Purusottam Thakur

Hutokshi Doctor

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Prasanna
Sabar has been pulling a rickshaw for more than 30 years. That rickshaw – and
sometimes the footpath near the railway station in Raipur, the capital of Chhattisgarh
– is also his home. He has never had the means to rent a roof in the city.
 
 When we met one
early morning at Raipur station, he was sitting on his rickshaw, waiting for
passengers. We spoke to him in his native Kosli (a dialect of Odiya), and he
was happy to tell us his story.
 
 Prasanna
comes to Raipur from 200 kilometres away, from Sanmaheswar village in Nuapada
district of Odisha. Decades ago, when Prasanna, now around 50, first began
coming to the capital to pull rickshaws, the daily rent for the vehicle was Rs.
5.  Now it is Rs. 40. He earns a few
thousands, returns to his village and family for a few days, and then is back in
the city. This cycle has continued for 30 years.
 
 He earns Rs.
100-300 every day. Of this, he spends around Rs. 110 on meals. So over a third
of his earnings on a good day – and 100 per cent on a bad one – is spent on
basic survival. When he earns a little more, he buys liquor worth Rs. 60. But
it’s not an everyday affair, he says. “A few years ago I got in with some fellow
migrants and became an alcoholic and gambler. I fell ill and my family had to
come and rescue me with Rs. 3,000 borrowed from people in my village. I learnt
my lesson and have been  careful since.&quot;
 
 
 
 Thousands of
other Odiyas like Prasanna have migrated to Raipur after major droughts in the
state since the 1960s. Most have settled, over generations, in slums on both
sides of the railway tracks and in some nearby colonies. But Prasanna was the first
in his tribal family to come to the city.
 
 His family
consists of his wife, two sons, a daughter-in-law, a grandchild, and his
elderly father. “We have just 1.14 acres of land in my father’s name,” he says.
“My mother had bought another 80
 
 dismal
 
 (0.80 acre) with money they had saved collecting
wood for fuel that they sold in a nearby town, walking 12 kilometres every day.
But that land now belongs to my paternal uncle.&quot;

02-PT-Prasannas_home_is_his_rickshaw.jpg

Prasanna was
married when he was just 16. He has two sons – Jitu, the elder son, got married
at 23 and has a son of his own. The family spent Rs. 15,000 on the baby’s 21st
day ceremony – he was their first grandson. 
Do you want him to study, we ask. “Of course,&quot; he says, holding his
arms up to the sky, “If god lets me live, I will make sure he studies well.”
 Prasanna
himself studied only till Class 5. Then his parents put him to work on their
small piece of land. In 1965, the year Prasanna was born, there was a severe
drought in Kalahandi, which was followed by drought every alternate year. When
he was just a few weeks old, Prasanna’s parents took him along to see then
prime minister Indira Gandhi, who visited Khariar to review the situation.
Thousands of people, he says, died of hunger and disease in that drought.
 
 Prasanna&#39;s
sons don&#39;t have much of an education either. Jitu could not clear his Class 10 exam,
and the younger one, Rabi, only studied up to Class 7. Both are migrant labourers
at construction sites in Mumbai. Boys from the village go in groups to the cities
to work. They live at the construction sites and are paid a daily wage of
roughly Rs. 300. Many earn more doing overtime work. They return home with a substantial
amount after 3-6 months, spend some time with the family or work in the field,
and again migrate. So it goes on.
 
 “After the harvest,
half the village used to go to Andhra Pradesh to work in the brick kilns. The
labour contractors pay Rs. 20,000 and take the whole family to work for them. I
never opted for this because I can earn Rs. 30,000 for my family if I spend three
months in Mumbai as a construction labourer,” Prasanna says. &quot;Why would I
want my entire family to lead such a difficult life?&quot;
 
 Kiln contractors
pay Rs. 20,000-30,000 per
 
 pathria
 
 in advance. A
 
 pathria
 
 is a unit of three people working at the same brick kiln. The local
 
 sardars
 
 or agents hand the migrants over to labour
contractors, who turn them over to the kiln owners. They spend around six
months at the kilns and return to their villages before the monsoon, in the
months of May and June.
 
 The journey,
the poor living conditions and the hard work often result in ill health. Many
of the workers get tuberculosis.  But the
money paid in advance lures them. There is no other way to meet major financial
exigencies such as the cost of a marriage in the family, health care, constructing
a house, purchasing bullocks or repaying loans.
 
 The Mahatma
Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act has not effectively stemmed
migration. Payment is irregular and there is no assurance of regular work. Only
those who can afford to wait for wages stay back in the village to work in the
fields or on MGNREGA worksites.
 
 Prasanna’s
family spent around Rs. 100,000 on his younger son Rabi’s marriage last year. The
father and sons pooled their earnings and also took a loan from relatives. They
served a non-vegetarian feast, and engaged a videographer to film the entire
event. &quot;We have two DVDs of the marriage,&quot; says Prasanna proudly.
 
 Do you have a
BPL (below poverty line) card? “Yes, I have a BPL card and my father has one
too,&quot; Prasanna replies. The family gets 25 kilos of rice at Re. 1 per kilo
on each card under the public distribution system (PDS). That&#39;s 50 kilos of rice
for Rs. 50 and four litres of kerosene for Rs. 70 every month.
 
 The
subsidised rice is a huge help for families like Prasanna&#39;s – it keeps
starvation at bay. Earlier, people took on any kind of work for small
quantities of foodgrain. The PDS has enabled them to bargain for slightly
better terms, and wage rates have been revised as a result. The subsidy allows
families to think beyond food, to health care and education.
 
 Prasanna&#39;s
father also gets a pension – Rs. 300 a month for those over 60 and Rs. 500 for
those over 80. The PDS and the old age or widow’s pensions turn the elderly into
contributing members of the family, giving them a new dignity.
 
 Though the
welfare measures have provided a measure of security to many communities here,
they have not stemmed migration from these villages. So Prasanna and others
still go to the cities looking for work.

Prasanna's home is his rickshaw

பிரசன்னாவிற்கு ரிக்ஷாதான் வீடு

प्रसन्नाची रिक्षा हेच त्याचं घर

ପ୍ରସନ୍ନର ଘର ହେଉଛି ତା’ର ରିକ୍ସା

প্রসন্নর রিকশাই তাঁর আস্তানা

پرسنّا کا گھر ان کا رکشہ ہے

Raipur

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Prasanna's home is his rickshaw

Welfare measures have provided some security to families in Sanmaheswar village of Odisha, but done little to stop Prasanna Sabar and many others from migrating to the cities

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