A Full-baked Sense of Security

 

The boy is from Bareilly in Uttar Pradesh and sells coconuts on the pavement at Sonipat in Haryana. There is an awning of polythene sheet and bamboos, a rickety wooden diwan and the heap of coconuts. He wields the big cutter knife with throwaway ease.

He is a nice talker and offers a free conversation as you sip the coconut water. He talks pretty intimately, so much so that the next time you visit his set-up, you come as an old acquaintance even though it’s your second visit only. Well, that is the hallmark of a good salesman. These are inborn traits beyond the reach of business school logic.

‘Life is far better here. Less crime. People don’t bother you too much. I have taken a cheap room on rent nearby and go there just for cooking, bathing and toilet. I sleep here on the pavement and there hasn’t been any problem during the eight years of my stay here.’

Little does he realise that of late Sonipat has almost overtaken his home state in mischief and tumbles on the wrong side of law. But then one’s sense of security and comfort about a place is driven by the weight added to one’s purse by that particular place. All is well as long as you feel the weight in the wallet. So he is right in his judgement as one can see a few customers around him.  

He is dark with taut face muscles on his eager face. His hairstyle gives an inkling that he takes himself seriously to a decent limit. His caste, creed or communal identity is clouded by his primary identity of just being one of the struggling millions who pack their bundles of deprivation and move outstation. They treasure their little vial of happiness. Their eyes always looking at the pleasures of the relatively better offs, which acts as a big driving force enabling them to keep pulling the heavy cart.

We are talking about the gems of hard work and the inherent richness of economically poor people who dig a well daily to drink water. He holds the pavement strugglers in very high esteem.

‘The rich people are very poor in afterlife. All that they have to see is finished in this life only. Their quota of rewards, pleasures and happiness lasts during this life only. Nothing is left for the other world,’ he points to the sky.  

‘The poor are very rich after their death. A poor man will get compensation for his sufferings in the afterlife...there...in jannat!’

Well, for me it would be swarga. Now I get a clue to his religious identity.

The idea of afterlife surely helps the poor people in pulling the cart. This world may not have enough for them. They then take a huge leap of faith to shift the destination into the unfathomable depths of the skies.

‘Did you ever feel unsafe here? Some incidence or happening?’ I ask him.

Now he looks even more confident as he replies. ‘Never, it’s a very safe city as I told you. There is a very kind policeman uncle in the neighbourhood. He is very helpful and always asks me to tell him if anyone bothers me. What a nice man he is! I really like him. Coconut water is really good for one’s health. And such good people must be kept healthy so I offer him one coconut every day before he sets out for the thana. He also understands that I give it to him out of genuine respect so he doesn’t insult my feelings by offering money. I will make him the fittest policeman in the city.’

‘Oh, you are lucky to have a friendly policeman,’ I congratulate him.

‘True. Especially an honest policeman,’ he enthuses.

‘How do you know that he is an honest one?’ I ask.

‘It’s very easy! He has told me that he has never taken a bribe in his career. And I fully believe in him. He is such a nice guy,’ he is all praise for his protector. 

Well, I also believe him. A free coconut every day must be enough to fetch contentment to the policeman. And anyone would feel safe after becoming the part of a fit policeman’s book.