who spread their stuff on the same footpath where he runs his own enterprise: papers on astrology, stones etc. He believes he is better than those Brahmins. He has reasons to think so. After all, he earns bread by working with his own hands. And they earn their bread and butter by making fool of others, by reading palms. Can a single mark in his palm change the destiny he made by his two hands? One astrologer had told him in his village that he would become a man of dignity one day ' worthy of sitting on a chair parallel to the upper castes. Some times he thinks he has achieved this by this time. He has reasons to think like so. When he gets a seat in the Mumbai locals, he sits along with many other people. And some among them must be from upper castes. He has achieved something in his life. When bomb blasts happened, he was on one such train. Thank God, the enemies of humankind where not on his train. He hates all who kill others. He should hate them. Why should they kill innocent people? Despite many provocations from some goons in his slum, he has never done anything like fighting. He cares for his wife and his children. Who will take care of them if he harms that Munna. There should not be any violence.

Today is a beautiful day. One old friend from his very own village met him last evening by chance. How could he meet him in this big city? He believes in fate. Last night, both of them shared the same plate, which was filled again and again by his dear wife. He was not sure if she would have something to eat after they eat much more than what was expected. But a day before, she had got some rice separated from spoiled corn from the shop next to their slum; she would prepare something. He and his friend had a chat late into the night. Not regarding his village, but about their future. His friend too is a cobbler. This morning, he has brought him to his stall, to teach him the tricks of his trade. This city is dangerous. Especially dangerous for people like his friend. So innocent and so soft hearted. He would teach him everything. But he will ask him to work from the opposite side of the same road. He has reasons for this decision. This part of the footpath is his domain. He should not make grants in friendship when it comes to profession. After all, he has made a good reputation for being a thorough professional. People come for his advice in his slum. He thinks professionalism is necessary. He should think so. After all, that chap named Dhirubhai has become richest man on his own, not like the rich in his village who inherit land and suppress others. He had watched the movie Guru with a friend who took him to a theatre. He always thinks how many people could be accommodated inside the cinema hall, if they were allowed to live in. Such a big building! It reminds him of the cold storage in the nearest town to his village, from outside at least. No house for him and such a big building here for fun! He could understand the story of the film. But he doesn't hope of becoming like a Dhirubhai one day. He should not be that hopeful after all. All he wants is a peaceful life for him and his family, and his son to get some permanent job with some government office. He likes government jobs. He has reason to like them. After all, he knows that government is richest of all. Government has all the money in this world and it can do whatever it wants. And imagine someday, the government becomes happy with the job of his son, and then it could give some rewards to his son. That would be so great! His daughter is his big responsibility also. He wants to marry her off with a person who doesn't drink. And it is very difficult to find one in the present times. Though she is still 11, he always keeps an eye on boys. It is a difficult task, he must start early.

He respects Ambedkar. He learnt about him when that Masterjee in his slum called a meeting last year. He told them how Ambedkar, despite being an outcaste became a Saheb. And he started liking Ambedkar from that day. See, he wears such a nice coat and a hat. He looks like a Sahab. And imagine, he was born in a caste lower than his own! He sighs every time he daydreams his son to become like Ambedkar. His son once brought a picture of Ambedkar from some newspaper. He asked his son to keep the picture in their shanty. Some times when he leaves his home for work, he salutes the statue of Ambedkar; several of them are installed in his slum.

He has installed two pictures in his stall. One is of Sai Baba. He respects him very much. When he was seriously ill in his childhood, his mother made a wish in front of Sai Baba's picture in their hut. And he became well in some days! He is God, He can do whatever He wants. His father too respected Sai Baba. The presence of His picture near him makes him feel safe. He should feel safe; after all a lot many things are running smoothly just because of God. He has sworn in the name of Sai Baba and people have believed him. Many times, when he had become completely broke, his wife has brought something to eat from Sai Baba's temple. He has installed another picture also. It is of Guru Ravidas Ji. He is like God to their community. All cobblers worship Him. Despite being from a cobbler's community, he reached divinity. All people, even Brahmins worshiped Him. Such a great feat He is a God .

Guru Ravidass ji the cobbler offereth prayer;

By singing such a prayer to God, for a single moment

He has turned from a lowly caste into an exalted one,

And all the four castes come to bow down at his feet.

His friend has come to have a chat with him. He just got off from his seat and both friends are talking now. A taxi passes on the road. A camera clicks. And you can see what it captured.

Learning work ethics from a Kachra wallah

We don't stop learning. We can learn anytime, anywhere, from anyone. That is what is expected from us in our lives.

We all have heard a lot about the Dabba wallas of Mumbai. The Dabba wallahs deliver Tiffin boxes at the right places with six sigma accuracy. Some days back I came across one person, who made me learn a thing or two on work ethics.

By Kachra wallah I mean the guy who every morning collects garbage/wastes from door to door in our residential apartments and discharge it to the municipal garbage collection vehicle.

My first encounter with him was interesting. I was taking my morning bath and here some one starts ringing call bell. I needed some time to come out, but hey! He now starts knocking at the door; thinking may be the call bell is not working. After a lot of knocks and some speedy efforts from me, I open the door and find the hero of this story standing there.

He had put up T-shirt and knickerbockers (trousers ending above knees). Is he a cool dude? Let us go in detail'.

He was a thin man in his forties, but looking much older. His rickety legs were visible from the knickerbockers. But he had an expressive face. I become annoyed to find that the guy was a kachra wallah.  Before I could speak, he starts off in a loud voice, 'Kachra do naa. Kitni baar darwaajaa khatkhataya' ('Give me the garbage. How many times I have knocked at your door!').

What? I lose my cool and tell him that if I don't turn up, he can't force me to give it to him. I smiled at my own statement. J But he is not convinced and asks me to hurry up.

From that day onwards, he comes to my door and knocks until I appear; either I give him his beloved kachra or I tell him that I didn't generate any! Now onwards, I will call him GMan '" Garbage Man (this is different from Gmale/Gmail J ).

After some days, he observes that he is not able to collect garbage from my flat, as by the time he comes to the ground floor, collecting garbage from all the upper floors, I am out of the house (for office). To my amazement, now he started collecting garbage from lower to upper floors! He continued in this absurd manner (he has to carry the load upwards) for one month. Then one day, some one from the society scolded him for doing that the unconventional way. He asked our guy to collect downwards only. Our GMan found merit in that and now I see him only 4 times a week.

One day, I saw him carrying his garbage basket out from our housing society. Then suddenly he stopped. There were some plastic wrappers lying at some distance. He collects them and put them into his basket. Then he carries on. This I not expected, because cleaning the lawn is the responsibility of some one else! This makes me think a little more about him'..

When I think, I can easily count several traits that make his case a perfect example of good work ethics:   

1. He is punctual at his work, and never absent.
2. He is passionate for his job. He is ready to argue and will get the job done at any cost. GMan stays at my door, unless I appear.
3. To satisfy his customers, he is flexible, even if that cause him some pain. GMan carries the garbage up the ladder, so that he doesn't miss one flat on the ground.
4. He listens to others and is ready to change if he finds merit in that. GMan changed his path again upwards, because that was the efficient method.
5. He goes beyond his defined job responsibility. GMan is ready to pick up the garbage from the ground, which is actually assigned to some other person.
6. He doesn't want to be praised. He is content with the timely completion of his work. No one praises GMan for his good work.

Am I going too far, in extracting something called 'good work ethics' out of our GMan? What is a work ethic? 'The work ethic is a cultural norm that advocates being personally accountable and responsible for the work that one does and is based on a belief that work has intrinsic value.' Read this definition, and I am proud to come across this GMan '" a perfect example or good work ethic.

I still don't know his real name. But now I do some Googling. Do you know what they call our Kachra Wallahs in the US? In the US, he is also called Waste collector, Garbage man, Garbage collector, Trash collector, or Sanitation engineer. The last name will provide our GMan some inspiration.

[Kumar Rahul, Monday, December 11, 2006 7:17 PM]

PS: I wait for your views on this piece.  

Warriors in trucks            

I want to share with you what I saw last night. Everyday in our cement plant, fleets of trucks come and leave for loading and unloading material. Because of delay in loading etc, often the truck drivers and their helpers need to stay in the night near the ‘truck yard’. This is what they go through: They take out stoves and utensils, which they always carry with them. Then they purchase something to cook or take out the leftovers with them. They cook food, each one, in front of his truck. They take their dinner there. And then, after spreading a sheet on the ground, they go to sleep……… on the ground………. , by the road side…..  under the open sky………,  amid mosquitoes………. 

I had seen this many times, but noticed it last night. The truck-driver that appears on TV ads, did you know their hardships? And when we enjoy a night’s sleep, with  ACs running, millions of poor people toil & moil to earn for their families. It made me feel bad, and I felt an urge to make a difference in at least one less privileged life…….

[Kumar Rahul, 2004, Gopalnagar, Chhattisgarh]