[Reader-list] Manoj Kumar

[zainab at xtdnet.nl]

Dear All,
In my last post, I had said that we live by the generosity of those who
own nothing or very little themselves. Today's story of Manoj Kumar only
reinstates how the spirit of Mumbai city emanates very much from the
people of the footpaths, the roads. They are the ones who care for the
migrants, the outsiders!
Cheers,
Zainab

25th December 2004

Oral Culture on Christmas Day!

This evening I am at Nariman Point. It is Christmas today. And today is
the day to record the oral culture of the city’s people. Families have
come in bunches and are having a picnic at Nariman Point. I am sitting
next to one such family. It is a Kutchi family, perhaps from Borivali (now
you see how I make sense of the city. I determine people’s home addresses
through the ghettos existing in the city – is that dangerous?). This
family has come fully armed, like most Gujju families. And the armaments
in this case include dhoklas, ghatiyas, chikki, undhiyu and theplas – in
short, all the snacks which make for a good family picnic. The kids in the
family are having a good time. The double-decker open air upper deck MTDC
bus passes by Nariman Point and one of the kids from our Kutchi family
shouts, “Hey look, the bus is open from the top. It has no roof.” And he
giggles and breaks into a loud laugh. The city’s children are having a
gala time at Nariman Point today. On my left is a bunch of three kids –
two sisters and a little brother. Their parents are sitting on the
opposite side, each one a separate single bench. This is a middle-class
family where husband and wife become brother and sister after children are
born. There is no romance between this couple. Both of them are blankly
staring at the sea. The husband asks the wife to keep a watch on the kids
as they sit on the seafront plinth. The wife loathes this duty – this is
what she does everyday. She ignores her husband’s commands. Ultimately
when the children get too truant she starts to field after them, like
fielders in a cricket match running all over to stop the ball! This is one
such woman – fieldswoman! What does Nariman Point mean to her and to the
larger tribe of women in this city of which she is part of? What is this
place? Is it their breathing space or is it just any other space where
there is no freedom from roles?

Shah Rukh is a little away from me. His tribe of hawkers is trying to make
most of this festive day. This is their day of dhanda, dhoom dhanda! I
find that Shah Rukh is moving with two other hawkers. Apparently, this is
either some strategy of collective sales or that the two older hawkers are
protecting him. Shah Rukh comes closer and I see that he is carrying a
heavy white thermos flask today. It is different from the smaller one he
was carrying yesterday. “What happened yesterday?” I ask him. “They did
not leave my thermos,” he replies. Before he can talk more, one of his
friends tells him, “Come, let’s move faster.” He goes ahead.

I decide to take a walk right up to the Nariman Point, the point of the
sea, the point of romance, of love, of danger, of dreams, of depression,
of hope and of aspiration. As I start walking along, I notice the private
security guards walking in pairs. They have their chests swelled out. And
they are holding the sticks and walking with their authority and pride
(which is what I find absolutely deceptive and funny). “Don’t be scared” –
I remember Arjun Bhai and Manoj Kumar’s words. Suddenly, I notice some
ugly, fat and intimidating cops gathering somewhere. I remember then that
today when I landed at Nariman Point, there was a Pandu (havaldar) who was
doing rounds of the promenade on a motorcycle. Goodness me! What is
happening today? I sense some trouble. When private security and police
get together, there is something obnoxious and dangerous about to happen.
And that’s it. This is exactly what happens. Today is the day when the
private security guards can have their vengeance against the hawkers who
refuse to accept their authority. Today is the day to show that we have
the power! And it is going to rock man! The security guards and police get
together and start nabbing the hawkers on the seafront. The first one to
go is one of my personal favorite hawker – he is dark, fat but he has the
most loving look on his face. He sells tea. Today, he notices the police
and starts to look about him. His moves are like that of a scared animal
who is aware of the predator. And just as he is about to move, I find a
fat man who holds him from behind and grabs his thermos flask. He has been
caught, in full public view. But the public is not bothered with this
sight. Everyone is still doing their own thing. The hawker starts pleading
with the policewallah to let him go. But the policeman is not in a mood to
listen to him. There is no forgiveness on Christmas Day. Nothing doing
man! Gradually, either hawkers are being caught or their wares are being
seized. Today is the day of intimidation – Jesus Christ!
I walk ahead. I stand for a while at the Point, right opposite Tata
Theater. People are talking here. A man is explaining to his family about
the Tata Theater and the NCPA Apartments. He is saying, “Industrialists
live here. This is a very expensive place. This is Tata Theater. All this
area belongs to the Tata’s.” I find that at the Point, all of us insiders
of the city become tourist guides to our family and near and dear ones.
Lovers become tourist guides here to impress their objects of attraction.
And everyone dreams here, right at this space, this space which is the
prime real estate of Mumbai. Another man is pointing out to two of his
colleagues, “From opposite the sea, you can see Colaba, Navy Nagar and all
those areas.” Each one is explaining something to the other. And people
are sitting on the tetrapods. They are on the sea. And then, the security
guards and the policemen come and say, “It is 7 PM. Now move from the
sea!” Two elderly joggers (they seemed like residents of the area) say,
“Gosh. What is their problem? Why don’t these guards let people sit on the
rocks? Where will people go?” Yes, where will people go? Where will people
go if they are policed and thrown out? Where is the outlet for people?
Everybody moves from the tetrapods and start gathering around. “Don’t be
scared” – I remember Arjun bhai and Manoj Kumar’s words!

I walk back to the promenade. On my way, I find little hawker boys still
doing business. I want to shout and warn all of them – “Move off! Lay low.
The police are here!” But words refuse to come out. Suddenly, I find Shah
Rukh from nowhere. I tell him, “Don’t go ahead, the police are there. You
will be caught.” “Really?” Shah Rukh asks. “Oh yes,” I reply. “Okay”, he
says, “Do you want tea or coffee?” “No,” I reply. As I walk ahead, I
notice old boys hanging out at Nariman Point. Nariman Point is their
breathing space, their outlet.

I walk back towards the Point to see if anyone is flouting the rules and
still sitting on the tetrapods. On my way, I notice that Shah Rukh has
been caught again. He is quite a reckless businessman. Maybe he is greedy.
He is hungry to sell. The fat policeman is around and he is issuing
warnings to the little boys who are doing dhanda “You watch out. I am
going to catch hold of you guys soon.” Meanwhile, the senior hawkers are
warning the little boys, “Go individually to do dhanda. Don’t move in
groups.”

I decide to take a round of the little hawker’s bazaar which is now
settled on the back of Oberoi Towers. As I walk there, suddenly a man from
the dark shouts to me, “Hello madam!” This is Manoj Kumar. Oh shit! I am a
visible entity now! I reply to his greeting. The hawkers are sitting idle
today. No business at all. The food stalls are empty, bereft of customers.

I decide to head home for home is where the computer is. I need to punch
all of this into my diary. All these sights and scenes I have watched
today.

Manoj Kumar
As I am walking back, Manoj Kumar sees me. He is sitting on one of the
benches on the seafront. He asks me, “Did you meet Shah Rukh today?” “No,”
I replied, “He has been caught again.” “Oh my God! He is becoming a
chutiya everyday. We tell him not to go but he does not care to listen. Do
you come here everyday? Yes, yes! It is good to come to Chowpatty (hawkers
call the Nariman Point sea face as Chowpatty). Good to walk” Manoj Kumar
tells me. We walk together. He insists after a while that I sit down and
listen to him. “You asked me what changes I have seen at Nariman Point in
all these years? The only change I have seen is that we hawkers have been
moved off from the seafront. You know madam, we used to earn three
thousand, five thousand and sometimes seven thousand rupees a day when we
used to set up dhanda. I have seen some of our men carrying sacks full of
notes and going back to the village. Really, we have seen the best times
here. Now, we manage about a thousand a day. We pay hafta, big haftas to
the policemen, but still they harrow us. The senior (inspector) of this
area is a good man. But it is the senior’s friend who is a harami
(bastard). The senior’s friend lives there, in the NCPA Apartments. He
insisted and told the senior to push us off from here. And you know what
clever tactics were employed to move us off? First, they started putting
tiles on the promenade floor. We were told that after the tiling is done,
we could come back and set up our dhanda. After the tiling was done, the
concretizing of the seafront wall began. We were told to come back after
that. And when we came after all this, we were told to get lost, that we
could no longer sell here. See, how cleverly we were moved off.”
“I was a truant when I was a kid. I would not study. Father used to
insist. Ultimately, my mother asked me to go off to Mumbai to earn money
for the family. I came here with my uncle. I live there, behind the
Express Towers, on the roads. Now I cannot think of going back to my
village. I am so used to living in Mumbai. After all, I have been here for
20 years now. Mera man nahi lagta gaon mein. Kya karega? When we were
doing business here, there used to be beggars and kids who would come from
everywhere and beg here. We hawkers were the ones who would give food to
the beggars at night. We would give them shelter – chal, so ja hamare
saath, le yeh kuch kha le. Sometimes we would employ them with us. You
can’t get water here for free. We would be the ones who would give them
water. Now you see, when new kids come here, they find it hard to even
procure water.”
“This place belongs to Sunil Shetty. He started the gaming and water
sports at Chowpatty. He wanted to do something here as well. When he first
set up his establishment at Chowpatty beach, he came here and distributed
sweets to us all. We ate the laddoos. You see the one who has money has
power. It is only the paisewalla who gets izzat (the man with money gets
respect) here. Nobody gets hold of me. I look like a common man here, not
a hawker. Today also the havaldar told me to lay low and do less business.
Today is the day for business and look what is happening?”
“No policeman is ever a friend. If you do something wrong, they will book
you. When it comes to crime, the police sees no relations of friendship.
Chowgule sahib of Marine Lines Police Station knows me. When I am caught
for petty crimes, they put me in the van along with others and then I go
to Chowgule sahib and tell him ‘what sahib, you brought me here?’ Sahib
warns me and lets me go. He knows that I am not a bad person. I am not a
criminal.”
“Once, a senior guy came and gave me an identity card. It is a very
important card. You can go anywhere with that card. Really! I have been to
places where ordinary people are stopped. I have gone inside Oberoi Towers
and no one dare stop me. I have been inside the Mantralaya (state
government headquarters). Nobody can get inside the Air India building
without a pass. I have gone there as well and have eaten food inside the
canteen!”
“Your city cannot work without us footpathwalas. You see the bhutta (corn)
which I sell for fifteen rupees, the same thing you get inside Oberoi for
ninety rupees. I know that. I have gone inside their kitchens to see how
they roast the corn. What you get on the roads for ten rupees, you get the
same inside a store for hundred rupees. Yeh sheher nahi chal sakta
footpathwalon ke bina. I am telling you.”
“Police is no one’s friend. When you commit a crime, you have to serve
punishment. After all, police is the bhai of this city, the big brother.
Isn’t it?”

I patiently listen to Manoj. I think he has several stories to tell me. He
asks me where I live, what I do. He imagines that I work in one of the big
offices at Nariman Point and hence I can come here everyday. “Now that you
come here everyday, we will meet. And if you don’t find me, I am certain
to find you!” he tells me as I prepare to leave. I don’t know what kind of
invitation or statement this is. I am taking it on face value right now.

This is the end of today, but the beginning of something new, something
interesting, something dangerous and something exciting. That is what the
wonderful Everyday is about? Cheers!




Zainab Bawa
Bombay
www.xanga.com/CityBytes