Ramavriksha Benipuri, a socialist leader and Hindi writer, had written an essay, Neev Ki Int (Foundation stone) in the colonial era. His poignant flow of thoughts resonates with the cruelty of the current social and economic paradox. The essay is about people who build cities, brick by brick. How the toil and sweat of the workers strengthen the foundation (neev) of the structures they build. And how behind the sparkling facade of these fancy edifices lies a tale of pain, fear, anguish and hardship.
As if jumping out of the page of his literary masterpiece, was the stark image of millions of our cities’ neev ki int walking back home with children and the aged. Displaced from rented shanties and with no job in hand, these invisible soldiers of progress suddenly emerged out of the intricate woodwork they had skilfully carved for their masters, and embarked on an uncertain journey back home, and into a blank future. They braved the scorching days and humid nights.
Having to discard their cheap footwear that did not cooperate beyond a few milestones, they continued walking the path, barefoot. The sore skin of their blistered soles cracked up the layers of their skin, all the while, mirroring the ugly economic divide. They hoodwinked the policemen on the way, detouring on unknown, uncharted barren fields to evade checkpoints and border posts. All they wanted was to go home. So what if they died on the way. Starved of food, parched for water. A few droplets of humanity rained on them in the form of a few Sonu Soods of the country.
Squeezed as they were by the spokes of the economy’s wheels, a few cycled thousands of kilometres. A fortunate few got to board buses and trains. Many parted with their crumpled and soiled notes that they had saved up, only to trade for a bus ride home. Governments squabbled over who will foot their train bill. And amid this, there were those whose journey home became their final journey. Their stories unfolded in the social media were captured by cameras, and curated by journalists. And then, suddenly the keys were brought out of the dusted closet to unlock the economy.
The industry realised, Oh no! Where have the numbers gone? Mind you, no names. Only numbers. These numbers who built my cities, worked in factories, served me food in restaurants, gave me a foot spa...Oh, where are they? What happened to them? Suddenly the world around them crumbled. They woke up. No, this cannot go on. We need them back to wheel the economy back on track. What do we do? Let us charter a flight to bring them back! They decided. So now, the journey to their shanties may resume, but this time via the clouds.
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After all, the promise of a job is better than the penury of joblessness. So the honchos who removed the carpet from under their feet will soon be rolling out the red carpet for them. The neev ki int will be back, relentlessly building our cities. Their sweat drenching the foundation stone, yet again. They will be back serving us food and giving us a foot massage. Hope lives on. It is only humanity that is the casualty here.
Subhashini Dinesh is a Deputy Resident Editor with The New Indian Express.