All in a Day's Play

Cricket - the Indian Timepass 

The young son of Kamlesh-the rickshawala, the younger of his two children plays cricket with the kids in my colony. I also recognised Siya Ram’s (the Dhobi’s) nephew, and another Dhobi’s boy. Kids from well off families treat him the same. He gets his fair innings of batting. And every time I pass by, he shouts from the other corner of the playground- “Namaste Didi!” like an obedient little boy. His father has seen me grow up in the neighbourhood. 

To him, it’s about culture and etiquettes- “Sabhyata” as he calls it, to make sure his son greets all those familiar faces of the neighbourhood. The sight of seeing the kids play together was one of Equality. It was refreshing. I brought me back to writing after month’s hibernation.

Kamlesh is a local rickshawallah who has lived in the vicinity of my ...it would more apt to say that I have lived in the vicinity of his home for the past ten years. Kamlesh, his wife, and two children are a happy family. Kamlesh had always waited along with the other rickshawallas near the neighbourhood Panwadi at the local cycle rickshaw stand. And Kamlesh never refuses to let you sit in his rickshaw just because you bargained to give him five rupees less than what he asked for. He smiles and says, “chalo saab, jo banta ho de dena.” (Come on sir, whatever you think is apt, just pay me that much).”

But there is more than meets the eye to Kamlesh. Kamlesh was a graduate in arts from some government college in some remote Gaon in Uttar Pradesh. He was too poor to sustain the lull-period for looking for a job, and he was married young. He brought his young bride to the city without a place to live, and his search and trial of odd little jobs finally left him with the no choice but to cycle the rickshaw for a livelihood.

He takes computer classes and learns MS Office in the off-peak hours every afternoon, because he aspires to give up this life for anything better. His daughter always gets elected as the class-monitor for her section in the Government Sr. Sec. School in Vikaspuri, and she invariably stands within the first three ranks in her class. His son plays cricket as an equal with the kids from affluent families in my colony. 

Looking at the amount that NIIT (and the likes) charge at training people in the simplest of  software, it is insanely high. So when he told me this, I went straight to thinking as to how he could afford it? Well I never really asked this straight to his face but I guess the answer would be that 'Where there is a will there is a way'.

He is the humblest and one of the most hardworking class you will ever come across on the streets of Delhi - the Cycle Rickshawallas. Unlike their meaner brethren - the Auto Drivers - who rob people in broad daylight (charging as high as 40 bucks extra on top of the normal fares, sometimes even double straightway if you dare to hold your hand out to them during auto strike),, the cycle rickshawallas do hardcore labour for their money.

Rickshawallahs working in the sun

In fact, most of the times if they don’t argue for that 5 extra rupees, you would rather just give them 10 bucks more than normal, out of gratitude and sympathy for their condition. One Lungi, one Gamchha, one Banyan soaked in sweat and dirt and a back full of prickly heat! Oh god, the sight makes me lose my apetite but Kamlesh still smiles despite the 48 degrees summer afternoon and makes small talk. When we hit a road that has been perennially the hell-road for rick’s(... it feels worse than the village roads on mountains with its bumps and craters...) Kamlesh shares with me his insights of the politics of local MLA’s.

He has seen the last one when the MLA has first gotten elected, and 10 years later when that stagnant vegetating couch-potato of an MLA left, he had two huge Kothis with spacious driveways and numerous cars in the neigbourhood (Skoda's and Nissan's...mind you). But this "Jhannum of a road" was the same then and is the same now. A few days later, when the road became normal, he smiled judging my surprise and said “Maidam, election aa raha hoga na, naya candidate hoga... Issi liye aisa sab gaddha bhar diya hai, nahi toh 10 saal baad yeh road kaun dekhta?” And he was right. A week later there was Naarebaazi (loud slogan-shouting) and a new candidate was finally campaigning for the MLA’s seat. He won. 4 months later the monsoons came.

Rickshawallahs working in the rain

The road is back to HELL-Road with puddles and back breaking bumps like it has been for all these years, so much so that maybe they should make it official: Jhannum-Road, F-Block, Vikaspuri, New Delhi- 110018. And those like Kamlesh will get used to this suffering. Kamlesh will keep his children in school and learn the computer. Because he may be a rickshaw driver but he aspires to be much more. And the MLA will vegetate into a bigger potato than the last one. And the Auto’s will charge insane amounts. But Kamlesh and his Rickshawalla's near Chaurasia Pan-wala, F - Block, will suffer and smile on.