At designated garbage dumping sites, it is common to see young children with dishevelled appearances and mucked clothes sitting amidst a heap of foul-smelling garbage, scavenging for ‘marketable’ items using their bare hands in the blistering heat of Delhi.
Their goal is to collect sufficient quantities of cardboard boxes, plastic and glass bottles so that they can sell these items to a local ‘kabadiwala’ or ragman. Unlike others their age, these hapless children only aspire to collect enough quantity of sellable materials to earn a wage just sufficient for sustenance.
Every time I pass by these garbage sites, I stare at these kids and observe how assiduously they immerse themselves in the task of scavenging despite its hazardous implications on their health. But whenever I try approaching them, a certain fear seems to pull them back. They look at me as if a stranger is trying to intrude in their bubble.
Their reaction could be a result of the stigma that they deal with as they work around sewage and rotting garbage. The caste hierarchy in India further reinforces their inhibitions as they hail from marginally backward classes, namely Dalits, poor Muslims, and migrants.
At A ‘Dhalo’ In Hauz Khas, New Delhi
On one propitious day, I saw a group of elderly ‘rag-pickers’ sorting the garbage. With a lifted voice and a reporter-like demeanour, I walked up to them and asked my questions.
‘Aap sarkar se kya chaahte hain?’ I asked. (What do you want the government to do for you?)
‘Mem sahib, hame aadhar dila dijiye, bahut hain,’ they spoke in unison. (Ma’am, just get us Aadhar cards, that’ll be enough.)
In due course of the interview, I realized that this impoverished community of ‘rag-pickers’ had come to terms with their abysmal condition, but there was one thing that they all desperately yearned for: identity.
Many a time, these rag-pickers avoid coming in contact with official authorities for the fear of social oppression or due to the lack of required documents, and hence, are not able to seek their ‘identity’ in legal as well as social terms. The Aadhar, a unique identification possessed by all residents of India based on certain biometric and demographic data and a kind of passport to a meagre social safety net in this developing country, would help them to belong.
I noticed this same longing for identity when I visited the Rohingya Muslims at a relief shelter in East Delhi. As victims of ‘mass persecution,’ they had fled Myanmar and crossed risky boundaries to ultimately seek asylum in India.
At A Relief Shelter For Rohingya Muslims
They were socially outcast in their home country as well as their host country, and they too had a common struggle of seeking ‘identity.’ Living in squalid slums in unhygienic conditions to them was not of primary importance- they wanted acceptance, both legally and socially.
Children At The Refugee Camp
India, with its burgeoning population and limited infrastructure, is already under massive debt, yet it allows for innumerable migrants to seek refuge because it has a humanitarian and social outlook. On the one hand, it has to look after the poorest and socially backward communities comprising 46 million people nationwide, and on the other hand, it has to handle the burden of the ever-growing migrant population who themselves are helpless and poverty-stricken. Both these groups are in urgent need of support and are fighting for the same space, rights, and most importantly their ‘identity.’
I wonder, should we choose to close our borders to these despondent migrants and instead serve our ‘own people’ who sleep on pavements, nearly starve to death regularly and are deprived of skills and education; or should we bolster our global and humanitarian position by supporting these migrants by providing them with facilities? At this point, my existential thoughts are leading to more questions than answers, and I surely intend to raise more questions at least, if not find well-reasoned answers to them in the years to come.