Talking Shop: Shan’t till until I’m still

“Hard work spotlights the

character of people: some

turn up their sleeves, some

turn up their noses, and

some don’t turn up at all.”

— Sam Ewing

Ramu Kaka and his ilk are a changed lot. India’s once-loved household help doesn’t seem to want to help anyone anymore, not even themselves. Many of us feel – rural-folk themselves do too – that they are hard-pressed to eke out basic sustenance, leading a hand-to-mouth existence. In some cases, that is true. In most cases, though, the reality is that the average Indian village worker just doesn’t want to plunge rake into soil to dig out gold. Vestiges of Ramu K are visible only in rare cases now, their numbers dwindling. And the way things are going, all that will be left of Ramu K would be his once-glorified footage from Bollywood, the ageing celluloid now crackling and crumpling with age, neglect and the caprices of time.

I know this is going to be a controversial column, but so be it. We can’t always keep berating and banging the politicians, bureaucrats and businessman. People on the other end of the societal stick deserve their share of the stick too, especially when repeated manifestation of their wilful descent into the labyrinth are overtly and shamelessly visible.

Before I deep-dive into this subject, let me share this. Each day, on the TV and social media, we see and read heart-rending horror stories of millions perched on the precipice of hunger, homelessness and financial, familial breakdown. Such exploitation of the ‘have-nots’ by the ‘haves’ is the norm of the day, gyaanis tell us, pointing to a ‘K-shaped recovery’ of the Indian economy. “The rich are getting richer, the poor poorer, all due to the myopic and motivated policies of the Government,” the overflowing knowledge vessels insist. Really?

My new ‘best friend’: Me

Let’s take the instance of my new best friend (me, of course). After his very own Ramu K of 16 years left for ‘home’ in Assam to take care of ageing parents and family paraphernalia, my best friend found new house-help. The boy was an eye-opener, all colour and bleach. I am not being racist; the hair was half black and half yellow. The top of his jeans ended close to his unmentionables and a black elastic strap with ‘Roopa’ emblazoned in white shone above it, making my friend sputter. My friend never spoke of the figure-hugging floral shirt, or the silver earring that glistened every time the New Ramu K (NRK) went ‘Haan ji’.

Within a day of being appointed, NRK was asked if he could cook. “I don’t know how to”, he replied. Chop vegetables? “I never had to”, he said. Other queries such as dusting, cleaning, walking the dog or washing the cars elicited similar one-liners. Extremely frightful was NRK’s return-question to my friend one evening: “What’s the Wi-Fi password?” My palpitating friend nearly had a full-blown seizure, but the missus saved the day by telling the boy to eat, go to his room and get some sleep. My friend recalls that as sleep eluded him that night, he mumbled to the better half: “Congratulations. We just adopted a full-grown man.”

NRK was not the only import into my friend’s home, and he went through eight iterations before hanging up the hot tongs and going solo, at least till limbs permit. The visa-holders were eerily similar – large mobile phones, streaked hair, aversion to being taught anything new, and disgust at being faulted or questioned. Three were asked to go; five left of their own accord, duly registering their disappointment at having been there. “Hamara gaanv hi achcha hai. Ek mahine ki salary mein ab chhe mahine aaraam karenge (Our village is good. With this one month’s salary, I will now relax for six months).”

Rainbows & pots of gold

A typical vein pumped up in village youth appears to be the belief that life in big cities is all about big houses, gizmos and devices, manicured lawns and big cars, glitz and colour – a preconceived notion that city-folk are rolling in it, mega-rich and all but demi-Gods. There is only one place where this image of family life is promoted; on celluloid, in the movies. Thus, as dashing Khans woo bashful Rais, Abrahams and Devgns plot their next heist standing atop the hood of gleaming Chevy Impalas and Dodge Chargers; in that one enticing moment, 20 crore youth make their go-city plans with their own dreamy avatars of damsels and cars.

When these youngsters reach the big cities and find their way into households, the reality is hard to comprehend. Most find it incredible, even unbelievable, that ‘Sir’ (or ‘Madam’) is washing cars, cooking, cleaning utensils, ironing clothes and walking or taking an auto to the local marketplace to fetch vegetables and household goods. And if Sir cooks well, that is a curse in itself – because the youngster who never aspired to cook in the first place, and doesn’t know how to, loses the will to learn. That is sad, and can be dangerous too.

While at it, let’s also not allow the ubiquitous mobile phone to get away with the murder spree it has been on. In both rural and urban India, these devices are hardly ever used to imbibe knowledge and learning, or upgrade skills and capabilities. It starts off as a pastime that metamorphoses soon into an addiction, a means to reach TikTok, chatboxes, social media sites, and porn. Each of these frequented destinations, without exception, entails a journey that destroys more of youthful human and moral fabric than it creates.

Women to the fore

Even in India’s villages, it is predominantly women who keep things on an even keel. Men, especially in hill and mountain states, are typically found smoking beedis or the aphrodisiac or numb-doses that sprout on local foliage. Once done with the puffing, the men reach for the good old bottle of elixir in the evenings. It is women who manage not just the farmlands and livestock, but the children and home too. The reason I mention women is two-fold – one, they deserve all the praise they can get; and two, it is they who bear the consequences and pain when their city-bound men return without the promised riches.

A trigger for this writeup (other than my ‘best friend’) is that of the 20 crore youth who annually head to India’s big cities to find their ‘life’, more than 90 per cent rush back to their villages within a year itself. That still leaves 2 crores in the cities each year, most of them disillusioned and disgruntled. That much of an acrid taste in those many mouths can only lead to trouble and things like increased crime. That’s a reality, but I will not go there today.

PS1: Famous Basketball coach Tim Notke said once: “Hard work beats talent, when talent doesn’t work hard.” We should remember that and praise the men who have indeed risen from bucolic areas and change the norm in various fields by the dint of sheer work. Hats off to them. Sadly, they have been few and far between.

End of the day, I am perplexed over how things have turned out for me and ‘my boys’, which leads to a multiple-points question, the answer to which is the only logical solution. A. The times are wrong; B. The state I live in is wrong; C. ‘My boys’ are wrong; or D. I am wrong. In a hiccupping economy, I have learnt that the customer is King; so is the reader (customer) of a column. By that logic, I leave it to you to decide which of the four options above is right.

PS2: A fifth, ‘bonus’ option kicks in automatically if you choose ‘D’. ‘E: You are wrong’.

The writer is a veteran journalist and communications specialist. He can be reached on [email protected]. Views expressed are personal