I went to get the wheat ground at the mill, and the young worker there gave his usual 1000 watt smile. The smile does not faze thro the day as he stays in the deafening roar of three machines, pouring wheat and rice and chillies into them.
Long ago I had asked him if he knew that these sound levels are damageing, and he told me he knew, but he had no other way to earn a living. Today he was for once sitting on the bench, and I needed to call thrice before he turned - and I realied his hearing had got damaged.
He flashed that ebullient smile, ground the wheat. Then as I was struggling to balance the bags on my cycle, he ran down and adjusted it for me.
Of such people is our country made. Such people are paying for being born in this country with their health, as they keep the wheels moving smoothly for us. Some more complacency has died, as I know this young man's hearing is dying out. And this is one more story behind the aata we knead daily to roll our chappatis.
Another story I wish I did not need to write ...
About once a month I take washed and dried rice to the flour mill and wait with others while the young thirty-ish year old man working at the machines grinds it for me. He has a 1000 watt smile and a happy greeting for everyone, and I go for that dose of cheer as much as for the fresh flour that made my idli dosai making easier.
Yesterday the din of the machines was unbearable, louder than ever. I asked him why he did not wear ear plugs. He did not smile this time.
He told me, "My ears are gone, everything is gone. Its been too many years of work here in this flour mill and my headaches and loss of hearing is permenent. My knees ache. and the doctor told me that I cannot fo this much longer, that I cannot spend the day standing. that I need to take breaks. How can I ? This is my livlihood.
It is 3pm, isnt it ? I have not eaten yet. This is how it is daily. ... "
I listened in silence. Looking down, I paid 40/-, took the 4kg of rice flour, put it in the cycle carrier. I had nothing to say. That did not sound superfluous, or inane.
There was a time when idlis and dosais were rare. As in the village. We would soak rice and dal and grind on the grinding stone for an hour or two. At home. There was a time when murukkus and other items were only made on festivals. Pounding and grinding rice into rice flour at home. We had delicacies only as much as our labour allowed.
Today when we want more indulgence that that, someones labour elsewhere gets overexploited. Or someones livlihoods gets put paid to.
Always. That is the Law.
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