The vegetable cart

Inside the lanes and bylanes of Delhi to track those who make the city tick

Akash Bisht, Delhi, Hardnews 

Everyday, while waiting for the bus on my way to work, I would notice a frail vegetable seller standing with his cart beneath a huge neem tree. He stood out in particular because his cart looked like a diligently painted canvas with different shades of green, yellow, orange, red and purple. I also saw that off late, he seldom has as many customers as he used to have earlier.
Today, his ears are glued to a cheap Chinese transistor radio as he listens to cricket commentary. I asked the score. With much pride he announces that Ishant Sharma is bowling with fury and can get Ricky Ponting out any time. I want to linger to know Ponting's fate. I ask him the prices of his vegetables. "But Reliance Fresh sells them much cheaper," I say.
Reliance Fresh: he fumes with rage: "Then go buy your vegetables from there!" He is articulate, he knows his mind and his daily survival much better then I do. He know that these supermarkets will one day wipe out small vendors like him out of business and then charge exorbitant prices from customers, who will have no option but to pay that price in this one-dimensional market controlled by the fat cats.
His rage makes me curious. I buy some veggies. No bargaining. His name is Ajay Kumar. "Shall I add half-a-kilo of potatoes as well? They're fresh." Yes. Why not?
The cricket match goes on. He says, "Today our bowlers are bowling with fury. We might win." As Ponting gets out from an Ishant delivery, he is overjoyed. We have something in common: a passion for cricket. We start discussing cricket and he looks relaxed.
He says for the past 14 years he has been selling vegetables in the bylanes of Malviya Nagar in south Delhi. He hails from Pathrampur village near Faizabad in UP. He is married and has two children. He especially misses his one-year-old son. He goes home once in a year and can't imagine getting his family here to Delhi. They are dependent on their small plot of land (he used the term do bigha zameen) and on Kumar's savings. Off late, his business has hit rock bottom and he has not been able to save money to send back home. Why?
Because new air-conditioned supermarket chains have mushroomed in the city and the rich are making more and more pots of money.
"My business was doing well but now even my permanent customers seem to be deserting me," he says. Now he can only look at them with abject helplessness as he sees them carrying packets filled with vegetables from a nearby retail store. "I just can't afford to live in this city anymore... I don't know what to do. How will I feed my family?" Going back to his village is not an option as he does not have the money or savings to invest in agriculture.
One more Australian wicket falls. We sit under the tree and order two cups of kullar chai from the nearby chaiwala - he wants a strong cup of tea, 'hard-boiled' with Brooke Bond and milk, with lots of sugar. Then he cracks the 'Harbhajan Singh monkey-maa ki' joke. He is a big fan of Bollywood films. He particularly enjoyed Partner. Govinda is his favourite actor and he never misses any of his flicks.
So what's his daily routine? He wakes up at four in the morning and goes to Okhla Mandi to buy wholesale vegetables. He earns Rs two on each kilo sold, and brings leftover, stale vegetables home for dinner. "I pay Rs 1,500 rent every month. I don't have the luxury of enjoying the best of meals."
He is sure this metro now belongs only to the fat cats with swanky cars, retail outlets and shopping malls, and soon the poor will be forced out or totally condemned. Among politicians, he likes Mayawati because she did not allow supermarkets in UP. He has little regard for any other leader. He believes that Delhi politicians, bureaucrats and other big shots must have accepted money from supermarkets chains, shopping mall owners and real estate mafia.
For him, it is just a matter of time before all vegetable vendors and small retailers will succumb to the supermarket trend and will have to look for other avenues to survive. As he packs my vegetables, he shoves in some chillies and coriander.
He says that he dreams of another world, a perfect world. But is there another world, a perfect world? Kumar thinks that he dreams nevertheless, though he knows too well that for the subalterns in this new, globalised India trying to earn a modest, honest living, these dreams will never come true.
Meanwhile, the cricket match goes on.

This is first of a 12-part series