The Cook I Never Was

Some of my most vivid memories of my childhood are always to do with food. We are a family that loves to eat and loves to feed. Weekends were extended, lazy lunches at Grandma’s place where the whole family gathered to eat and share stories mostly about food. Some weekends were picnics in the park where we would eagerly await the aromas of pipping hot Biryani filling up our senses and other times it was the excitement of smuggling delicious parathas into the cinema hall and gorging on them while watching my favourite hero bash up goons.

While I enjoy food tremendously, I didn’t grow up learning how to cook and could not cook to save my life. Coming from a deeply patriarchal family, I was never held accountable for the important life skill of cooking. Watching my dad, never cook, meant I didn’t need to. Watching my mom cook three meals a day, sometimes four for the entire family meant that it was an expectation I had from my wife / partner.

Not knowing how to cook and all that goes into planning a meal, meant I never learnt to appreciate the hard work in cooking. I remember, many a morning, I would be irritated by my mom’s overtures to push breakfast down my throat while I was rushing to college or work. Disregarding her early morning wake-up, her planning, hours spent in the kitchen making a healthy, hearty meal all lost in that moment of irritation when her son growled for being late to work and disappeared without even a glance to the heartbreak she felt. My dad continues to do that for many a meal, invalidating her effort. Other than a cup of tea and flipping a Dosa over, my dad still can’t cook to save his life.

It was only after marriage and when I moved out of home, that I was made brutally aware that not knowing how to cook was laughable. My partner forced me into the kitchen to ensure we played an equal part in our partnership for life. I struggled with simple tasks such as putting on the gas cylinder and cutting vegetables. For months, we ended up eating out / ordering in because I didn’t know how to cook and  both of us were tired after a full day’s work. The initial years were a struggle to say the least, adjusting to our respective new realities and learning the failings that we each had.

Not knowing to cook was no longer an option in the relationship and with many disastrous first attempts with an encouraging and unforgiving partner, I pursued. Slowly and steadily, I learnt to cook and now cooked for pleasure, over a weekend meal or when I felt like. The smells, tastes, textures of the food I had grown up eating intuitively guiding me and of course hundreds of online tutorials. Being a man, also meant I was not an easy student to teach, for my ego hurt every time she pointed a mistake I made or attempted to correct a dish. Even when cooking, which I was still learning, I needed to believe and let her know that I knew more than her. Really? It is a surprise she even tolerated me. My partner continued to do the heavy lifting even though she didn’t enjoy the grind of daily cooking. But we needed to eat right?

Anyhow, my cooking improved and with it my confidence in the kitchen. My repertoire was limited but the intention was growing. However, I was not rising to the task soon enough, so we decided to keep a cook and my cooking was limited to weekend attempts.

When the pandemic hit in early 2020 and we were confined to our homes and could not have our cook any longer, we were forced to plan, prepare and cook all our meals. Thus, started a whole new journey. From cooking for joy and experimentation to now cooking three-meals a day everyday to survive. My partner and I learnt to divide our meals – Breakfast is mine, lunch is yours. If you do dinner, then I do the dishes. So, now cooking had to be planned – What do we cook for the week, what ingredients do we need, how do we plan our cooking to ensure minimum wastage of food resources, etc., etc. In the initial days, there was tremendous food wastage because I could not for the life of me manage quantities. With my newborn interest for cooking, I also ended up purchasing many exotic ingredients that were never used. It took me a long time to realize that the fantasy of a gourmet chef in my head is different from the daily grind of cooking.

Everyday, I was getting comfortable with vegetables, spices, combinations and ingredients. Soon, I was churning out better and better food, cooking faster and enjoying the process. I also learnt to listen to my partner, my mom and anyone with useful advice on cooking. For many months, the regularity of cooking a meal was the only thing keeping me sane in the lockdown.

In the second wave, when my mom contracted the virus and we decided to bring my dad and her to our place to care for them, things truly changed. Now, we were responsible to make three healthy meals everyday for them and had to run like a lean-mean machine. Between, my partner and I, we planned every meal meticulously and had to have it ready on time, tasting well, having the right nutritional content and catering to their palette. Since, we could not have any house help, it meant we were also ensuring the house is cleaned, sanitized, clothes are washed and dried and the dishes are done. There was always a pile up of dishes after every meal that needed to be cleared.

This daily grind has helped me realize what it must take for my mom and for many like her to cook everyday for years, decades and all their life. I acknowledge and appreciate many of my colleagues, who wake up at ungodly hours to ensure 2-3 meals are prepared for their family, packed and ready to go while also making sure they get to office on time and repeat that when they go back home at the end of each day. It is insane to plan ingredients, to think on the fly, to be creative, to not repeat a dish soon enough, to have variety, to attempt new dishes, to not waste, to cater to the demands of different family members, to have disasters in the kitchen, to deal with lack of acknowledgement, to be invalidated and yet show up every morning in the kitchen and cook all over again, day in and day out and it does not matter if one is tired, sick, demotivated or feeling lazy. And mind you, for many like my partner and my mom, it’s not the only thing they do – they also have active, busy, fulfilling and demanding careers that they truly enjoy and thrive in.

Today, cooking is a not just a hobby, an essential life skill, a way for me to rewrite my own story, a way to break stereotypical mindsets about men in the kitchen, an acknowledgement of all the women in my life who have fed me unconditionally and a therapeutic outlet to stay sane in these troubled times. It hasn’t been an easy journey, more so for my partner who has helped me, held me accountable, nudged me and not given up on me as I have attempted to break out of a deeply patriarchal upbringing.

Now, I enjoy cooking, I am much better at it, have a reasonable variety and am becoming a meticulous, efficient cook but still unsure, I want to do this every day of my life. From a cook I never was, today, I am a proud almost cook and happy to say it.

A COVID Memorial - My Personal Appeal

The idea of 'Dignity in Death' is deeply personal to me. Many years back, a relative of mine fell into a ditch in the dark and was left there to die. After nearly 24 hours of searching, we found him in the ditch in a busy main road, barely alive. People around him walked past him without helping, a local street vendor just assumed he was drunk and left him in suffering. He left us a few days later, battling multiple internal injuries. He didn't deserve to go in such an undignified manner. Since then, whenever I see someone lying on the road, I make it a point to stop and check-in if they need help. We were fortunate that we found my uncle. Many are not and don't get a chance to say their goodbyes and find their closure with the person they lost. This memory came flooding back to me today as I read this article of this beautiful human being who 'provides dignity in death' to unclaimed bodies - https://lnkd.in/gerAGSA.

Last year during the 1st lockdown, I lost an aunt whom I was close to as a kid. Over the years, I had stopped meeting her claiming to be busy and always hoping that there will be a time when I will catch-up and we can relive memories from my childhood. As I heard the news of her passing, I could not step out to pay my last respects due to the lockdown; I could not say 'I am sorry' for I thought, there was time still. Some of her children could not pay their last respects, say their goodbyes and grieve as a family because of the lockdown protocols. Ironic, that the last moments of this special person were lonely - for this person was always the first to show up for the family, for the community and for God!

A young graduate from Dream a Dream who is currently in the US completing his education and attempting to build a career lost his father to COVID a few weeks back. As much as he would have liked to be here in India to support his father and family during this difficult time, he could not.

There are thousands who have not been able to say their goodbyes to their loved ones due to the current pandemic and restrictions with lockdowns.

As I continue to see the toll that the COVI19 pandemic is taking on thousands of Indians and watched with helplessness as people have died, many of them without dignity; as families have grieved for their loss without having an opportunity to say their goodbyes and find their closures; as families have not been able to reach their loved ones and are deeply traumatized by the losses around them - a bunch us felt that we need the nation to commit to a COVID Memorial to accord dignity and justice to the ones we have lost in the 16 months by recording their names and identities and not leaving them as invisible statistics. 

As a way for families to grieve, reconcile, heal and find closure, we have started this petition urging the Indian Government to commit to a COVID Memorial. The Daily Mail and St. Paul's Cathedral in the UK (https://amp.theguardian.com/.../fund-for-covid-victims...) are committing to an online book of remembrance with photographs and tributes of all the people lost to the pandemic. Such a powerful and beautiful gesture to accord dignity to the departed and create a space for remembrance, grieving and closure for the bereaved families.

We are inviting the Government of India to commit to a COVID Memorial that will record the names of ALL the people we have lost in India since January 2020 so that they are identified, accorded dignity in their death and a space where families can grieve, heal and seek closure for the goodbyes they couldn't say. It will also be a reminder to all of us for generations to come for the lives lost and what we need to change in our healthcare systems so that we don't repeat mistakes made at this time ever. We are not asking for a mammoth structure as symbolism of power and status but are requesting a gesture of honesty, authenticity and transparency coming from a space of love, humility and acceptance of loss.

There have already been multiple ideas brewing - A COVID memorial book similar to the one planned in UK; a symbolic structure, maybe a wall with names, in every village and town where people have lost lives; an online memorial; every Primary Health Centre (PHC) having a wall or a book with the names of people who lost their lives during this time in that village and town; a community quilt woven by family members; inviting artists from across the country to design art celebrating and acknowledging the ones we lost. There might be other ideas too to truly make this a community memorial.

This petition is important for me because I don't want my aunt, my uncle, this young man's dad to become an invisible statistic. I want to grieve for the people I have lost and I want the family to have the space for healing and closure and I believe a COVID memorial will be just what all of us who have been through collective trauma as a nation need. A space for acceptance, acknowledgement, remembrance, healing and closure. A space that reminds us that we as a society failed and will hold us to account so that we never fail again. We make a commitment to do better, to be better as individuals, families, communities and as a nation.

We invite you sign this petition - http://chng.it/jKfzxqpc6z and spread this so we don't ever forget the ones we lost and this time in history. 

In Gratitude! #COVIDMemorial #DignityinDeath #JusticeAndReconciliation

Who do you want to be remembered as when you exit?

People leaving is a normal occurrence in the journey of any organization. In my 17-year career, I have seen many people leave Dream a Dream – some have left with pride, friendships, love and camaraderie and others have left with grudges, disappointment and anger. It doesn’t matter that people leave, that is part of life. What matters is how they leave?

Recently, we had someone leave Dream a Dream after a short-stint of one year. We were sad to let this person go. In just a year, this person had won our hearts with his humility, work ethic and commitment. He got a much better opportunity and we were delighted for him while we were sad to see him go.

However, one thing struck me about his exit and it was the way he left the organization. For me, it was one of the most remarkable transitions and exits I have ever come across. Here are a few things he did, that won my heart.

1. While, he had a compelling offer and they needed him to join at the earliest, he negotiated that he can only join after 3 months. The notice period in our offer letter stated only one month.

2. He knew he had made certain commitments to the organization and to our external stakeholders and he wanted to make sure he met those commitments before he exited.

3. He wanted to give the organization sufficient time to find a replacement for his role. He knew that it’s difficult to find people for senior roles and more so, in his very niche area.

4. He wanted to make sure he does a thorough and complete transition to the new person while he was still around.

5. He put together a comprehensive transition plan that covered all critical aspects that would help a new person hit the road running from Day one.

6. He made a master document outlining his directory structure, key relationships and status with each of them and finally a list of key tasks that require attention.

7. He ensured he reworked his folder / filing structure including renaming files to make it easy for the new person to find documents. He invested time in cleaning up his folders.

8. He ensured there was active communication with all external stakeholders and managed any anxieties that might arise with pending timelines.

Finally, he ensured that the universe of relationships he built at Dream a Dream were kept intact and everyone would remember him for the remarkable colleague, friend and human being that he is.

Through this transition, I wondered why he invested as much time and effort and the question I asked myself is ‘Why was it important for him? Why is it important to transition well out of an organization?’

Transitions leave an impact on the organization. Work gets impacted for a certain time period till it picks up again. Sometimes, it puts pressure on the system and is a cause for stress, especially in small organizations. The burden moves to others in the team and it affects their ability to be productive.

In the way that this person planned and executed his transition, I learnt that it’s important to leave with your head held high. Leave without burdening the organization to manage and figure things out after you are gone. Leave knowing that your hard work will bear fruit and will be continued as you had planned and for that is important to plan your exit, prepare for your transition and invest in making it thorough. It’s important to take pride in the work that you have done and that pride ensures you plan and execute a thorough transition.

Moreover, in our time with organizations we build and nurture relationships, we make friends and it’s important to keep the connections intact. A half-hearted transition could, in a moment, undo the hard work and credibility you have built in your time here.

Something we all have to think about is, ‘what and how do you want to be remembered when you are gone? What is the legacy you want to leave behind?’

Mahesh Chandrasekar, you have set new benchmarks at Dream a Dream for transitions and exits and you will always be remembered for your amazing work ethic.

Holding Space for Failure

She was young, feisty, confident and all of 14. Rare traits in young people that come from adversity. She shone through the first two days of the camp like she belonged here. The nurturing environment fueled her creative confidence and helped her achieve new milestones. Her learning edge was challenged and she always loved a good challenge. 

Day 3 is usually a Youth Led Day at camp where young people are encouraged to lead workshops for their peers. She signed up to lead an art workshop. Known for her discipline, she prepared well. She had thought through her workshop, played it over many times in her head. She felt confident and was positive that she will sail through. 

The workshop tanked. She lost her confidence when she fumbled through her instructions. She struggled with some steps and it became all chaotic and messy. She lost her composure and just about managed to complete the allotted time. However, she saw something strange. No one left her workshop or abandoned her. No one sneered at her. Her peers, whom she didn't know well, held space for her and for her failure. 

Post the workshop, she cried and poured her heart out. She had never felt so much support before, definitely not when she had failed. She had grown up in an environment where success was expected of her. Being a girl, she had to fight harder to earn success and each success brought with it pressure to perform better. She didn't realize, she was holding herself back from being her best because she had become too scared to fail. There was no support for failures in her environment. 

Yet here, she had failed and no one had abandoned her. She realized she had permission to fail and in her failure she had achieved the biggest success of her life. She had learnt to not let failure destroy her. Her peers ensured that failure gave her strength. They held space for her to fail. Her tears were tears of joy and realization. She had a transformative life experience. 

According to Heather Plett, "Holding Space means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgement and control."

This young woman experienced the power of Holding Space when she was going through her journey and it helped her discover things that she had no permission to feel before. This young woman is the embodiment of the power that each of us holds within us as human beings - the power to be empathetic towards ourselves and others.

The outdoor experiential camps at Dream a Dream use the Life Skills Approach to help young people transform and discover their true potential. One of the core tenets of these camps is to Hold Space for young people as they go through her personal journeys and discoveries. Since 2002, thousands of young people have discovered their confidence, resilience, empathy, creativity through these outdoor experiential camps.

Do Academic Outcomes Lead to Better Life Outcomes?

When I was in school, I was told by almost all my teachers and parents that I need to study and get good grades. I listened to them because I believed them. All through my growing up years - studying, memorizing and repeating it during examinations became my sole aim. I got good results too. I was in the top 5 in my class all through school and I took pride in that. I felt special and different. I was made to believe I was above the rest who would struggle with their studies and grades. I was made to believe I will have better life outcomes because I am good at my academics.

I was discouraged from Sports or any of my other interests. I let go of sports in my 7th grade even though I was one of the fastest athletes in my class and passionate about running. My teachers told to me to spend every free hour studying. I was even assigned to labeled slow students whom I had to teach during our breaks. It is a surprise I managed to stay committed to National Cadet Corps and Karate during those last few years of school when studying was everything. It almost defined if you would be successful in life. "Do you want to be a dud like x?", "Do you want to be failure like y?". These threats worked wonders and many of us studied and forced ourselves to get good grades because we believed our parents and teachers that good academic outcomes would lead to better life outcomes?

Its been 21 years since I left school, with flying colours, ofcourse. I have been in touch with quite a few of my friends from school and many others I know of. The startling revelation has been that nearly all of us, irrespective of our grades, are doing well in our lives. Software engineers, bankers, accountants, architects, doctors, counselors, artists, army personnel, teachers, merchant navy, consultants, pastor and even an odd social worker like me. Are the top graders doing better than the rest? Not the least bit. Are the low performers struggling with life? Not the least bit. Infact, I reckon that if I track down each of my classmates from my batch of 1994, I bet each one of them will be doing reasonably well with life.

Let me also mention that we were not an elite school from any sense of imagination. Our school was as diverse as they come. Daily wage workers, contract labourers, government service professionals, private service professionals and businessmen.

We also didn't get the best education. With 60-70 students in a class and a focus only on academic outcomes, it was not that our teachers focused on each student and managed to build in them a sense of belief and confidence. I remember many of my classmates who began to fall by the wayside in their academics were looked down upon by teachers and peers. Infact, I was discouraged from being friends with some of them because teachers felt that I lose my academic focus under their influence. Seating in classrooms was organized based on academic scores too.

How then, I wonder that all of us had better life outcomes? Maybe, just maybe, there is no correlation between academic outcomes and life outcomes? Are we even willing to challenge this assumption at a time when academic outcomes are increasingly critical in a highly competitive educational environment? In an environment where the government boasts of 100% enrollment in schools and wants each kid to master languages, sciences and mathematics, could we possibly be looking at the problem all wrong? In an environment, where funders believe when more kids stay in school, study well, graduate, go to college, graduate and get a job - are we possibly missing a critical point?  Are we pushing for better and better academic outcomes when that is no strong indicator that it results in better life outcomes?

In my work today. at Dream a Dream, we are working with some of the most vulnerable young people whose academic outcomes are not nearly close to even being average. Over the last 16 years, I have seen school dropouts, poor academic performers, the labeled "duds" and "slow learners" be the most intelligent, sensitive, smart and empathetic individuals and achieve remarkable life outcomes inspite of very poor learning outcomes.

Are we looking at learning all wrong? Are we stuck to an age old system that has long become redundant in the face of a fast changing world? Are we holding onto a system that is the last bastion of a key differentiator between success and failure in a class driven society?

Are we too rigid as a society to change a system that is clearly not working? Stopped working over 2 decades ago if my class is an indicator.

I wonder. 

Taxi Drivers in Amreeka!

There is something quite engaging and beautiful about interactions with Taxi Drivers in the US. There are emigrants from other countries and there are people whose past few generations have grown up in US. 

There are whites, latinos, African americans, Asians and each have a story to share. They love conversations with their passengers and sometimes give you nuggets of wisdom that is quite brilliant.

An Indian from Haryana who has been here for just 3 years talked about how he plans from move from driving a taxi to driving trucks because there is more money and a long-term career in truck driving. An American, might be in his late sixties gives me his views on the homeless people about how they migrate from the north to the south (mostly hitchhiking) because it is warmer in the south. Which is why one sees more Homeless people in San Francisco as opposed to Seattle.

On a question I asked about discrimination against African Americans in the US, the driver said that the African Americans do not wish to mingle, they wish to stay within their own neighbourhoods and communities. This I thought was a strong statement but was fascinated to here an honest comment about how he saw it after all the diplomatic comments I had heard in many many meetings.

An Ethiopian driver realizing I was Indian went onto to mention MithunDa and Govinda, famous movie stars in India in the 90’s era and start singing “I am a Disco Dancer”. I was so pleasantly surprised and happy and totally thrilled to hear him say a few Hindi words and give me a big broad smile. I, ofcourse, didn’t want to break his excitement by saying that the above actors have long since become old and are not so popular in India anymore. I guess I wanted both of us to stay with our happy feelings.

Another time, a driver dropping us to the airport became a self-proclaimed tour guide and gave us interesting tit-bits of places along the route to the airport.

A really old driver who was once taking all of us and our bags to the airport was struggling to put our big bags into the trunk and when I offered to help him, he declined saying he will be fine. I could not see him struggling and just decided to help him anyway and without saying a word we felt a deep connection.

I have really enjoyed my cab rides and my conversations with drivers. They have entertained me, given me insights, shared their stories and their wisdom. I have felt a deep human connection with them and they have helped me feel welcome in their cabs. All I can say is, Thank You!

Irene

I saw her from the corner of my eye. Silent, graceful and almost unnoticeable. She looked easily over 70 and fit and healthy. Her hands were wrinkled and her eyes had seen a lot through the years. A little hunched back, she walked with a slow steady step. Irene is a cleaner at the Grand Canyon Cafeteria. 

Coming from an Indian cultural upbringing, my first reaction was that someone of her age should not be working cleaning at a Cafeteria. I quickly realized that was a judgment. Maybe, she chose to work there. Maybe, she loves being around people and maybe she enjoys her work at the Café. It helped me reduce my pain a little. I kept imagining if my grandmother had to work like this in her old age, I would not have liked that. But, maybe, it is alright for old people to work here. Without judgment, I continued to observe her as she went about her work with grace and calm.

She walked slow and we sensitivity. I noticed that she worked as if she was completely invisible, never coming in the way of the diners. I wonder if many noticed her. I realized none had. The perfunctory ‘Thank You’ was more out of habit than intention. People came in and went out, hardly noticing and acknowledging her presence. At one time, she was holding a heavy tray of trash and when she noticed a family coming in her way, she moved to the side holding the heavy tray waiting for them to pass. They didn’t notice her standing there.

She thought me, in that instant, to be mindful and to slow down and observe life as it happens. She observed this family and did her job. They didn’t and went about their business. I wonder what else I don’t notice in the business of my life. The hundreds or possibly thousands of people like Irene who are mindful to me at inconvenience to them.

How do I learn to slow down and observe life. How do I say ‘Thank you’ with intention. How do I invest in things that are truly important and learn to leave out the noise.

As I walked away, I looked at her and told her, ‘Thank you for taking care of me.' and then silently, "Thank you for reminding me about my grandmother and giving me a lesson on life."

Ruthless Cities

For long, I have been wondering about how the cities we live in have changed. The one thing that has struck me is that cities have increasingly become ruthless to its old and aged. I see that everyday in the eyes of my mom. She is just about 55 years old but over the last few years, I have increasingly found her to be scared to walk the streets of Bangalore. Earlier, I used to find it amusing and sometimes I also used to reproach her for not trying hard enough.

In sometime, I began to understand what was happening. It was not my mother but how we had chosen to make our cities almost hostile to the aged. I started observing other aged around the streets of Bangalore and realized we had become a restless, hurrying, ruthless population who cared less and less about the world around us.

I noticed old people waiting for many many minutes before they could find the courage to cross roads. Once I noticed an old woman give-up and go back the way she came because she was just unable to cross the road. There are no footpaths on roads. Just 100 mts from my house is the main road and there is no footpath on most of the road, my mom is forced to walk on the road and once when she was out buying groceries, a young man on a bike hit her and sped away. Fortunately, she didn't fall but bruised her arm nevertheless. The young man didn't stop to look; leave along apologize and help. It left a deep fear in my mom's mind about walking on the road. The noise, the speeding vehicles, the uncaring young, the fear of constantly being hit or run over. She now gives us hundreds of excuses about not wanting to go out.

Visits to parks, movies, malls, shopping have all been reduced to doing it at a time when it is ultimately unavoidable for my mom. She does not go into malls because they have no lifts, they have elevators. My mom once fell trying to get onto a elevator. Since then, she refuses to go to malls that don't have lifts. I don't remember the last time I was able to convince my mom to go to a movie hall or walk around the park, which she loved when we were younger.

I have thought about the fact that some of these fears can be overcome with support and encouragement and let me tell you my mom is a very courageous person but its just the apathy and lack of patience amongst the young of today that kills the joy of attempting something new.

For my mom, atleast we are around to support her. I, sometimes wonder about the moms and dads of others whose children are not around!

Are the old being pushed on the brink of thinking the cities are not for them and relegating them to the confines of their homes? Don't they have the right to live a life of dignity and quality with easy access to services? Have we in a Busy-ness forgotten to slow down once in a while and remember that we share this world with our elderly and maybe other species too?

Invisible Hanif

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.