Ever since I was a boy, I had been told of the great progress the world has made since the end of the Second World War. Amid all the technological progress humanity did not realise that it had lost the gift of the present, comfort of peace, and convenience of harmony. Instead stress, rush and noise occupied every moment of our life. Industrialization and globalization were a panacea of problems like poverty, inequality and illiteracy. But everything that we had built so painstakingly for years just crumbled. The best of technology, resources, infrastructure and human ingenuity was once again powerless against the invisible invader. The world stood still and trapped in its own cage.
Silent Migrants.
I had been working at a construction site for more than 2 years. We had a small tin cabin to ourselves provided by the contractor. The work was stopped at the site due to the pandemic. The contractor assured us that it will soon resume and the salary will be paid. After a week, the contractor stopped responding to our phone and then the essentials like water and electricity supply were irregular. There were new rumours every day.
I found myself trapped in my dreams. But the call from soil was unmistaken and strong. Uncertainty, hardship and the invisible threat were heartbreaking. It took time to crush my dreams and uproot my family to travel back from where I started my journey. Back to my roots.
We reluctantly started for our distant home, hoping to find some conveyance. The change was visible. There was no public transport. There were no shops open. Streets were lifeless. Before long a man in khaki donning a mask came up to me and asked me, “what are you doing?” I said, “We are going home”. He asked, “Do you have a permit?” I did not understand soon an altercation ensued, and he ordered us to follow him to the nearest police station. We crossed malls, shopping complexes and offices; everything was closed. After various inquiries regarding our birthplace, employer, address and Aadhar card; we were asked to go and wait in another room where we found more people like us willing and waiting to go home. Someone who had been waiting for hours told us that Station Incharge would decide on our fate.
We were all huddled in one corner when Station Incahrge appeared. He looked down on me, “can’t you maintain 2 m distance?’ he asked in a stern voice. “No” I said weekly. ‘Why not?” he asked. “Because I never learnt how,” I said timidly. “We always stick together during misfortune,” I added.
He silenced me with a gesture, “In any case you were taking a walk without a permit. Do you admit that.” I did not know if it was a crime. Nobody told me that. He said, “Penalty 500 INR. And before you go show your identification papers to the constable.” The constable was an old man sitting on a broken chair in another room. We all queued up to get our permits from him. He was busy writing and inspecting our documents. “Fine- 500, travel documents would cost another 2000 and mask, sanitizer and corona test 8000. The total would be 10500 INR,” the constable said without looking up. I tried to reason out, “But I do not have money, no money to buy food, no job and that is why we go home.” I continued, “We need money for train tickets and food on the way.” He murmured under his breath, “go to head office” and shouted, “Next.”
We walked to another big white building nearby. After another long wait we were pushed into another office. The officer in a white shirt asked, “You were picked up without travel papers. Pay the fine and I will let you go home. I pleaded, ” I do not have money, why don’t you jail us instead.” He laughed, “so you want to be fed at governments cost, what an idea!” We were let off with a warning and an ink stamp on our wrists.
We returned to find that our tin cabin was occupied by other workers, who had decided to stay back. We had nowhere to go. Children’s lips were dry and eyes were dark with fear. The last proper meal they had eaten was almost 12 hrs ago, but they did not complain.
We had heard about families from the neighbourhood going by lorries, cycle, or on foot. Left with no choice, we decide to walk along the railway track to our village some 700 Km. We had no money, we once again collected our belongings, isolated the valuable and needful which we could carry. I tried to sell off my television set but there were no takers. Each passing moment was pushing us to another danger. We sneaked off in the early morning hours along with few others in a milk van to be dropped near a railway crossing to find our way home. We were joined by many, in our struggle to reach our home. But no one noticed us as we were faceless. While rest were either WFH, or watching Netflix or news in their homes, we faceless silently migrated to our homeland.
Mute Society.
Hundred thousand of migrant workers have returned home – hungry, bare feet, carrying children on shoulders and old parents. This is a very large section of our society which has been dealt with an unfortunate and hard blow of hardship and misfortune in a big way due to the outbreak of the corona epidemic. Their pain and misery has gone unnoticed or untold. Those who built our “houses” are homeless and wandering through the streets. Those who built the roads are trudging barefooted in the summer heat. Those who worked in the fields to grow grain are clutching to their life empty stomach. Call it their strength or helplessness. They do not want anything from you and me or the government or the system.
In fact, our country is very poor because rich are asking for the government support and help calling it “economical package”. Package of twenty lakh crore was also insufficient. The market tanked 800 points the next day. Yes we are very poor.
Be conscious. Be human.
Photo courtesy: theindiaforum.in
