The invisible people

After getting the people of India to clang the plates on the Janata Curfew day on March 22, our Prime Minister now wants us to light lamps and candles on April 5 to spread the light of the nation’s collective resolve to fight the Covid pandemic. But beyond plates and lamps overflows the pail of misery caused by the 21-day lockdown. The families that iron clothes for an entire residential colony, the street-corner shopkeeper who sells paan, the cobbler who resolutely repairs and polishes shoes, the men who pedal rickshaws, drive auto-rickshaws, the barbers, plumbers, electricians and other artisans have all disappeared. They are the invisible men and women of the lowest stratum of our economy.

They have no government support, no religious or communal props, no collective bargaining; they are the real India — poor, uncared for and honest. They are in distress because they are not the ones who could have saved enough to tide over three weeks without earnings; yet not a single istriwala was caught breaking into a shop for his starving child’s milk or his pregnant wife’s roti. Instead, some of them chose to walk a thousand kilometres than beg for a meal. This is a moment to marvel at a poor Indian’s capacity to suffer the vicissitudes of life and also at the callousness of the rich towards those who have been condemned to eat by the sweat of their brow. The government and society at large seemed to have forgotten these people who have been quietly making the wheels of the urban life turn.

Our Prime Minister is a great communicator. His every wish is a command for a large section of the country’s population. So, it is easy for him to ask the people to take care of the barbers, istriwalas and artisans in their neighbourhood. According to the International Labour Organisation, India’s informal sector accounts for over 80 per cent of our non-agricultural employment. And it is this huge section of the population that has been hit by the lockdown. They need immediate attention and a contingency fund, lest something should go terribly wrong.