Unsung heroes

They work quietly and efficiently, like little cogs that are all important to the smooth functioning of a larger machine. If India is moving, growing, learning and communicating every day, it is because they don't pause, despite the massive hurdles. It's time to thank them

Akash Bisht Delhi/Mewat

Vijay Sauda, Postman, Malviya Nagar (Delhi)

“Seedha Saadha Dakiya,

Jaadu kare mahan,

Ek hi thaile main liye,

Aansu or muskaan”

Vijay Prakash Sauda is a 40-year-old postman working in Malviya Nagar, Delhi, who recites this poem every time anyone asks him about his job. A veteran at the job with 25 years of work behind him, he is anxiously awaited on his daily route as the bearer of glad and sad tidings, proud to work for an organisation that has been dedicated to the service of the nation for years.

“People treat me with a lot of respect, like a demi-God,” he says, with a smile. “I often deliver post to illiterate people who ask me to read their letters and break into tears after hearing from their loved ones.” He particularly cherishes reading letters from soldiers posted in remote terrains to family members.

Life as a postman has its own lows. Sauda blames the government for not recognising the efforts of postmen to deliver letters to the right address, given the fact that the city is organised so haphazardly and mail is often incorrectly or incompletely addressed: “Senior officials say that courier boys perform their jobs better than postmen. But are they connected to the people? Do they get showered with gifts during festivals and invited to family weddings like I do? Postmen handle much more than mails. They are part of the community.”

Sauda and his colleagues at the postal department believe the government does not spend money sensibly. “Recently, the toilet in our post office was reconstructed at a cost of Rs 2 lakh. Now the toilet looks better than the entire post office. The government purchased generators but hasn't used them to date. It bought us mopeds but hasn't paid for their maintenance. Our uniform is made of the cheapest fabric and is intolerable in the hot and humid summer. What do you call this? I call this insanity,” rues Sauda with a grin.

Raj Kumar, Bus Driver, Himachal Pradesh

Room number 311 at the Inter State Bus Terminus (ISBT) in Delhi is a depressing place for bus drivers who drive more than 1,100 kms every day in difficult and tough terrain to help hundreds reach their destinations safely. The large room, a space given to drivers to rest between journeys, stinks terribly, and it has no proper ventilation, not even a cheap cooler in this heat. Fatigued drivers, half-asleep, hurl abuses at the mosquitoes and fellow drivers, crowded in this claustrophic and abysmally unhealthy place.

“We don't have beds to rest, the toilets are so dirty that we use the paid public toilets and there is no facility of clean drinking water,” says Raj Kumar, a 45-year-old driver with the Himachal Road Transport Corporation (HRTC). For the past 15 years he has been driving on the tricky Delhi-Palampur mountain route. He and his colleagues want to know why they are not treated at par with other government employees who sit in airconditioned offices. “Our job is tough. We drive on treacherous terrains. A momentary slip in concentration can take my bus downhill and kill many instantly. I need sleep and rest. I don't want an airconditioned room but don't we deserve clean and cool rooms, toilets and drinking water?” asks Kumar.