We need to call out our own hypocrisy when it comes to looking at those who do the jobs none of us wants to
Those who have left will return, because we live in a country that has failed to provide for them. Pic/ Sayyed Sameer Abedi
India didn't exactly deal with COVID-19 the way most of the world did. Sure, there were the right noises made at regular intervals, the inane PR-exercises that are now a given from a government that picks up tips from reality television rather than qualified professionals, and some genuine, good work in states like Kerala. For millions of us, unfortunately, this was another excuse to do what we do best: pick on those who cannot fight back.
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Thousands of words were expended at every stage of the outbreak on blame games that had no reason to exist. We could have used that airtime and column space to ask those elected to govern us why they had done very little. Instead, many of us chose to vilify Indians for doing what we would all have done, had we been compelled to live under the circumstances they had no choice but to accept.
Millions of us had the luxury of staying home without worrying about where our next meals would come from. The lockdown didn't prevent us from hoarding vegetables and fruit, medicine, or even alcohol, because we could worry about mundane things like running out of vodka. Yes, there were many of us who had to deal with unemployment and the inability to pay rent, but I kept thinking of those without a safety net — the men, women, and children forced to walk hundreds of kilometres without food or water, whose lives made our crises pale in comparison.
When hundreds of migrant workers gathered at Bandra in a desperate attempt to get home, anchors on television railed against their insensitivity and complained about the government of Maharashtra. None stopped to evaluate why those workers were on the street in the first place, putting their lives and those of their families at risk simply because they were in a place none of them could call home. As someone born and raised in Bombay, I struggled to get a sense of what that must feel like, to be in another city when the rug is pulled from under one's feet. None of us has lived through a pandemic before, but I was forced to think about young people who come here right after college in an attempt to make a living, and how they must cope with the closure of an office even when there isn't a global catastrophe to contend with.
There were videos of residents walking dogs and shouting at watchmen, policemen assaulted for simply trying to implement a life-saving lockdown, and arguments made by talking heads about why India's poor should stay where they are for the country's benefit. The hypocrisy of it ought to have shamed us all, but probably didn't penetrate our thick third-world skin.
It's impossible to predict what our lives will look like a year from now, when this has hopefully been put behind us and a vaccine is within reach. What I hope it will change is how we look at the faceless millions who toil for a pittance to do what the rest of us refuse to. The people who cook for us, stand guard outside our buildings and offices, ferry files between departments, wash our vehicles, and sell us fruit and vegetables when our venture capitalist-funded mobile apps fail to do the job.
Those who have left will return, because we live in a country that has failed to provide for them, forcing them to leave parents and relatives behind again. I hope we start to look at them a little more and try and implement measures to change the way they are compensated for jobs that have proven to be a lot more important than we have traditionally acknowledged them to be.
I think of celebrities, cricketers, bankers, and lawyers who routinely walk away with the largest percentage of what we collectively work to create for our country. None of them managed to do anything of any significance to alleviate our situation. Everything we thought was important was revealed to be hollow within weeks, while all the people we look down upon were revealed to have been performing life-changing roles all along.
It is naïve to assume that nurses, teachers, healthcare and sanitation workers, cooks, and vegetable vendors will suddenly start earning more than we have been trained to pay them. I like to think this pandemic will change us in subtle ways though, forcing us to recognise our inadequacies, our pompous designations and titles that we use to accomplish almost nothing.
When he isn't ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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