[Reader-list] We are always in God's Hands. Post 2.1 by Aman

[Aman Sethi]

"For those who came in late"; 30 days ago a man posted an idea on this very
list, a record of which can still be seen today at
http://abjective.blogspot.com . He swore an oath (in fact he often uttered
the most filthy oaths) to write on "Alternative ways/ means of
representation of the "poor and oppressed" by studying informal networks at
labour mandis in Delhi."  He was the first Phantom.  The unbroken line
continues through the weeks; today as before – writing mysteriously,
suddenly, the first part of a three part post, the Phantom works alone.

The idea behind the three-part post is to try to separate two distinct
strands that emerge from my initial posting, the first deals directly with
the expanse of the labour mandi and its networks, while the second is a
stylized literary-non-fiction piece.  The third and final part deals with a
subject that I am still grappling with – the role and purpose of the media
and the nature of intervention.

As I look back on my first post, I realize that I had written precious
little about the labour mandi itself.  Perhaps now it is time.

I first went to Bara Tuti labour mandi while working on a labour series for
the Frontline.  The idea was to write (some what obscenely termed) "bottom
up" reports on Delhi's informal/ unorganized labour.  The idea behind the
first piece was to write on "construction labour and their problems".  It
was impossible to imagine a meedya report about any group (other than Page 3
of course) and not write about their problems.  In fact it was their
problems that one was particularly interested in- an issue that I shall deal
with at length in my second post later this month.

I wasn't really interested in the labour mandi – in fact I didn't even know
what a labour mandi was – which reminds me, I still haven't explained what a
labour mandi really is.  In my article for Frontline, (
http://www.flonnet.com/fl2224/stories/20051202001408800.htm), I described a
labour mandi as "[the] last resort for the unemployed. Usually situated in
densely populated pockets of Delhi, it is unmarked and unmapped by city
planners, and unseen by those who do not come with the express purpose of
looking for it; no placards announce its existence, no road signs give
directions. Rickshaw-pullers, tea shops owners and cigarette-sellers wave
their hands and paint elaborate maps in the air - the third alley past the
sweet shop, up the incline, right past the police thana." At which point I
realized that while I had described "how it was", I hadn't described exactly
"what it was".  And so I wrote the following paragraph –

"The mandi is a collection of tea shops, indistinguishable from other tea
shops in other parts of the city, except for the large numbers of men
sitting in easily identifiable groups. The largest groups consist of an old
man who sits slightly apart from a gaggle of smiling youngsters and scowling
40-somethings. This is the head mason, or maistry, with his team of lesser
maistries, beldaars and mazdoors. Close to these large groups sit several
smaller satellite groups of painters in paint-smattered pyjamas, carpenters
with large toolboxes and the odd electrician or plumber. Workers gather by
eight o' clock in the morning, and builders and contractors arrive by 9 a.m.
Brief but frantic negotiations ensue, and the labour workers pile into
trucks and are carted off to construction sites across the city. Contractors
usually negotiate with the maistries to outline their needs for the day, and
the maistries organise the necessary labour. The work could be for a day or
a week, and in rare cases for even a month, and the wages are fixed
accordingly."

This was perhaps the distance that I had originally hoped to traverse – a
topographic description: Workplace- scattered – yet organized – informal
network.  Workers –organized on the basis of hierarchy – Maistry, beldaar,
mazdoor.  Work timings- 8 AM onwards.  The only thing missing was how much
they made; which, as a thorough and professional journalist, I obligingly
provided

""The going rate for an ordinary labourer, or mazdoor, is Rs.100 a day and
Rs.150-200 for a maistry," says Mukhraj, a head maistry, "Carpenters and
painters demand higher wages of up to Rs.300 a day, depending on the amount
of work." However, workers are rarely in a position to enforce wages, as the
plentiful supply of cheap labour drives down their market value. "Invariably
most of us end up working for about Rs.80 a day," explains Kallu, a
labourer, "and the maistries get about Rs.150." Apart from his daily wage,
which he gets from the contractor, the maistry also charges his own workers
Rs.5 a day as commission for getting them work with the contractor. Thus,
the job of the maistry is much sought after. "The going rate for an ordinary
labourer, or mazdoor, is Rs.100 a day and Rs.150-200 for a maistry," says
Mukhraj, a head maistry, "Carpenters and painters demand higher wages of up
to Rs.300 a day, depending on the amount of work." However, workers are
rarely in a position to enforce wages, as the plentiful supply of cheap
labour drives down their market value. "Invariably most of us end up working
for about Rs.80 a day," explains Kallu, a labourer, "and the maistries get
about Rs.150." Apart from his daily wage, which he gets from the contractor,
the maistry also charges his own workers Rs.5 a day as commission for
getting them work with the contractor. Thus, the job of the maistry is much
sought after."

This would be a reasonably well researched, topographic account of an
informal market place.  It constitutes what I would like to call the
"topological trap".  The topological trap is grounded in the notion that
once provided reasonably detailed physical map; readers should be left to
negotiate their own way through the straight forward terrain of the
journalist's argument. Occasionally, an obliging scribe shall throw in the
odd signpost – a quote here, a vox pop there, and well rounded conclusion
that brings the reader back to the "you are here" spot.

Personally, I am rather fond of this particular style of writing; however
the map is not always reliable.  As the author of the text, it is for the
journalist to indicate which way is North, and the reader is often asked to
use the topological landscape as a portal through which to access a more
fluid mindscape of the subject of the article.  A mediated physical
description also gives the illusion of a "see, and decide for yourself"
argument, while overlooking the role of describer.

Read for example, the following extract from the article "We are always in
God's Hands" by Tom Paulson from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer –"In the
shadow of prosperity, slum children die every day from diarrhea, measles,
pneumonia and other easily preventable and treatable diseases. Like the
three being raised by Mariam and Dharmesh a few blocks from Deer Park.
The couple is illiterate. They have only single names. Home is a
smoke-filled, 8-foot-by-8-foot hut. A dim light bulb the hue of a harvest
moon hangs over a burlap-covered bed fashioned from a steamer trunk. There
is no toilet, no sink. For this, the couple pays 850 rupees a month in rent
-- about $17, half their income.
A rat scurries by, but Mariam isn't disturbed. Rats are signs of good luck,
she explained. They only come around if a family has food."

It is hard to dispute the Intelligencer's topography – the detailing is
meticulous, right down to the dimensions of the room; the couple has no
toilet, no sink, and apparently no second name – a fact that seems to cause
the correspondent some consternation.  So, does the correspondent explain
how, in spite of not having a sink or surname, thousands like Mariam and
Dharmesh still manage to survive, occasionally make money, sleep, live or
think?  No.  What he does do is provide us with a compass to navigate his
map, "Their plight illustrates the cycle of disease and poverty.  Illness
undermines opportunity -- income. Poverty begets more illness, which begets
more poverty. It's a process of erosion"; and signs off with the perfect
survival strategy, "I have hope that one day we will get out of here,"
Mariam said.  She forced a smile and looked away, bringing an arm across her
face to hide the tears. "We are always in God's hands."

To sum up, the problem with the topographic trap is the objectivity accorded
to a physical description.  The room is 8 foot by 8 foot. That is a "fact",
and since his conclusions are based on undisputable "facts", they too take
on the armor of factuality. I now have the opportunity to ask an earnest,
post-modernist question – "Is factuality the same as actuality?" but I
won't.  That shall be left for a subsequent post.

In the meantime, one way of avoiding a factuality/actuality issue is to try
and understand the prism through which people see themselves and their
surroundings.  Maybe an 8 foot by 8 foot room looks a whole lot bigger if
everyone else around you has one that is 6 feet by 6 feet.

Aman
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://mail.sarai.net/pipermail/reader-list/attachments/20060217/e740bf76/attachment.html