~rickshaw~drained vastly
on tired feet
needing repose
that was poor him –
the human-horse of calcutta,
resting under the azure sky.
when asked by
one mama wannabe 'kim'
for a trip to the hospital
on the flooded free school street
he took her to destination
not affording to say no
since left with no option
but to do that for
a living in the city of calcutta.
Let not rickshaws take last ride
What triggered this article is the fact that the hand-pulled rickshaws in the city of Calcutta will be banned very soon as decided by the provincial government. The communist authorities there have finally realized that this traditional mode of transport (a barefoot hapless man carrying a man or two in his hand-pulled rickshaw) is not only inhuman but a scar on the city’s image. I do not have the guts or logic to counter this view rather corroborate, but:
I was born in a typical middle-class Indian Bengali family where the values of everything used to get imbibed and nurtured on the younger members of the family by all the elders, paternal as well as maternal uncles, aunts, elder brothers/sisters/cousins, elder neighbors .... . Those discourses are somewhat common in most of the societies on earth. We were especially sermoned to be always kind to and help the needy people (more precisely ‘needy’ those days used to mean the poverty-struck people who struggled heavily to afford even one square meal a day) around us. Our culture and atypical ethnic traditions would compel us to offer (not just sharing) the entire meal (meant for me) to a sudden visitor to home who may be hungry, even though I remain hungry and without meal. I had observed many a times my father enjoying a disdained, unknown and hungry person eating his special hot-meal, cooked and dished for him by my mother with special care. The western society may find it difficult to digest and rather grade such practices as primitive and odd. We were taught at the very beginning of our prep school days that those who studied seriously and scored well would only live happy and contented. So I, like most in our times, had always tried to fare well in our curriculums. We tried to groom us the way our parents and elders wanted to (collective way resulted from consorted opinions of those elders around/far but within mailing distance) even if those likings of theirs were not acceptable to us. I was made to learn that I had to become an engineer or doctor to justify my presence in this world. So I became an engineer. We got told as children by our elders that married people should never alienate. So, I always distance myself (not sure if hatred develops as well) from people if they estrange voluntarily. Like those learnings, we also learnt that the rickshaw-pullers used to be the poorest people in the world and it was so inhumane to ride their carriage (because they pulled it manually taking the trouble for them) but simultaneously we also had the moral responsibility to help them (with money and support) whenever there was an opportunity. At the same time we were also taught that other people (but not us) should ride on man-pulled rickshaws so that the operators could earn their livelihood. It was so ambiguous and I never had more confusion in life that those two contradicting philosophies or schools of thought put me to. I got so emotionally drawn to the rickshaw-pullers and their poverty. I remember having written a story about Ramu (illusory name and person) when I was 8 years old. The poorest Ramu had to pull the rickshaw on a heavily down-poured day with water-logged city streets against his wishes and despite having very high fever, just because his 3 years old sick and mal-nourished daughter had to be fed something with at the end of the day for which he had to earn at least some coins to buy the food. It was a terrible day and there were no passengers. He got one finally at the end of the day and fare bargained selfishly was just a few coins. Still it would have bought something for the hungry daughter waiting at the door of the shabby shared-room expecting dad to come with some food. Ramu accepted that passenger, inviting him to em-rickshaw since he never wanted the opportunity to go away. As soon as the passenger de-rickshawed at destination settling the hard-bargained fare Ramu rushed to the about-to-close store to buy whatever comestible that small amount could. Across the counter the store-owner realized that the coin was fake and had no acceptance. Ramu had to go home empty-handed to be greeted by her compromisingly smiling daughter, “that’s fine dad, let the hunger grow further then we shall enjoy the food more tomorrow”. Elders, who all read this, feared that I was going to be a communist with the pass of time. But I did not (though I still do not know the real meaning of communist). Those Ramus, their daughters, those stingy as well as good passengers very much exist today, they still live the same lives they used to.
‘Some-times bare-foot rickshaw-pullers’ of the city of Calcutta will continue to be not deterred by the scorching heat of summer, flooded streets in monsoon and harassing by some extortionist with or without identity/uniform. Many write-ups, magazines, photo-features, authors, NGOs flocked around their lives to immortalize them and their stories, destiny and the struggle for mere survival of these, almost literally ‘beasts of burden’. Larry Collins and Dominique LaPierre in their masterpiece City of Joy picturized a touching story of those human-horses of the city of Calcutta. A still from Aparna Sen directed 36 Chowringhee Lane is still vivid in my mind. Jennifer Kapoor (portrays the role of Miss Violet Stoneham, a teacher) returns home safely (after taking some extra classes in the school) in rickshaw pulled by Abdul on a rainy day with swamped Calcutta city streets, while other colleagues of her waited for long hours at the school for the water to recede and return home using regular public transport. These Abduls will never cease to exist factually and virtually in our lives and minds. But Abdul's longtime job is in jeopardy due to the local governmental decision to un-accept 'a human being pulling another.' They think ‘it's inhumane - even obnoxious to look at.’ Rickshaw, widely outlined in the literature of many Asian cultures, is a sore now for Calcutta all of a sudden. Rickshaw’s first ever appearance was in Japan in 1867 during the Meji period. Year 1914 first witnessed the hand-pulled rickshaws rolled into Kolkata manned by Chinese pullers, now substituted by the Bihari drifters on the busy city streets. Though many stories have been told about them hammering on the point that the vehicle symbolizes certain facets of some societies, not very factual data or statistics seem to exist for studying. Estimated population of rickshaws in Calcutta is around 15,000 and the number of pullers much more, since they operate on shifts using the same vehicle. Ramu, Abdul and the city's estimated 18,000 rickshaw-pullers will have to find something else to do but what? Begging? I am still wondering is it not better to carry a live human cargo for a livelihood than to carry a lifeless shabby bowl for begging? Is it not better than begging on the streets of Calcutta? Calcutta has more number of beggars than rickshaw-pullers. I wish government first make themselves think that begging is more obnoxious to look at than man pulling human in a carriage. Instead of making the rickshaw a feature of the past let the advocates of the idea first think of genuine income alternative for these people. May be the electric and solar powered rickshaws, may be modern alternatives.
Calcutta’s tradition is not poverty and hand-pulled rickshaws. Also, it is not Calcutta’s tradition to take away jobs of 18,000 people, who may be an eye-sore but less that than the beggars are. Can the city disassociate her from the beggars and their begging bowls? If not, why we snatch the rickshaws from her? If this form of transport is inhumane more so is to expose those people to the mercy of fate for a living. As it is certain to happen, government can not provide alternative jobs to these people despite sincere intentions. On advance thought model, one day in near future when oil will no longer be available to us we may have to go back to rickshaw ride again all over. So, please show your wisdom and let the human-horses in the city of Calcutta live and run. Let us leap into the new era of modern Calcutta without executing the jinrikishas. Please do not drown Ramu into despair. He will go back to his shabby village home when he becomes old, passing his career to his growing son, just as poor as he was, when he left it, as George Robertson narrated.
I can very well imagine as an outsider (with inner views) the plight and mental agony these people are going through. May be some where some tired and frustrated Ramu with his sickly and hungry daughter is also imagining to climb to the stars, as I remember having read somewhere:
I know the stars are far above
I know my feet rest on the ground
I trust, someday, I will be free.
I was born in a typical middle-class Indian Bengali family where the values of everything used to get imbibed and nurtured on the younger members of the family by all the elders, paternal as well as maternal uncles, aunts, elder brothers/sisters/cousins, elder neighbors .... . Those discourses are somewhat common in most of the societies on earth. We were especially sermoned to be always kind to and help the needy people (more precisely ‘needy’ those days used to mean the poverty-struck people who struggled heavily to afford even one square meal a day) around us. Our culture and atypical ethnic traditions would compel us to offer (not just sharing) the entire meal (meant for me) to a sudden visitor to home who may be hungry, even though I remain hungry and without meal. I had observed many a times my father enjoying a disdained, unknown and hungry person eating his special hot-meal, cooked and dished for him by my mother with special care. The western society may find it difficult to digest and rather grade such practices as primitive and odd. We were taught at the very beginning of our prep school days that those who studied seriously and scored well would only live happy and contented. So I, like most in our times, had always tried to fare well in our curriculums. We tried to groom us the way our parents and elders wanted to (collective way resulted from consorted opinions of those elders around/far but within mailing distance) even if those likings of theirs were not acceptable to us. I was made to learn that I had to become an engineer or doctor to justify my presence in this world. So I became an engineer. We got told as children by our elders that married people should never alienate. So, I always distance myself (not sure if hatred develops as well) from people if they estrange voluntarily. Like those learnings, we also learnt that the rickshaw-pullers used to be the poorest people in the world and it was so inhumane to ride their carriage (because they pulled it manually taking the trouble for them) but simultaneously we also had the moral responsibility to help them (with money and support) whenever there was an opportunity. At the same time we were also taught that other people (but not us) should ride on man-pulled rickshaws so that the operators could earn their livelihood. It was so ambiguous and I never had more confusion in life that those two contradicting philosophies or schools of thought put me to. I got so emotionally drawn to the rickshaw-pullers and their poverty. I remember having written a story about Ramu (illusory name and person) when I was 8 years old. The poorest Ramu had to pull the rickshaw on a heavily down-poured day with water-logged city streets against his wishes and despite having very high fever, just because his 3 years old sick and mal-nourished daughter had to be fed something with at the end of the day for which he had to earn at least some coins to buy the food. It was a terrible day and there were no passengers. He got one finally at the end of the day and fare bargained selfishly was just a few coins. Still it would have bought something for the hungry daughter waiting at the door of the shabby shared-room expecting dad to come with some food. Ramu accepted that passenger, inviting him to em-rickshaw since he never wanted the opportunity to go away. As soon as the passenger de-rickshawed at destination settling the hard-bargained fare Ramu rushed to the about-to-close store to buy whatever comestible that small amount could. Across the counter the store-owner realized that the coin was fake and had no acceptance. Ramu had to go home empty-handed to be greeted by her compromisingly smiling daughter, “that’s fine dad, let the hunger grow further then we shall enjoy the food more tomorrow”. Elders, who all read this, feared that I was going to be a communist with the pass of time. But I did not (though I still do not know the real meaning of communist). Those Ramus, their daughters, those stingy as well as good passengers very much exist today, they still live the same lives they used to.
‘Some-times bare-foot rickshaw-pullers’ of the city of Calcutta will continue to be not deterred by the scorching heat of summer, flooded streets in monsoon and harassing by some extortionist with or without identity/uniform. Many write-ups, magazines, photo-features, authors, NGOs flocked around their lives to immortalize them and their stories, destiny and the struggle for mere survival of these, almost literally ‘beasts of burden’. Larry Collins and Dominique LaPierre in their masterpiece City of Joy picturized a touching story of those human-horses of the city of Calcutta. A still from Aparna Sen directed 36 Chowringhee Lane is still vivid in my mind. Jennifer Kapoor (portrays the role of Miss Violet Stoneham, a teacher) returns home safely (after taking some extra classes in the school) in rickshaw pulled by Abdul on a rainy day with swamped Calcutta city streets, while other colleagues of her waited for long hours at the school for the water to recede and return home using regular public transport. These Abduls will never cease to exist factually and virtually in our lives and minds. But Abdul's longtime job is in jeopardy due to the local governmental decision to un-accept 'a human being pulling another.' They think ‘it's inhumane - even obnoxious to look at.’ Rickshaw, widely outlined in the literature of many Asian cultures, is a sore now for Calcutta all of a sudden. Rickshaw’s first ever appearance was in Japan in 1867 during the Meji period. Year 1914 first witnessed the hand-pulled rickshaws rolled into Kolkata manned by Chinese pullers, now substituted by the Bihari drifters on the busy city streets. Though many stories have been told about them hammering on the point that the vehicle symbolizes certain facets of some societies, not very factual data or statistics seem to exist for studying. Estimated population of rickshaws in Calcutta is around 15,000 and the number of pullers much more, since they operate on shifts using the same vehicle. Ramu, Abdul and the city's estimated 18,000 rickshaw-pullers will have to find something else to do but what? Begging? I am still wondering is it not better to carry a live human cargo for a livelihood than to carry a lifeless shabby bowl for begging? Is it not better than begging on the streets of Calcutta? Calcutta has more number of beggars than rickshaw-pullers. I wish government first make themselves think that begging is more obnoxious to look at than man pulling human in a carriage. Instead of making the rickshaw a feature of the past let the advocates of the idea first think of genuine income alternative for these people. May be the electric and solar powered rickshaws, may be modern alternatives.
Calcutta’s tradition is not poverty and hand-pulled rickshaws. Also, it is not Calcutta’s tradition to take away jobs of 18,000 people, who may be an eye-sore but less that than the beggars are. Can the city disassociate her from the beggars and their begging bowls? If not, why we snatch the rickshaws from her? If this form of transport is inhumane more so is to expose those people to the mercy of fate for a living. As it is certain to happen, government can not provide alternative jobs to these people despite sincere intentions. On advance thought model, one day in near future when oil will no longer be available to us we may have to go back to rickshaw ride again all over. So, please show your wisdom and let the human-horses in the city of Calcutta live and run. Let us leap into the new era of modern Calcutta without executing the jinrikishas. Please do not drown Ramu into despair. He will go back to his shabby village home when he becomes old, passing his career to his growing son, just as poor as he was, when he left it, as George Robertson narrated.
I can very well imagine as an outsider (with inner views) the plight and mental agony these people are going through. May be some where some tired and frustrated Ramu with his sickly and hungry daughter is also imagining to climb to the stars, as I remember having read somewhere:
I know the stars are far above
I know my feet rest on the ground
I trust, someday, I will be free.
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