It was a hot afternoon. I was rushing home for lunch
from office. That privilege of employees living in a township: A 10 to
15 minute walk to quarters. But it was too late to afford a walk. And it was
too hot. That means I had to decide to board the local minibuses that ply in the
route.
The minibuses. They are mostly crowded with people who
seldom take a bath. These buses are smelly and nauseating and take half the
life out of me during the 4 minutes I spent inside it .They are a miniature
representation and a true testimony to the life of the people in this part of
the country. And this part of a country is: A small village in a corner of West
Bengal close to Jharkhand border; “Sanctoria” to be pronounced as “Shaactodia”.
Don’t mind. Sa is Sho in Bengali just as “ Aa” is “Oo”. Much to my dismay, in
the first few days I had learnt that Saurav Ganguly is not actually Saurav...hes
Shorob da...I was mispronouncing his name for my entire life..!!(and I will
continue to J] Well, I got used to it now. Not a problem.
Let me come to the point. I got into the bus. The
conductor wore torn clothes greased with dirt. His face was as shabby as his
hair. I sat down reluctantly ensuring minimum contact with the seat. Hurriedly
I searched my hand bag for a 5 rupee coin...UHH.. Now...I had just run out of
money. I just missed going to ATM. No
notes. No coins. Empty purse. I franctically checked every nook and corner of
my bag and purse like a blitzkrieg so as to hand over the money before I get
down. There I was, One, two, three....Three rupees..I made it! Almost made it!
I counted it again and handed it over to the conductor
and pretended to keep searching for more coins. But then, I knew these were
people for whom every rupee is a lottery. Denying them the balance would be
very unfair. I looked up at him hoping for some consideration. But, before I
could say, Bhaiyya paise nahi hain...baad main denge.. those words rang into my
ears from my side... “ AMI DEE DICHI...AMI DEE DICHI..”.
A lady with pan
stained teeth grinned widely at me. Her sindoor adorned her forehead extending to midway of her cerebral hemisphere. She had by then opened up the knot, at the
end of the pallu of her unwashed Sari and neatly handed over two one rupee
coins to the conductor after due verification. I saw in her eyes a divine
satisfaction of having helped me. I smiled at her and thanked her profusely.
Both were happy. She smiled gleefully at me as though I made her day (but why?)
and I smiled at her because she actually made my day!
She helped a
Madamji. For the local people, Madamjis are those officer grade women who work
in Govt. Offices, clearly distinguished by their clothes and accessories and
the place they live. Madamjis wear neatly pressed clothes and wrist watches.
They carry handbags and use mobile phones and they can READ and WRITE. They
live in company quarters. They possess good footwears and expensive wallets. But
sometimes...They don’t have a two rupee coin!
The incident through some light into the corners of my
mind. The insights are as follows:
1. Never underestimate the value of a rupee
2. Never underestimate the power of a common man/woman-
Courtesy: Sharukh Khan
After coming here I
just realised that I am not a common person. I realised that I am
extraordinarily blessed. I received good education, love, care and attention.
Good food. Shelter and laughter. Good job, bank account and adequate bank
balance. Good water and toilets inside my residence- Always(Thankyou God!!) .
Good friends, freedom, outings, books, movies, opportunities to travel, and
good clothes.
I did not know at some point of time that these are a
distant dream for millions of people in this country. After joining Coal India
and shifting my base to West Bengal, I saw what life is like for many others.
Women work as aayas/maids in houses for 600-700 rupees a month. They earn a
little more than 20 rupees a day, when a packet of milk costs 19 rupees and
still feel happy that they are financially independent. They get up at 4 am to go
out to attend natures call into the thickets. They have no toilets at home.
They queue up at 5 am to fetch water from the taps on the roadsides. Young
girls lift two to three pots of water at a time to their homes. They bathe in
public ponds and are exposed to water borne diseases and their personal safety
is often jeopardised. They carry coal crumbs and make gobar cakes and pick up
twigs to burn the chulhas.
They may or may not have electricity at home. They may
or may not have good food every day. They may or may not be safe. They may or
may not be educated. Infact, most of them are illiterate and use thumb
impressions instead of signatures. When inflation grips the price of vegetables they live
on potato and home grown veggies if any.
The woman I met was definitely not in a position to
spend 2 rupees on a stranger. Simply because that’s roughly 10 percent of her
daily wages. It does mean a lot to her. But I am so thankful to her that she had
a heart to spend it on me and I write this because I couldn’t till date find
and return her hard earned money. I could never tell her AMI DEE DICHI.
So, I dedicate this part of my blog to her. The
grinning Indian woman in the minibus!
My salute to her.
