He sits on the footpath. With keychains spread on a peice of sack.. Waiting.
For 50/- he engraves on a keychain the words you want. Just for 50/-
In a beautiful hand.
When I admired his beautiful handwriting he gave a small smile, "But the writing of destiny was not good." Pointing to his forehead.
He lives in Saidapet and travels to the beach daily in the evening. He goes and sits outside schools in the day. Hoping for school children custom.
In the lockdown he said all his chains got rusted. And restarting was very difficult as he had no money to repurchase the items.
He took out his small notepad, first wrote 746 at the top of the page and said a small prayer. And gave it to me to write out the names I wanted.
I got 10 chains engraved yesterday. 5 were for Chunchun our dog. We hang them on his collar. For when he runs away, so that kind passers by can call me up. He has run away twice in his life and I stay prepared. He chews the wooden chains up in a few weeks, and so we have a stock. 5 keychains were for the village girls.
He gave them with a flourish saying the artwork was a special for me. I felt special.I will go today and get keychains for all of my village children.
They will love them. And he will get some work to sustain him. For sometime at least.
But the saga of the poor on the margins is never ending on this land.
Another day ...
Ahmad Ali engraves and gives wooden keychains for just 50/- each. He sits on the footpath near the beach.
It is a joy to watch his artistry. He made me 20 today. For my children. They will love them. I will get more made tomorrow.
I gave him the names on a paper and said I would come in an hour. He did not ask for an advance. Life spins on faith. And virtue.
Simple lives, only seeking to earn an honest livlihood. On every street. In every city.
Seek them out. Custom is very low these days.
2 weeks later ...
Abdul and Govindasamy.
Waiting for customers. Waiting to earn an honest rupee.
They called out to me as if I was an old friend. I had spent some time at their shops last week. They are all so generous with their friendships. I do so little to deserve it.
Abdul engraves and sells keychains. Govindasamy sells copper bracelets and copper rings from a sack he brings from the other end of the city. He is old. He carries a wooden stick to help him climb up and down the bus.
They sit on the road to the beach. The beach stays closed because of the 'pandemic', and those whose livlihoods depend on beach crowds stay quietly desperate.
I have 20 more engraved keychains today. For my children.
And more copper bangles.
And some chunky chains from the korathi. He called, "please buy. Boni". At 8pm, this might have been the only purchase of of day. Not much of a Boni.
Times are still very hard out there on the footpath. They need all the purchases we can make.
Much before ...
Simple lives
Below the line of vision of a country's elite who zoom by in cars with windows rolled up.
Leading an honest life on the edge. An old man selling copper rings costing 10/- each and other trinkets. His shop space is a square rice sack on the footpath.
A younger man selling keychains, engraving the name on them gratis. His shop space another square rice sack on the footpath. An engraved keychain costing 40/-
I bought from both, some items I do not need. As I was counting out some change to make up the keychain total to 120/-, the young man graciously waved away the last 10/-, and would not let me pay that.
I accepted his graciousness with humility, as I have learnt to. Learning some lessons each day. From people who matter in this land.
A bit of me dies in each such interaction, daily, facing my privilege vis a vis the lives of the people of this land.
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