The sun was progressing on its path in the sky and the first
rays were beginning to touch some of the houses in the multi-storied slum that
was Khora colony. Khora, as it was locally known, was an unauthorized colony
lying at the junction of Delhi, Ghaziabad and Noida. None of them claimed
responsibility or ownership of the place and with good reason. It had started
off as a unorganized slum till the land sharks took control of it and then it
developed as a larger one with unfinished multi-storied structures packed side
by side in a tottering agglomeration of tenements where there was no security,
no privacy and no civic comforts.
Yet, it was packed to the full with the land sharks devising
ingenious ways to eke out another square foot in which they could house some
more and earn more money. It was cheap, though the residents often complained
that the prices were constantly going up. The residents comprised people for
whom there was no other way out. Unorganized labourers, low paid workmen,
shopkeepers, rickshaw pullers, criminals, people hiding from the law,
terrorists……..all were welcome in Khora as long as they paid the rentals. They
lived side by side in guarded bonhomie for you could not afford to pick a
fight. Yet, there were fights some of which could lead to severe injuries or even deaths. The police would not dare interfere either because they were either too
scared to get in the squabble or were regularly paid off by the residents or
land sharks.
The rules of the game were simple- you paid, did not complain
and did not interfere! But underneath the sordid environment there developed a
peculiar character to the place. Relationships were forged, empathy brought
people together, help would be forthcoming and many of the residents worked
hard and diligently for a better life. Not many made it, but that was another
matter! People say that extreme poverty could be a precursor to revolution, but
not with Khora! The poverty was real and the place provided a roof over the
head, there was a living to be made and dreams to be fulfilled. There was just
enough to survive yet not so little as to sow the seeds of revolt.
In one of these nameless apartments the day was already well
progressed. Joe was ready, his little sister was in the process of getting
ready, his mother was in a mad rush – cooking, getting the buckets filled,
shouting instructions in a manner which was superhuman if seen in isolation.
She had a harassed, busy look that had become permanent but she was focussed in
ensuring that her children had a better life after her.
Jyoti Francis was a mother, teacher, bread earner, cleaner,
professional person, guard all at once. She was somewhere in the middle of the
fifth decade of her existence and the constant struggle had made her strong but
had taken away the beauty that she once was. Her children were the biggest
source of comfort and strength for her. Joe, at fourteen, had grown up into a
wonderful child – a conscientious student, a doting brother, a helpful son and
a cheerful boy. His sister was a little less responsible but at ten years old,
she was far better than some of the other children in the neighbourhood. She
would grow up to be a good solid woman – of this Jyoti was sure!
It was no mean feat keeping the children away from the
things on offer at Khora! There were dubious ways in which they could earn a
quick buck, get into gangs, become drug addicts, thiefs, even murderers or get
into the flesh trade. It was so easy to just give up and become one of the
thousands of house-maids who supported the middle class of Noida and
Indirapuram and really went nowhere in life till one day death overtook them.
But Jyoti had kept them away from this and by personal example had sown the
seeds of the benefits of honest hard work and realizable dreams in their psyche.
She had lost her husband a few years ago. A handsome young
man in his early days, he lacked the spine or the will to work hard and so
after a dreary, miserable existence, succumbed to the scourge of contaminated
country liquor one day. Jyoti had never lost her love for the young man who she
married early in her life but all her efforts to help him seek something better
in life had failed. Her husband was just too lazy and lacked dreams.
Fortunately for the family she had been employed as a nurses’ assistant in a
nursing home and her earnings were enough to fulfil the survival needs. She also
managed to keep some money aside for a rainy day because she was sensible
enough to realize that there might come a time when her savings would be
needed.
Joe was ready to go to school by himself and Jyoti, her
cooking done, got after her daughter. She had to get her bathed, dressed and
fed and then start the process of getting ready herself to reach work at ten
after dropping her daughter off at school. After a cheery “Bye” Joe left. He
was a good boy, he was! Jyoti, in her mind, praised the Lord!
At 9:30, she was ready and dragging her daughter, she
climbed down the stairs from her fourth floor apartment. As she came on the
street she noticed a group of men rushing towards their house. They were
gesticulating and shouting something but she could not understand what the
commotion was about. And then it hit her! Apparently, Joe had met with an
accident while crossing the narrow but busy NH 24.
The stretch of NH 24 in front of Khora was a mess! It had
always been so! While it ran a good 15 feet higher than the average Ground
Level of Khora on one side and Indirapuram on the other, there were no underpasses
to allow pedestrians and other light vehicles to cross over. In addition to
this, the stretch was very narrow (barely allowing two cars to ply on each side
of the carriageway despite the grandiose designation of a National Highway!)
and the traffic for most parts of the day was heavy.
The situation was not made easier by the unique mentality of
the vehicle drivers of North India that any stoppage for any
reason was taken as a personal affront. Anyone overtaking was causing an insult
and lane changing at random, driving on the wrong side of the road, jumping
traffic signals etc. were the norm rather than an exception. The auto rickshaws,
with twice the number of passengers than were allowed, their fantastic ability
to halt at the narrowest and most congested places in a quest to squeeze in one
more passenger were without a match and their contribution to the chaos was respectably
significant.
The pedestrians were not to be outdone. It was their
birthright to jump over to cross at any time they felt like, to start fighting
about the right of way right in the middle of the road, to suddenly command the
traffic to come to an absolute halt by issue of a royal edict by simply raising
their hand and this was enhanced by their absolute refusal to acknowledge the
presence of any vehicular traffic or the chaos that they were causing by using
the classic ploy of looking away from it.
In this chaos hundreds of thousands cross the road everyday
and major accidents are few compared to the chances of it happening. But it is
still a significant number. That day was an exception. As Joe was crossing with
a crowd, he stumbled and fell. A bus driver in his hurry to overtake another
has surged forward and before he realized that someone had fallen, his wheel
crushed poor Joe!
When Jyoti arrived, there was complete pandemonium reigning
on the road. Pedestrians and locals were busy breaking windscreens, drivers and
passangers were either running helter skelter or were busy trying to turn
around and escape. But she had eyes only for the broken bloody body lying on
the road under the bus. It was her son and it was obvious that he was beyond
any help. She was devastated. His pain became her pain, his departure took away
all sensations from her being. She went blank. She was looking but not seeing,
she wanted to scream, but no sound came, she wanted to cry, but her tears had
dried, she wanted to hurt the perpetrator but her limbs refused to move. She
felt someone shaking her, asking her questions but nothing registered. Someone
was offering her water, someone was holding her but all strength, and all
awareness had left her. She collapsed and sat down on the road.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
It had been a few days since Joe left them. She had passed
the time in a haze. She went about her chores mechanically. She vaguely
remembered some people carrying the corpse of her son home, she remembered the
police coming, some well meaning neighbours came, some colleagues visited and
offered her sympathy and support. The funeral was simple and subdued; her
brother in law organized everything. The priest tried to console and comfort
her, but nothing registered, nothing made any sense.
Gradually life limped back
to its routine. Her daughter still needed to be cared for. She rejoined her
work and went about her life. There was a hole in her existence which left her
time to think, to cope and to work things out.
One night as she was lying in bed, her eyes wide open,
trying to make sense of events in her life, she was struck by a thought. The
Priest had said that God wanted Joe more than anything and that is why he had
summoned him near. But that did not make sense. Why would God, who gave us
everything, want something so much that he had to take from his children? If he
had any care he would have nurtured Joe and guided him so that he could do His
work here on earth. The Priest’s explanation did not make sense. Perhaps, the
Priests did not understand God’s will that is why they said that he works in
mysterious ways.
She was an ardent if not and expressive believer. But she
was not a blind follower. Her God was a kind, supportive God. He was not a
selfish, vengeful God. God had created an army of humans to do his work for
him. Some of us did not, perhaps, understand this. If God had wanted to do
everything himself, he would not have the need to create humans. When she
prayed she did not ask for favours, just for the strength and blessing to allow
her to do His work for Him. When unpleasant things happened, it was not as if
God was being unkind, but because some of us had failed to carry out the task
that had been given to us.
So one thing became clear to her; God understood her pain
and had, therefore, had offered her a new task. She had been offered the task
because God knew that she had understood the pain of such an avoidable loss
better than anyone else. She would do anything to prevent a further loss and
therefore do God’s work. The Priests did not understand what she did, for the
pain had been hers alone.
Next morning, she got her daughter ready and dressed in the
white “salwar” and Blue “Kurta” which was her work dress, she dropped her
daughter off to school. Instead of going to her workplace, she went to the
place where her son had met his end. It was a place where there was an opening
in the divider on NH 24 which was used by pedestrians to cross and by the cars
to take a U turn. This was also a place that traffic needed to stop as directed
(but the rule was blatantly disregarded and the auto rickshaws usually used
this break to stop and pick up passengers unmindful of the fact that such
haphazard stoppages created traffic jams. Might had become right and the tussle
between the hordes of pedestrians and the cars was played out repeatedly many
times a day. The place was nominally manned by a couple of police constables in
the absence of any traffic signal but over a period of time, the constables had
given up the fight to enforce regulations and order. They played along with the
tide of the battle between vehicles and pedestrians and only really intervened
when some VIP movement was planned or when arguments and fights broke out.
This morning, the constables were taken by surprise when
they saw a middle aged woman take position at the crossing and start the
work of regulating traffic. Her directions were unsure but the intent was clear.
When she wanted to stop the flow of traffic, she would move into the middle of
the road with her arms outstretched. By no means was this a classic symbol but
the meaning of the move was clear to the pedestrians and drivers. When it was
time to stop the pedestrians to stop crossing, she would move to the edge of
the road with one hand outstretched. Since this was something new, the people
generally complied with the instructions.
The policemen were taken aback and one of them moved to stop
this “unauthorized” person from usurping their power. But the other one gently
restrained him. They observed quietly and saw a transformation happening before
their eyes. After an hour and a half, she relinquished her post and went to
work.
She was there the next day and the next. The regulars now
became used to this unusual woman taking control. The policemen also saw that
she was doing their job, and doing it reasonably well. As the days went by, she
gained in confidence and the policemen helped her learn the right signals as best as they could. Her directions became firmer and any irritation on the
part of those she controlled was wiped away with a gentle smile. Her dress had
the uniform like quality and while most people assumed that she was part of a
new force of volunteers put in place by the administration.
After nearly a fortnight, one of the policemen gave her a
sort of wooden baton to help her in her duty. They had developed an unspoken
respect for her as had the regulars at the crossing. Some people started giving
her a smile or a wave and she always responded with a gentle smile. But her
control never lost its grip on the situations and often a stern look was enough
to put a driver or pedestrian in place. One day, an appreciative soul gave her
a cap which she now wears and it adds to her official look! The traffic at the
crossing gradually improved and has now a semblance of normality. If a hardened
rascal dares to oppose her now, he is often confronted by a variety of regulars
who easily and quickly put him in his place.
While she has become a permanent fixture every morning for a
couple of hours, the policemen also have improved in their functions a bit. Too
much improvement will, of course, reflect badly on them in comparison to their peers
in the local force, but some sort of a ownership has been established.
Most people will not be aware of her story, but many who either
leave early or arrive late will by habit cast a eye for her. This ordinary woman,
with her clear vision, with her pain, with her sense of duty and with her resolve
has been able to bring about a small revolution in the midst of chaos.
The reason for it is obvious, because for her it is not mere
employment or duty, but a labour of love!