I will call him Hanif. I have known and unknown him for nearly 15 years or more of my life. For days, weeks, months and years on end, he has served me and my family during the sweltering summer months. Quenching our thirst while keeping himself thirsty. He is my Coconut Man – Hanif. I have seen him grow old over the years. I don’t think he would remember me. But, he has an unforgettable face. Dark set, with the signature cap, squinted eyes, scarred face and sad lips. I cant forget the face that has grown from an ‘angry with the world’ look to a deep, sad, defeated look.
I have often thought about writing about him and for some reason, I decided to write today. I saw him on the road today after many months and just felt the urge to give him an identity in this invisible world.
As a kid going to school, I remember him bringing in a bicycle full of coconuts into our neighbourhood. Walking in the sweltering heat, sometimes barefoot, tugging along pulling his cycle in the hope that the way back home in the evening will be on an empty cycle. He used to be an angry salesman then. Understandably so. Everyone bargained with him. He would ask Rs. 6 and his customers would pay him Rs. 5 and even then complain that his coconuts didn’t have enough water, they were not sweet enough, he was cheating them. On some days, he was in a good mood and on that day he would talk to the children on the streets, laugh with the ladies ordering from their first floor balconies and with his charm get his customers to pay what he asked for. I always wondered why my mom always, always bargained with him. It would be just Re. 1 yet she would bargain as if its a birthright. I could sometimes understand my mom because she had grown up having little in her childhood, was married into a family with no income and had to save every single paisa to feed her family so Re. 1 was important to her and she valued it. However, that attitude remained even after we became slightly wealthier and it showed in her attitude towards people like Hanif.
Anyway, I am digressing. Young angry Hanif continued his service to us and other families in our neighbourhood. I always wondered where he came from, who was Hanif, did he have a family? How far did he live? Did he make enough money? I wondered in a neighbourhood where every bit of space was being picked by the elite, where did he live? Was there space for people like Hanif to have their small houses and their invisible existence? I never really found out yet everytime I saw him, I wondered. I wonder why I never really asked him, spoke to him, asked his name?
A few months back I saw him trudging his bicycle from Hosur road, nearly 8-9 kms away from my neighbourhood. Wow! Did I ever realize that this man who has quenched my thirst for nearly 15 years, pulls his bicycle laden with coconuts for maybe 10-odd kms everyday and then takes the same journey back every evening. Have we really just slowly, steadily and ruthlessly pushed the poor out of our neighbourhoods and yet demand them to serve, think its our birthright to bargain for Re. 1 with them and not even accord them the dignity of speaking to them like human beings.
Our family income has grown from Rs. 500 a month sometime in 1975 to nearly Rs. 1.5 Lakhs a month in 2011. Hanif started selling his coconuts at Rs. 5, 15 years back and today he sells them at Rs. 12 and sometimes even lower so that his stock is finished.
I wonder how Hanif’s story will end. I see him today. I don’t see the ferocious angry man, willing to fight his fate of a few years back. Today, I see a hunched old man, sunken eyes, seem to be going blind, sagging skin, more scars and a very sad face that has given up on hope in life. I wish to see him angry yet again but that anger has given way to a defeat so pronounced that maybe only death can release him.
Hanif is one of the many invisible people who have made my life richer, easier and better with their invaluable services. Yet, I don’t seem to have added any value to their life but seem to have contributed to sucking out every bit of their energy and jest for life.
Here is my small attempt to give meaning and dignity to Hanif! Albeit, he might never know about this and will probably disappear one day from my neighbourhood without being missed.
