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Small is beautiful

Unfortunately, despite paying good wages, this person always found it hard to get help. Having talked to some of the people who worked there in the past, I found they resented being treated like bonded labourers. "Money is all right, but it is not everything. Friendliness is also important. In this house, there was no friendliness." My friend strictly believed that working people were working people. They should work all the time, not indulge in idle drawing room chitchat, arrive and depart on time. In fact, be like robots.

I often thought about this person while our flat was undergoing major repairs recently. For more than two weeks, the tranquility was shattered with masons, carpenters and their helpmates setting up camp from morning till late evening. Then the painters took over for another two weeks. Since I worked from home, it was my job to take care of them by way of asking about tea indulging in small talk.

What kind of people were they? Most of them belonged to Andhra Pradesh, brought to Bombay by big contractors. Normally, they lived near the building sites where they worked. While sipping hot tea, they would tell me about their early days, the N T Rama Rao phenomenon, the Laxmi Parvati impact on Andhra Pradesh politics... I found their views refreshingly different from what was reported in the daily press.

When they left after the work was over, my wife gifted them old clothes, bed sheets and some utensils which we were not using. We had become close friends.

Both my wife and I do not believe in putting people in their places. In many cases, we tend to overdo the hospitality act, but we do not mind. In the long run, we have made some very good friends. Take the case of our sabjiwala. A stalwart six-footer from UP, he has been serving us for more than 13 years.

When our housing society made a rule banning all hawkers, we pleaded his entry as a special case and convinced the society. We came to know that his family owned some land in UP which was tilled by his brothers and cousins. What was he doing in Bombay? "Back home, ready cash is always a problem," he explained. "It is easier to make money in the city."

Rain, storm or communal riots, our sabjiwala arrives at the dot, carrying two huge baskets of vegetables on his head. My wife always took his help if there was some heavy work like shifting furniture at home.

Our building is also served by a sabjiwali, an even more remarkable woman. Attractive and intelligent, she gets along famously with her clients. I will never forget the time when, on a bandh day, she walked all the way from the Dadar vegetable market to Bandra where we lived, a distance of around 12 kms and then climbed the stairs to the seventh floor because the lifts were not working that day.

She was also pregnant then. Unfortunately, her husband seldom works and is drunk most of the time. But she never complains about him and remains cheerful. The only time she asked for a loan was for her daughter's wedding. We gladly obliged.

Simple people. Honest people. Hardworking people. Life is never easy for them. When they find anyone who sympathises with them, they simply open up. I guess that helps a bit. But they never sought undue favours or tried to exploit our sympathy.

Take the case of yet another woman hawker who sells different types of goods. Garlic, mangoes, jamun fruit, cherries, etc, according to the season. She spend the morning at the Bandra bazaar and shifts operations to the railway station market during the evenings. Dressed in torn sarees, with hair flying all over, she is still very good-looking.

Her husband does seem to appreciate her, though in a perverse way. She seems to be pregnant all the time. I always buy whatever stuff she sells and once told my wife about her. "I want to see your girlfriend," she joked and accompanied me to the bazaar. "Gosh, she is really pretty, isn't she? Better looking than most of those models or the so-called beauty queens."

But the hawker has her principles. She never accepts Diwali bakshish from me. "I am not working for you," she explained. "You are my customer. Go on buying stuff from me; that is more than enough." We continue doing that.

There are people and more people like that. Our electrician friend, Sheikh, often drops in for a chat. He hails from Lucknow and we discuss UP politics, the speciality of Mughlai food and the latest in VCRs and CDs.

Building contractor Satish even discusses his marital problems with us! Why? Because we always make him welcome at our place and ask him to share our meals if he drops in while we are eating. Our dhobi will never leave for his home town without informing us in advance. My wife knows how old his daughters are and always keeps some frocks ready for them.

It is seldom that we attend high society parties in Bombay. I am always bored to tears within minutes at these parties where there is so much of vicious gossip, back stabbing and intolerance. These men and women have everything in the world, but are seldom happy or satisfied.

They are always jealous of those who have more, praising them in public but abusing them behind their backs. Our simple friends are different. They speak from the heart. No doubt they aspire for a better life, but try to reach their goals by working hard and not by abusing others.

Illustration: Dominic Xavier