Two lives.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Dal, roti, mooli, hari mirchi. This is house painter Rampal’s meal this afternoon. While colleague Ramesh has got aloo-lobhiyan and roti. Rampal’s khana is prepared daily by wife Durgavati Devi. Ramesh’s wife Manju Devi lives in the village, so he cooks his own meals. Both men live in Harsh Vihar, but in separate addresses. They however always operate as a two-member team, and are working today in a housing society flat. For a change, the assignment hasn’t got anything to do with putai, or painting. They have been commissioned to clean the entire apartment in anticipation of the forthcoming Diwali festival.

Sitting cross-legged on the drawing room floor, the men finish the lunch in a few minutes, silently. They now lie down on the floor as if it were a bed. Chatting in low voices, the talk veers towards the season’s pollution.

Rampal: We don’t see this kind of pradushan in my village in Basti.
Ramesh. My village in Azamgarh has lots of trees.
Rampal: I was the first man in my family to leave the village for a city.
Ramesh: Same with me.
Rampal: We have 10 beegha (agricultural) land in the village. We would grow dhan, channa, gehu… but that would never be enough…
Ramesh: We have only 10 bissa of land, which is less than a beegha.
Rampal: No point in farming these days. You put in so much hard work, and you hardly get much in return. It is a waste of our hard work.
Ramesh makes a “hmmm” sound.
Rampal: There are no jobs available in villages. You cannot live on clean air alone.

After arriving in the city. Rampal and Ramesh did not instantly become “putai wale.”

Rampal: I first worked with a khairat machine in which I would sharpen the iron sariya. Once I was a bit sleepy, and ended up burning my arm. I left the work that same day. Then I tried a series of professions: tile polisher, electrician, plumber, factory labourer… and now putai.
Ramesh: I have also worked with khairat machine. I was in a factory as well, where I would deal with copper.

The men gradually fall silent, with eyes closed. The only sound left is of the ceiling fan.