"Donon ka ik hi rasta hai
Donon jalti tapti sadak par
Suraj ki garmi se pighalte
Nange paanv
Apne thhake kandhon par
Apni bhookh aur pyas ki gatthri lekar
Jaane kitni sadiyon se yun hi chalte hain" (Javed Akhtar)
"And both are seeing it
Both on the hot burning road
Melting in the scorching sun
Barefoot
On their tired shoulders
Carrying their luggage of hunger and thirst
Don’t know for how many centuries
They have been walking like this" (Javed Akhtar)
The Covid19 lockdown was declared in the country on 24th March, 2020
leading to the massive mass migration of the migrant workers across the country
walking back home thus evoking multitude of emotions. Well my post is not an
analysis of the mass migration, the utter chaos and bad planning behind it. May
be that is a topic for some other time.
My post is on the similarity and contrasts that migrant workers have
with each other and how their lives intersect & diverge in reality and
figuratively.
Having seen the moving image of the mass migration and having closely
worked in providing relief to many such workers, the closest imagery that comes
to me as a similarity is a moving image of someone close to me, someone I
know...
And that person is me...
While the migrant workers mentioned here are at a basic subsistence level,
one may argue on how do I identify myself with them? While I may be better
paid many times over as compared to the workers in question, the other criteria that defines them also defines me.
Many may feel, at this point in time, that I am over romanticising the comparison
and that it is taken out of proportion. Allow me to explain and then you may
draw your conclusions as you feel fit.
When I am comparing myself and millions of other middle class sons and
daughters coming from smaller cities to work in larger cities for better
employment opportunity, actually I am drawing up a context, situation and
reality which is akin, if not as stark, to the migrant workers under mention.
Millions of middle class youngsters like me set out to establish
themselves in today's world through better education and training. However,
when such an education is over and then they start looking for suitable opportunity
closer home, such opportunity forever eludes them as it is simply not there.
Having no other options, they take up jobs and career options in larger cities
thereby subjecting themselves to the bondage of a life time away from their
home and hearth.
Living in small cubicles which are called living spaces in modern
cities, they get used to their little windows & balconies giving them a piece of the
universe - which is always silent, does not talk to them and has no answer
for them... With parents left in the smaller cities, the middle class son &
daughter lives a dual life as one part of their being is with their parents -
worried sick if they are doing well, depending on goodwill & charity of
friends / relatives when they fall ill / have to be hospitalised and forever
dying of guilt of how they can be of no use to their parents when they need their
children the most...
They try hard to go back but as they progress in their career, it
becomes increasingly difficult for them to go back as similar opportunity can
never be created or are available in their home states. Grudgingly and reluctantly
they continue to trudge along living a life, which though is full of comfort and better
amenities but forever missing the joy, fun and the familiar camaraderie of an
era gone by...
Such urban robots work their whole life paying for endless EMIs, bills
and expenses hoping against hope that one day they will get a chance to go
back...
Rushing through the maze of life in the cities, they however pause, even if for a little while, when
they smell the earthy smell of the moist earth after the first rain, a random
smell of food wafting through the air or the fun of kids playing a 'competitive'
game of cricket on the road... The imageries achingly reminding them of a time when they were alive, bustling
with energy and looking forward to life with hope and aspirations in their
eyes...
Back home their parents are proud of them and would not stop showing off
to their friends and relatives of the good job & life their children and grandchildren
are leading... However, the parents are very careful to hide the sense of
emptiness and hollowness which comes from the knowledge that their near and
dear ones are not with them when they need them the most... The parents always
encourage their children to do well in their life and march ahead in the competition
but once in a while you will hear a silent whisper, almost like a fervent
prayer to their creator, when they ask you this question over telephone while trying to sound casual " do you see any new openings in the state which may be suitable for
you".... Hoping against hope that there is actually such openings which
will ensure that their loved ones return home...
The longings, the fear, the insecurity and the sense of emptiness is the same in all types of migrant workers - be it the one walking back home or
be it the one sitting in posh flats wishing that they could also go back
home...
Is there a way out of it...? Is there a solution which will magically
restore the migrant workers back to their native place...? Is there an answer
to the many prayers that parents across this country are making to atleast have
their family around them in the last leg of their journey... ?
I don’t know nor do I have the answer... Some of you may say that the
answer lies in entrepreneurship and entrepreneurial spirit of starting
something back home... The answer to such suggestion is that many lack the entrepreneurial
spirit as in the India of 70s, 80s & 90s (where the current generation of
white collar migrant workers grew up in) had families which stressed on
education and finding good jobs to sustain yourself. Such an approach has not
bred the spirit of entrepreneurship and there is a very miniscule of people
from this generation who actually go back and start something on their own -
the local regulatory & economic conditions also not being conducive to such
start-ups...
So where does it leave the migrant workers at... Well
that leaves us at the cross road of emotions, longings and a sense of emptiness
& hollowness in what could have been and what the imaginary possibilities were... Till such time that one formally retires from work and returns back to the
cherished land to find out that over a period of time you are suddenly
considered an outsider by virtue of staying out of the state for a long time...
Hence the migrant worker, sadly, will always be a migrant worker - in
search of his identity in a city which considers him an alien and which he equally considers as a foreign place, never adopting each other, never comfortable with
each other and never belonging to each other... '
So the spirit of the migrant worker floats around eternally unable to
find a place which he can call home and missing the era long gone by where he
belonged, mattered and cared for.... Continuously searching for it in the
earthy smell of the moist earth after the first rain, random smell of food
wafting through the air or in the games kids play on the
wayside...Reminding him of a time when he was alive, bustling with energy and
looking forward to life with hope, aspirations and joy glistening in his
eyes...
