Vocation lockdown forces switch.... Meeting old faces in new professions

Slice of another life Illustration: Onkarnath Bhattacharya

Brinda Sarkar, TT, 1.05.20: The lockdown and subsequent loss of income for daily wage earners has forced many of them to switch professions and take up whatever it is they can do to make ends meet.

So the man who ran the tea stall behind the market could now be selling coconuts door to door. The auto driver you would chat with on the way home from Sector V could be selling vegetables and your office peon might just be selling bananas.

Rickshaw driver Khokon Debnath (left) has started selling spinach, seen here near AE BlockBrinda Sarkar

On cycle & crate

Seasoned hawkers visit our lanes with vans full of vegetables. Often they have plastic bags hanging from the edges to carry a larger variety, electronic weighing scales and even a garden umbrella overhead to boot. But those who have jumped on to bandwagon post-lockdown have no scope for the right accessories.

“I didn’t have a van so I tossed some corncobs on a crate, tied it to the pillion behind my cycle and I’m a corn seller now,” says Umesh Kumar Gupta, who used to sell phuchkas at Dum Dum Park before the lockdown. “There is no space for more vegetables but I’m not giving up on phuchkas just yet. To everyone who buys my corn I’m telling them I can still supply a minimum of 50 plates of phuchka on a day’s notice. It’s hard work, but it’s worse if you ask a man like me to sit home idle.”

Tapas Barui is tying crates of eggs to his cycle and selling. “There is space for just three crates but I’m forcefully tying five and, on some days, even carrying milk packets. Some eggs are breaking but it still works out cheaper than hiring a van. Bad times lie ahead and I’ve got to save every penny I can,” he says.

Kalipada Sasmal used to be a peon at an office but now cycles around the township with disposal bags hanging from its handles. “I make Rs 20 from selling a kilo of these. I’m mostly selling to fruit and vegetable sellers,” he says.

Some don’t even have cycles but are undeterred. “I used to deal in old newspapers before so I have a van that I’m using to sell vegetables now. Many of my neighbours don’t even have that,” says Sahan Sk, who lives in a shanty along Kestopur Canal. “They are climbing trees, plucking mangoes and sitting outside Baisakhi market to sell them. What else are they to do?”

Megha Majhi, who has turned vegetable hawker by borrowing a friend’s van, even knows of a neighbour who is making tea at home, pouring it into a flask and heading out in search of thirsty travellers.

Abhinavo Food Centre in Baisakhi now sells chicken, eggs and vegetablesDebasmita Bhattacharjee

Learning on the job

The new jobs pose new challenges and hawkers are still trying to come to terms with them. Abhinavo Food Centre, that sold rolls, chowmein and momos at Baisakhi, is now selling chicken and they are having a tough time chopping the pieces! “Chopping meat requires specific knives. No such shop is open now to sell us these so I had to borrow a big knife from a friend,” says Siddheswar Majhi, who runs the place. “My staff and I are still mastering slicing, mincing and de-boning chicken, of which de-boning is the toughest.”

The fast food centre is also selling eggs and vegetables that are used to cook chicken. “The government is asking us to pay full salaries but my labour costs run into a lakh rupees a month! Where am I to pay that from if there is no revenue? So I spoke to the people who supplied us raw chicken and changed my line of business,” says Majhi.

Swapan Pradhan, a mason of 10 years, has been selling rohu and katla fish for a week and has no idea if the wholesaler is cheating him. “I spent Rs 50 to buy a crate and have no money left to buy ice or a thermocol box to store ice. This means I have to sell the fish by the end of the day at any cost. I get panicky in the final hours and agree to sell at whatever price the customer quotes. I can’t understand how to balance this out,” says Pradhan.

Ratan Das recalls his comfortable life as an app cab driver before the lockdown. “I would drive an air-conditioned vehicle on night duty, when the roads would be clear and police lenient. Even on a bad day I would make Rs 500 but now I’m making Rs 200 to 250,” says the man who had to take a crash course in fish mongering before selling fish on a borrowed cycle. “My neighbour’s tea stall has shut down and he has returned to his old profession of selling fish so I tagged along when he went to the wholeseller for a few days to learn the ropes.

Many hawkers said they didn’t know how to bargain with customers. “I’m having to buy 50 to 60 coconuts in bulk and have no say on which pieces I get. But customers only want the big, smooth ones. What am I to do with the rest? Neither am I able to bargain with them about prices nor coax them into buying the smaller pieces,” says Gosto Joardar, who used to be a labourer.

Anup Das, who used to be a peon before the lockdown, now sells corn and eggs opposite IA MarketSaradindu Chaudhury

Amit Pradhan, a plumber-turned-fish seller, is not sure about the wholesale market so is buying fish from the regular market in Kestopur. “I’m getting a small discount as I’m buying four to five kilos but the wholeseller would have allowed more. Customers too need to be reasonable. We need a little profit. Else why are we on the streets risking our lives?” he asks.

Hoarse from hawking

Sankar Das describes with pride the delicacies he would make as chef in a New Town restaurant. “I make great Chingri Malai Curry, Dhokar Dalna, Biriyani…. But for the past month I have been leaving home at 2am, returning at 3pm and all the while cycling the lanes of Salt Lake shouting out names of fruits. My voice is hoarse and I’m having ginger tea to soothe it. I cannot shout like this,” he says sadly.

Surajit Das recalls how, before the lockdown, he sold 80 to 100kg of cucumber a day outside Bidhannagar railway station in Ultadanga. “And that too without shouting,” he adds in a sore voice.

“It was a cheap snack for commuters but now I’ve had to switch to selling vegetables. My legs pain so much from peddling the van that I often have to get off and push it,” he says.

Megha Majhi, who used to run a pice hotel between BK and CK blocks, is also suffering from leg pain owing to peddling his van. “But what hurts more is the attitude of residents. We are risking our lives to deliver food at their doorsteps so should they not pay us a convenience fee for it? Why do they haggle so much with us?” he reasons.

Sahan Sk, who has been fasting for Ramzan over and above pushing a heavy vegetable van, says he is getting spells of dizziness. “My throat is constantly hurting from screaming out names of vegetables too,” says the 15-year-old who dropped out of school last year.

Slice of another life Illustration: Onkarnath Bhattacharya

Mixed response

Sunita Gupta, of CG Block, is grateful for the new faces coming to sell her vegetables. “Before the lockdown I preferred going to Baisakhi market for supplies but this is quite convenient. They are indeed asking for slightly higher prices but I know they are in dire straits and don’t have the heart to bargain with them,” she says.

But a resident of BE Block last week accused some of these new hawkers of peeping into his house, claiming they posed a threat to security.

In New Town’s BE Block too a debate sparked off over hawkers. “New Town markets are sufficiently stocked so why do we need these hawkers entering our lanes? Who knows if they are coming from Covid-sensitive areas and infect us?” one residents said, adding that he had written to the police about it.

But others defended the hawkers. “Senior citizens want to respect the ‘stay home’ order to the T and if hawkers visit them they don’t need to visit markets either. Also, our markets are small, making social distancing difficult. If hawkers serve some residents, it will reduce the crowd at the markets. It’s a win-win,” argued others.

Slice of another life Illustration: Onkarnath Bhattacharya

Older hawkers are obviously miffed with the competition. “There was panic-buying in the beginning of the lockdown but as people get used to it they are buying rationally. I suspect they are also buying less as their income is reducing. Eating into such a market now are 10 new hawkers in the place of one. None of us will be able to earn enough this way,” says Sanjoy Saha, who has sold fruits between FC and GC blocks for 25 years now.

Tapan Sardar, an old timer who roams the township with vegetables, says his neighbours in Ultadanga have all hit the road selling corn, fish, puja flowers…. “What’s worse is that we old timers cannot fleece regular customers but these newbies can demand any price they want and probably get away with it,” Sardar says.