A Tale from the Margins

Bhagirath sat huddled on the earthen floor with his demure wife. As I entered his tent, he looked up inquisitively and waved to a dry spot opposite him. Inside, a few bundles of clothes and vessels caught my attention. It had been pouring non stop on a July afternoon when I had taken respite in the make shift home of two construction workers in South Delhi. These were farmers who had arrived in the city, a few months back to embellish the pavements for the 2010 Commonwealth Games.

“The City is very different” Bhagirath opened the conversation. “Yes” I politely consented. “It’s not like the village where everyone knows each other. The milk here is like water. Back home my neighbors are looking after my fields. By the way, which village are you from,” he asked and “where do you study?” He swished out his mobile phone for a second to check his message while I marveled at his exuberance.

“Any children?” I asked Bhagirath. “Two. Both Boys” he answered proudly. They were tucked away in a private boarding school in a village in Madhya Pradesh in Southern India. I pointed at a small child dancing in the rain.” Whose kid is that? Does he go to school?” “Our neighbor’s. They are from Rajasthan. He goes to a nearby government school for a few hours a day”. “You must be missing your own boys”, I asked Bhagirath’s wife. Her eyes moistened as she nodded.

I quickly changed the topic. “Was yours a love marriage?”“No.Arranged.The elders decided” Bhagirath explained. He was only 9years old when he was betrothed to his wife Suraj who was 7 years. The game of courtship was not allowed in his village. Speaking of games, I asked. “Will you watch the Commonwealth Games” “What do we have to do with the Games”, he shrugged. “After work finishes we will move on, in search of more work”.

A wise teacher once told me that everything we see around us are symbols which represent something. As individuals what we wear, what we say, what we think each day, brings to the table a different self. Similarly as a city we try and do the same. Delhi is trying to portray itself as a pretty postcard. But are not we trying too hard.

If a painter gives his brush to a layman to paint an idea, it would not have the desired impact. The Games can be seen as a project where a similar discord has taken place. A juxtaposition of two opposite ends of the spectrum, between the people who visualized the landscapes and the people who are trying hard to implement it. Rustics like Bhagirath.

“Will you remember us?” Bhagirath and his wife shyly asked. Photographs had been clicked. Smiles exchanged. They had the satisfied glow of having been the perfect hosts for an hour and I was thankful for their warmth. On the other hand Bhagirath and the thousands of construction workers like him are also the City’s guests. The first guests.They have crept in slowly from the margins only to return to their native villages, much before the Games have begun.

Post by Gehena Chauhan.
Photos by Arjun Khosla.