Bhasha Singh

Sharmila Joshi

Editor

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“Nobody has
ever interviewed me. I will tell everything…”‘Everything’ includes
some 70 years of cleaning toilets, sweeping, washing and scrubbing multiple
homes in Mumbai’s Khar West suburb, for a pittance. As late as in the 1980s and
early 1990s, Bhateri Sarabjeet Lohat was getting Rs. 50 a month for cleaning all 15-16 homes
in an entire building. That, and leftovers or throwaways from their kitchens.“My name is
Bhateri Devi. I’m originally from Sanghi village in Rohtak district of Haryana.
I don’t remember in which year I came to Mumbai, but I was newly married then.
My mother-in-law had got the job for me, as a replacement for one of our
relatives. My husband, (also a sanitation worker), died a few years later when my son was just two or three.
He used to work in Dadar and while returning home in a local train, he stood at
the door and was hit by an electric pole. He died on the spot.”It’s been
decades, but as she narrates this, the pain still comes through. Bhateri Devi,  is breathing heavily. She lives in Valmiki Nagar, Bandra East, Mumbai. Her Aadhaar card
gives her birth year as 1932, which would make her 86 years old. But her lined
and wrinkled face suggests Bhateri is over 90 – which she asserts she is. Her
son Harish died on June 30 this year, well into his 70s. Bhateri got married when
she was merely 12 or 13, after which she came to Mumbai with her husband Sarabjeet
Lohat.Her entire family (and most relatives from her husband’s side)
were in Mumbai, having migrated from Haryana. Almost all of them were sanitation
workers in private jobs. Most of the people living in
this locality are, like Bhateri, Dalits from the Valmiki community who migrated
to Mumbai from Haryana at different times, in search of work. Like Bhateri,
they all speak Haryanvi at home. Several of Mumbai’s
Valmiki settlements comprise of people from Haryana. That is particularly
so in Bhandup Tank Road, Dombivli, Matunga Labour
Camp, Vikhroli and Chembur.

The patterns of migration of people from these particular caste groups, and the ghetto-like settlements
they live in, are similar across the country. So is the caste-based menial work
and its hold on generations within the community – in Mumbai, as everywhere
else. These patterns are unseen and hidden from the surface shine of city life. 

Bhateri, whose
back is bent from years of gruelling work (‘kaam karte karte’), doesn’t seem too bothered about
her own condition in life. She began narrating her story, in fact, with great
enthusiasm when we met at her Mumbai home. Everyone else in that home was
puzzled. They had never seen her talking so freely about herself to anyone. That’s
when Bhateri told them nobody had ever interviewed her
– and that she wanted to speak.

She then began
talking. About her husband’s death: “It was the most difficult time of my life.
My elder and younger brothers-in-law also lived in the same home. I was earning
at that time. I would get beaten up quite a lot by my in-laws.  They pressured me to get married to one of my
brothers-in-law. I said no. I have a son, I will pass my time with him. I knew
nobody would have respected me if I had married one of them. I earned for
myself, I raised my son, and kept my honour with myself. I am very happy with
my life.”  (In some caste groups or communities,
a widow is expected to marry her husband’s older or younger brother). 

“After I got
married, I came here with my husband, his parents and a younger brother-in-law.
In the beginning we stayed in Khar where the Khatik people
[also a Dalit community] live.”

“I worked in
Khar all my life. In those days [early decades], there were fewer buildings. Mumbai was quite open and empty.” Bhateri
does not recall how much she earned when she was working. Nor does she remember
the price of onions or potatoes or clothes when she first came to the city. Her
mother-in-law controlled everything, from buying provisions to her
earnings.  Bhateri would not get any
money in her hands. 

All her life in
Mumbai, Bhateri wandered in and around the buildings of Khar West. That’s where
she began cleaning toilets and doing sweeping and scrubbing jobs. She did not
give up working even after turning 80. Her granddaughter-in-law, Tanu Lohat, 37,
wife of Sanjay Harish Lohat, said: “After much fighting and arguments, my grandmother-in-law’s job has been transferred to someone else. To this day, even
when we tell her not to, she goes to Khar West to meet the people there.” 

Sanjay worked at
cleaning gutters for some time, but stopped after he contracted liver disease.
When this writer met Bhateri, Sanjay had just been discharged from hospital
after treatment. Within two months, though, he died of liver failure at the age
of 40. Sanjay was a cheerful person and just some days before he died, had told
us: “I have seen my dadi [grandmother]
sweeping and cleaning gutters since my childhood. We are all living today
because of her. She brought us up and tried to keep us away from this filth.
She was hardworking from the very beginning.&quot;

“My father used
to drive an auto-rickshaw. Later, he left that work and he was at home. After
that he got a job in the Sachivalaya [state secretariat] as a cleaner, but a
problem cropped up due to caste. Somebody made a provocative remark, there was
a fight, and then he was thrown out. Since then, till his death, he stayed at
home. 

“When I was a
kid, dadi
would tell me that for cleaning an entire seven-floor building, she would get 50
rupees. This amount was for all the 15-16 homes in that building. Let me also
tell you how the household expenses were managed. In the homes where she
worked, the people would give her the leftovers. And on many days that would often
be the only food we ate. Only in recent times did dadi
earn Rs. 4,000 a month.” 

This has been a year of tragedy for Bhateri.
Sanjay’s death was followed by that of his father, her son. The shock to Bhateri
has been very great. 
















She seems happier
to talk about her years of labour. “My mind was set on working. All of us who
worked would go together, chat, share our problems and joys with each other.
Away from the strife at home. The work was such that there was no leave,
because of which I could never go back to my village. But all my life I wore
only those clothes which I had brought with me from there.” Even now, in her
speech and attire, she is completely a woman from Haryana.














After doing the same menial
work through her lifetime, it is not clear to Bhateri who is to be blamed. Nor does
she display any anger at anybody. “This is a thread of destiny. This work is
the only work for our community, everybody does it.” And this dehumanising
drudgery becomes the livelihood of lakhs of women like Bhateri. Caste, like an
invisible wall, crushes them all the time.

So why do
people of her caste remain trapped in this obnoxious occupation? Bhateri
replies innocently: “I don’t know the answer to that. All my people do this, so
I too do it. My wrist is twisted with constant gripping of the broom, but I
don’t even get a pension. We don’t have the garibonwala [BPL] ration card, meant for the
poor.

“But I’m happy,
I get good food to eat. And yes, I am satisfied about one thing – that all my
life I ate off my own hard work. And outside the home, I breathed freedom. I
like to roam outside. I never stopped working and smoked beedis to my heart’s
content.”

She laughs, and
that toothless smile seems to drive away all her sorrows.Translated from Hindi by: Namita Waikar

Caste can’t smother Bhateri’s toothless smile

ਜਾਤੀ ਪੱਖਪਾਤ ਵੀ ਭਟੇਰੀ ਦੀ ਮੁਸਕਾਨ ਨੂੰ ਨਾ ਰੋਕ ਸਕਿਆ

ഭടേരിയുടെ മോണകാട്ടിയുള്ള ചിരിയൊതുക്കാന്‍ ജാതീയതയ്ക്ക് കഴിയില്ല

பத்தேரியின் சிரிப்பை எந்த சாதியாலும் அடக்க முடியாது

ذات، بھٹیری کو ہنسنے سے نہیں روک سکتی

जाति का दंश भटेरी की मुस्कान नहीं छीन सकता

জাতিবৈষম্যেও অমলিন ভাতেরীর ফোকলা দাঁতের মিষ্টি হাসি

ଭାତେରିଙ୍କ ପାକୁଆ ପାଟିର ହସ ଛଡେଇ ନେଇ ପାରିନି ଜାତି

भटेरींच्या बोळक्या हसूला जातीचं बंधन नाही

Mumbai

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Caste can’t smother Bhateri’s toothless smile

After a lifetime of dehumanising labour, caste oppression and family tragedy, 90-year-old Bhateri Devi – a Mumbaikar from Rohtak – is still not bitter, and remains independent and quite cheerful

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