The resourcefulness and resilience of our workmen should not be underestimated. This is especially true for services and goods for which there is a non-discretionary demand

The handwritten sign on the shuttered paan shop in my neighbourhood had just a phone number on it. I had, on a whim, gone to the market to see if there was any possibility of getting some cigarettes. With nothing to lose, I tried the number. A man named Tiwari answered the phone and when I asked him about the possibility of getting cigarettes, he said he could deliver them the next morning. Not just that, Tiwari also asked me if I wanted the “imported” or “Indian” variety of that particular brand. The price was finalised at a 50 per cent mark-up to the maximum retail price (MRP) and promptly at 10 am the next morning, Tiwari was there on his Scooty.

Surprised, I asked him how he had managed to reach me during a complete lockdown in our neighbourhood where the policemen were not just stopping people but actively demonstrating their penchant for using force.

Apparently, Tiwari was helped by serendipity. Several months ago, to make an extra buck, Tiwari had started selling bread and eggs from his paan shop. Now, he was allowed to open his shop as part of essential services and that is how he was managing to move around freely. Of course, there were few people buying eggs and bread from him, since these were easily available, but cigarettes and paan masala were another matter altogether.

Though the pandemic-induced lockdown wreaked havoc on the livelihoods of millions of hawkers, the street vendors were the worst-hit since they were surviving from day-to-day even before the shutdown began. But there are other small shopkeepers, mechanics and service personnel, who are still suffering immense hardships due to the lockdown, even though much of the economy has been opened up in a graded manner now by the Government in a bid to start up the growth engine.

However, the resourcefulness and resilience of our workmen should not be underestimated. This is especially true for services and goods for which there is a non-discretionary demand.

A few days into the lockdown, I noticed that suddenly the number of vegetable vendors who peddle their wares on carts in our neighbourhood had increased significantly. This seemed odd and so I hypothesised that these were people who ordinarily work other trades but were now forced to do this to earn a livelihood. This nebulous hypothesis was confirmed and the details fleshed out by Krishna, whom I accosted while he was on his rounds selling vegetables near my house.

It turned out that Krishna was otherwise a daily wage labourer — the kind that throng “labour chowks” in any city in the morning in the hope of being picked up by a contractor to work on a building site. With the construction business being shut and being a resourceful man, he struck a deal with his neighbour, Ahmad. Ahmad is a kabadiwala (scrap collector) who has a rickshaw which he uses. But kabadiwalas are not allowed to ply their trade now. So Krishna offered to rent Ahmad’s rickshaw at Rs 50 a day. Now Krishna goes at 3 am to the wholesale vegetable market and gets vegetables to hawk through the day. The iron law of markets makes both of them better off during the lockdown.

The resourcefulness of people slightly up the social ladder is also quite in evidence these days. Some at the top of the pecking order have used their “contacts” in the administration to get Covid-19 passes on their cars, which allow them to travel in the city way past the curfew hours and also cross State borders that till now remain firmly shut for the common man.

The not so fortunate ones have found other ways to manage the police roadblocks. For instance, I noticed that there is a sudden increase in the number of people who are socially-inclined and are thus providing relief to stranded migrants and daily wagers. Their cars have got home printed signs that read “Covid-19, Relief Material” and always seem to be filled with bags and cartons. Except somehow, I never see them going out to distribute this material to the needy.

Wikipedia lists at least 12 languages with the phrase “Necessity is the mother of invention.” This is certainly the case nowadays. A friend shared a picture of how he has carefully marked his cigarettes so that he can smoke them over time — one third in the morning, one third after tea and so on. The paan shops in his area haven’t opened up as yet and he obviously hasn’t heard of his neighbourhood “Tiwari.”

People who never tasted any other alcohol except for Scotch whisky are making do with whatever they can lay their hands on — in a friend’s case, a bottle of cheap vodka.

My own case was a bit more prosaic. Of all things, the strap of my chappals broke early on in the lockdown. Since one was home-bound, this item of footwear was the one used most of the time. Clearly something had to be done. So I went to the neighbourhood kirana (grocery) store, got some adhesive and used it liberally on the strap to fix it. Thankfully it is holding up and hopefully will last me till the “non-essential” shoe shops open.

Social distancing, a phrase which has entered common parlance, thanks to its constant use in the media, has been internalised by most people who can afford to distance themselves. Except that the distancing is mostly from the hoi polloi and that, too, only when it can be done without any discomfort.

In my neighbourhood, initially no maids or gardeners were being allowed. The residents, inspired by videos of celebrities on social media doing jhaadoo-pochaa (sweeping and mopping), decided that they, too, could do it. Alas, this lasted only for a few days and soon the maids were called back. However, now quite a few of the maids, having lost their livelihood, had gone back to their villages. Thus, the few who remained were cajoled and implored to take on work at extra houses.

The one thing which didn’t involve any social distancing was of course buying fruits and vegetables. This is one activity in which every household in India excels. In the initial days of the lockdown, as soon as the fruit/vegetable hawker would call out, women from the colony would come out and crowd around him.

No masks of course were worn by any of them possibly taking the initial World Health Organisation (WHO) recommendations of masks not being needed seriously. More importantly, every single apple, mango, tomato, potato and okra was hand-picked from a pile and then the usual haggling over price happened.

Now, of course, with the pandemic spreading like wildfire and the WHO recommending masks and gloves as a means of escaping infection,   the ladies of the colony and even the fruit/vegetable vendors are sporting masks. That they hang loose most of the time is another matter.

Yet another thing which happened during the forced lockdown was an increased interest in sports. This, in effect, meant playing the one game which is easiest to play on the road, in your garden, driveway or even  your terrace — badminton. It was vaguely touching to see couples, who last possibly picked up a racket 20 years ago, suddenly bonding over a game of badminton on their terrace. Board games also became all the rage for families forced to stay indoors and, of course, their prices skyrocketed thanks to the opportunism displayed by online toy vendors.

The children continued riding their bicycles as well as playing other games, blissfully unaware of the need for social distancing. While ordinarily they would play inside the house since the roads had traffic, the lockdown meant that the roads were almost empty and so they could play in the streets.

Incidentally, it also meant that the roads were taken over by dogs, birds, stray cattle and in our case, several horses — I am not sure where they came from — maybe because no weddings were taking place, the ghodi walas (wedding mare providers) had let them loose to feed on whatever they could find.

Now with the Unlock 1.0 in force and our leader telling us to unlock, unlock, unlock, things are changing. For instance, since there is a gradual increase in construction activity as well as street hawking, the number of fruit/vegetable sellers has decreased to almost pre-lockdown levels.

Tiwari now opens his paan shop as usual but what is curious, continues to sell his wares at a mark-up. When I asked him why he is doing this now, he conspiratorially whispers — “Sir, banned hai na.”

(Writer: Shobhit Mahajan; Courtesy: The Pioneer)

The resourcefulness and resilience of our workmen should not be underestimated. This is especially true for services and goods for which there is a non-discretionary demand

The handwritten sign on the shuttered paan shop in my neighbourhood had just a phone number on it. I had, on a whim, gone to the market to see if there was any possibility of getting some cigarettes. With nothing to lose, I tried the number. A man named Tiwari answered the phone and when I asked him about the possibility of getting cigarettes, he said he could deliver them the next morning. Not just that, Tiwari also asked me if I wanted the “imported” or “Indian” variety of that particular brand. The price was finalised at a 50 per cent mark-up to the maximum retail price (MRP) and promptly at 10 am the next morning, Tiwari was there on his Scooty.

Surprised, I asked him how he had managed to reach me during a complete lockdown in our neighbourhood where the policemen were not just stopping people but actively demonstrating their penchant for using force.

Apparently, Tiwari was helped by serendipity. Several months ago, to make an extra buck, Tiwari had started selling bread and eggs from his paan shop. Now, he was allowed to open his shop as part of essential services and that is how he was managing to move around freely. Of course, there were few people buying eggs and bread from him, since these were easily available, but cigarettes and paan masala were another matter altogether.

Though the pandemic-induced lockdown wreaked havoc on the livelihoods of millions of hawkers, the street vendors were the worst-hit since they were surviving from day-to-day even before the shutdown began. But there are other small shopkeepers, mechanics and service personnel, who are still suffering immense hardships due to the lockdown, even though much of the economy has been opened up in a graded manner now by the Government in a bid to start up the growth engine.

However, the resourcefulness and resilience of our workmen should not be underestimated. This is especially true for services and goods for which there is a non-discretionary demand.

A few days into the lockdown, I noticed that suddenly the number of vegetable vendors who peddle their wares on carts in our neighbourhood had increased significantly. This seemed odd and so I hypothesised that these were people who ordinarily work other trades but were now forced to do this to earn a livelihood. This nebulous hypothesis was confirmed and the details fleshed out by Krishna, whom I accosted while he was on his rounds selling vegetables near my house.

It turned out that Krishna was otherwise a daily wage labourer — the kind that throng “labour chowks” in any city in the morning in the hope of being picked up by a contractor to work on a building site. With the construction business being shut and being a resourceful man, he struck a deal with his neighbour, Ahmad. Ahmad is a kabadiwala (scrap collector) who has a rickshaw which he uses. But kabadiwalas are not allowed to ply their trade now. So Krishna offered to rent Ahmad’s rickshaw at Rs 50 a day. Now Krishna goes at 3 am to the wholesale vegetable market and gets vegetables to hawk through the day. The iron law of markets makes both of them better off during the lockdown.

The resourcefulness of people slightly up the social ladder is also quite in evidence these days. Some at the top of the pecking order have used their “contacts” in the administration to get Covid-19 passes on their cars, which allow them to travel in the city way past the curfew hours and also cross State borders that till now remain firmly shut for the common man.

The not so fortunate ones have found other ways to manage the police roadblocks. For instance, I noticed that there is a sudden increase in the number of people who are socially-inclined and are thus providing relief to stranded migrants and daily wagers. Their cars have got home printed signs that read “Covid-19, Relief Material” and always seem to be filled with bags and cartons. Except somehow, I never see them going out to distribute this material to the needy.

Wikipedia lists at least 12 languages with the phrase “Necessity is the mother of invention.” This is certainly the case nowadays. A friend shared a picture of how he has carefully marked his cigarettes so that he can smoke them over time — one third in the morning, one third after tea and so on. The paan shops in his area haven’t opened up as yet and he obviously hasn’t heard of his neighbourhood “Tiwari.”

People who never tasted any other alcohol except for Scotch whisky are making do with whatever they can lay their hands on — in a friend’s case, a bottle of cheap vodka.

My own case was a bit more prosaic. Of all things, the strap of my chappals broke early on in the lockdown. Since one was home-bound, this item of footwear was the one used most of the time. Clearly something had to be done. So I went to the neighbourhood kirana (grocery) store, got some adhesive and used it liberally on the strap to fix it. Thankfully it is holding up and hopefully will last me till the “non-essential” shoe shops open.

Social distancing, a phrase which has entered common parlance, thanks to its constant use in the media, has been internalised by most people who can afford to distance themselves. Except that the distancing is mostly from the hoi polloi and that, too, only when it can be done without any discomfort.

In my neighbourhood, initially no maids or gardeners were being allowed. The residents, inspired by videos of celebrities on social media doing jhaadoo-pochaa (sweeping and mopping), decided that they, too, could do it. Alas, this lasted only for a few days and soon the maids were called back. However, now quite a few of the maids, having lost their livelihood, had gone back to their villages. Thus, the few who remained were cajoled and implored to take on work at extra houses.

The one thing which didn’t involve any social distancing was of course buying fruits and vegetables. This is one activity in which every household in India excels. In the initial days of the lockdown, as soon as the fruit/vegetable hawker would call out, women from the colony would come out and crowd around him.

No masks of course were worn by any of them possibly taking the initial World Health Organisation (WHO) recommendations of masks not being needed seriously. More importantly, every single apple, mango, tomato, potato and okra was hand-picked from a pile and then the usual haggling over price happened.

Now, of course, with the pandemic spreading like wildfire and the WHO recommending masks and gloves as a means of escaping infection,   the ladies of the colony and even the fruit/vegetable vendors are sporting masks. That they hang loose most of the time is another matter.

Yet another thing which happened during the forced lockdown was an increased interest in sports. This, in effect, meant playing the one game which is easiest to play on the road, in your garden, driveway or even  your terrace — badminton. It was vaguely touching to see couples, who last possibly picked up a racket 20 years ago, suddenly bonding over a game of badminton on their terrace. Board games also became all the rage for families forced to stay indoors and, of course, their prices skyrocketed thanks to the opportunism displayed by online toy vendors.

The children continued riding their bicycles as well as playing other games, blissfully unaware of the need for social distancing. While ordinarily they would play inside the house since the roads had traffic, the lockdown meant that the roads were almost empty and so they could play in the streets.

Incidentally, it also meant that the roads were taken over by dogs, birds, stray cattle and in our case, several horses — I am not sure where they came from — maybe because no weddings were taking place, the ghodi walas (wedding mare providers) had let them loose to feed on whatever they could find.

Now with the Unlock 1.0 in force and our leader telling us to unlock, unlock, unlock, things are changing. For instance, since there is a gradual increase in construction activity as well as street hawking, the number of fruit/vegetable sellers has decreased to almost pre-lockdown levels.

Tiwari now opens his paan shop as usual but what is curious, continues to sell his wares at a mark-up. When I asked him why he is doing this now, he conspiratorially whispers — “Sir, banned hai na.”

(Writer: Shobhit Mahajan; Courtesy: The Pioneer)