My Tryst With the Migrant Labour Tragedy
This was me till yesterday. Hiding from the world and from reality. My brother and I decided to join an incredible group of people to help the migrants stuck on the roads due to the COVID lockdown. These people have been doing it for many days and we just joined them for a day to see what is happening.
Young boys and girls, most of them as young as we are, if not younger, were sitting by the road. “Khana khaliya?” I asked a young man; “Nahin saab”, came the reply. He said they were waiting for a train to take them to Bihar. “Train to Bihar?” I asked him. “Haan Ji, hum patna thak jaana padega”; If only he knew that there is no train to Bihar tomorrow, I thought to myself. If only they know? They knew there are no trains tomorrow. Nor for the entire next week. But they are willing to wait. Till they get a train. Do they have a choice?
As I quietly laid down in bed late yesterday night in the airconditioned comforts of my bedroom, the image of that boy who spoke to me came haunting back. He looked smart. Tall and handsome. In jeans and sneakers.
How does it feel to beg for food, I asked myself. How does it feel to not know when and where life is taking you? What are his thoughts right now? Is he thinking about his ageing parents? Or his lost dreams? Perhaps he is thinking about the unpaid loan and the after-effects of that. Does he even have the mental energy to care about these things in the absence of the bare minimal food?
“Where are the toilets for so many people?” I asked one of those volunteers. “Don’t ask questions for which you don’t have answers for”, said he; If only there are answers! I told myself. Till the point, you and I bury our heads in the cacophony of the world without listening to the intricate cries of pain of the real human beings there are no answers.
Even as these thoughts were wrestling for space in that small brain space of mine, a sudden thought came to me. If a few men, like the volunteers who took us, who had their senses open to the harsh realities of the suffering could find answers to the questions thrown at them, why can’t I?
Perhaps, I have my eyes and ears in the deepest bottoms of my privilege!
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Loving the Migrant Worker is a network of volunteers and NGOs across over 50 cities in India serving daily wagers and migrant workers who are on the move.
