[This post seemed to have been both an academic as well as an emotional element. So, I have also posted this on the blog I use for academic opinions which is accessible at https://thepublicparticipant.wordpress.com/]
I often wonder what privilege feels like- what it looks like. Having been a tall, light-toned, English-speaking, urban-dwelling, middle class, OC Hindu male in India, I have always felt envious of another person with a similar identity who probably had more money, a little more freedom and more lenient parents. I spent most moments of my teenage describing that marginal excess as Privilege. Today, a few years later, I have begun to understand how privileged I really am.
If I had altered any of my aforementioned characteristics, I would have understood privilege a long time ago. But, by the relentless effort of my parents, the rigidity of social beliefs and my personal vanity, none of them have ever been altered. In my little time in Pune where the world showed itself to me, I have learnt to see things from the eyes of a person who is different from me in these aspects.
A shorter person is ridiculed more; a darker person is considered to be inferior; a person who speaks their mother-tongue is considered to be irrelevant; a rural dweller is considered to be dumb; a lower-class person is on the brink of civil death; persons of all the other castes are scorned at for inexplicable reasons; and a non-Hindu is believed to be full of malice. Today, I witnessed two events that reminded me about privilege. They were both relatable with the privilege that comes with being in the upper tranches of the economic classes.
My friend and I set out to look for a florist who would sell us some flowers we were looking for. I live in an area which is filled with students and families with young children. It also has several street food joints which are frequented by each of them. Over the years, it became a market for mendicants and poor street hawkers who sell balloons, kids' colouring books, stationery and jigsaw puzzles. As my friend and I reached the end of a street, I saw a man carrying lots of balloons tied at the end of a long stick. He was going from person to person standing by the momo-stand trying to sell his balloons. When he finally approached us, he very softly said, "Bhaiyya, ek balloon khareed lijiye. Aaj danda hua nahin."
I was going to refuse. My face twitched enough to say no. But, fortunately, before the words left my mouth, I looked up at the balloons. There were red ones, green ones and some glossy ones. "Who laal wala deejiye," I said.
He put the stick down to look for the red balloon. "Ye vala?" he asked.
"Haan" I said when it struck me that I did not ask for the price. "Kithne ka hain?" I added.
"Bees rupai ka hain," he said, without looking at me.
Twenty rupees was nothing for me. I momentarily recollected the amount of money I spent today on food which I could easily substitute for cheaper alternatives- I had the luxury to spend hundreds on fried rice and fancy ice cream desserts. I wondered if twenty rupees helped him purchase a necessity that I would take for granted. I may be overthinking, but, it is very much probable that he (and his family) was living on the brink of civil death and those twenty rupees delayed that by one more day.
The balloon which we had purchased was tied with a strip of thin, elastic rubber- the kind which I remember reading about in Jeremy Seabrook's People Without History- made by burning rubber collected from garbage and burning it inhaling its toxic fumes. How much does it cost for him to buy those balloons? How much does he make on a given day? There are many questions that are haunting me in this moment. It is unfair that a man with little skill, no finance or insurance must compete with the competition of those who make enough to own a store in a prime area, earn enough to have functional bank accounts and also insure their businesses.
On a micro-level, all of us have to make financial choices that help us last longer. For the Middle and Upper Classes, making this choice is easier because they have more money and resources to fall back on. The risk of these Classes going off the brink is buffered by many factors. This is not the case with the balloon-man. If he makes one wrong choice, or if one of the variables he depends on changes for the worse, he sinks into a chasm of minimal existence. His dependents sink along with him. This buffer which stops one from falling into this chasm is privilege.
The second event which I had witnessed was at the florists' shop. My friend and I reached the nursery from where we had to buy our flowers. The fifth shop which we had visited came the second closest to what we wanted. The nursery was spread across a very large area divided into several stalls made of tarpaulin and aluminium sheets filled with different kinds of flowers, saplings, wall-hangings and diyas. The shop we had gone to was being managed by a young man who was probably in his late-twenties. We asked him if he had what we were looking for.
"Beej nahin hain. Par, pauda hain," he said.
"Usse doosri shehr bhej na hain. Munkin hoga kya?" I asked.
"Nahin, woh tho raaste mein mar jaayega," he said.
"Achcha, kya aap beej mangvasakthe ho?" I asked.
"Haan," he said.
"Kithna padega?"
"40-50 rupey mein aapko 80-100 beej miljayenge. Aap pauda nahin lenge?" he asked, with a smile of hope and an attempt to please us.
"Achcha, theek hain. Kab tak laa sakthe ho?" I asked, disregarding the offer to buy the plant.
"Agle hafthe tak aa jayega," he said, a little withdrawn.
"Haan, tho, agle hafthe hum aake beej khareed lenge aapse," I said. With this, his demeanour changed completely. His arms were folded, his back was slightly slouched and he was nodding like I had given him an order. It gave me an impression of complete naivety innocence.
"Theek hain," he said.
"Tho, bhaiyya, hum agle hafthe aake beej aur pauda khareed lenge," my friend said at the end. He nodded and we left.
As soon as we left the stall, my friend said, "If we don't tell him that we will buy the plant, why will he get the seeds? The plant gives him 140 rupees and the seeds get him 40," she said, gesturing the disparity with her hands. What she said made sense. Any sound businessperson would not be that Quixotic enough. But, the doubt that I had was: Did he possess that wisdom to think like my friend did? I would not be too hopeful about it from what I saw in the man.
After we left his stall, we walked to another stall. We wanted to try our luck at finding the plant's seeds. This new stall was visible from the previous one although it was a little far away from it. While we were negotiating with the manager of this stall, I saw the late twenty-year old look at us from his stall. His posture was one of insecurity and anxiousness. He slowly walked towards this stall to see if we were purchasing from them- contrary to what we promised him. If I had not seen this, I would have probably accepted the new stall's offer- something that showed that the manager was experienced in the art, strongly linked to the market and aware of the simple services that his customers would require. I did not buy it.
This episode reminded me about how more knowledge about the market and its demands would have made the twenty-year old's business better. It also made me wonder if there was any power play involved when his posture became one of strict obedience when I told him what I wanted. The anxiousness he showed when we were speaking to a competitor made me wonder if he, too, was one of those people who were on the brink.
When I was a child I would hear my parents say, "They should find some work instead of begging on the roads. They should polish shoes and sustain, if necessary." Today, most of the poor people I see are not begging on the streets. They are trying to sell all of the items which I have mentioned above to make an earnest living. Has it really lead to more income in their pockets? Has it helped them create a better standard of living for themselves? I do not have anecdotes or data to answer these questions. But, what I observe is that people refuse to buy their products because they apparently lack credibility, quality or presentation. It is difficult for a street-vendor to compete with a retail seller- just like it is difficult for a retail-seller to compete with a Metro Cash N' Carry. In a country where skilling, market linkage and financial do not properly reach the Middle Class, it is impossible to think about how they would reach this section of the population. The market and the competition are entirely unfavourable to the balloon-man- who has invested his value into the balloons which -as it seems on most days- remain unsold.
During my previous internship with UNDP in Karnataka, I went to the Pattadakal temples for a brief recess. What I saw there shook me. Outside the gates of the temple, there were close to 6 old women who had wrinkled faces and wore old, light sarees. In the heat of late Summer, they were selling a product that is usually bought in decent numbers- buttermilk; packaged in old Kinley bottles. The old women were walking to every tourist to sell their product. Beside the gate to the temple, there was a middle-aged blind man who was selling guide books and picture books about the temples- grand remnants of a glorious dynasty. Neither my friends nor I purchased any of these products.
When we were leaving the temple, one woman determinately walked up to the window by which I was sitting. She offered me a bottle for which she was charging 20 rupees. She was looking at me with an affectionate smile while holding the bottle out towards me. She was hoping for me to buy it. I refused to buy it. What stopped me was not my disinterest in buttermilk but the manner in which it was packed. If the same product were packaged more neatly in some other bottle or container, I would have purchased it. It made me question what I was working on- "Am I targeting the right section of the society in my work?" My brother told me that the work I am doing would eventually benefit all of them. But, does the old woman have that much time? Does the balloon-man have that much time?
These are not problems that are new to our society. They have existed for decades. They have been dealt with, too. The problem, here, is not poverty. The problem is an information gap that we are not attempting to bridge. Some of our policies aimed at creating safety nets and fostering human development policies must be designed to reach this section first before its benefits are consumed wholly by those higher in the ladder. I believe that if the balloon-man could be better informed about how to sell his balloons (or substitute his product), if the florist could be taught how to make more money in the business; and if the old lady could be taught about the importance of packaging her products better, they will all witness a better standard of living. While so many people live on the brink everyday, time is not a luxury anybody has to help them make their lives safer.
