A long time ago, in the SBI ATM near the old LAD Office on Ramhlun Rd., I waited outside while a man used the machine. A very regular average man you’d see everyday – in cargo shorts and a t-shirt that couldn’t hide his pot belly, a scooter helmet under his arm. I had literally nothing better to do at the time [and I want to make this very clear that I had nothing nefarious on my mind, I was simply bored and waiting my turn] and so I watched him make his transaction from outside the kiosk. He typed in that he wanted 1500 cash. And the machine said something like insufficient amount. He didn’t wait for the receipt and left immediately.
That scene has been in my head for a long time. These days, especially, when I take the Ramhlun Rd. on my way to work, it refreshes in the back of my mind. I often randomly think about that fat man who needed 1500 but didn’t have that much in his account. Over the years, many times when I go to villages, or write concept notes for villages, or attend to my magisterial duties, or just generally read the documents I see everyday in office dak, I think of that man in Urban Mizoram and how 1500 was out of his grasp.
I have never known a chapter in my life when that instance has been my reality. I did not always have a salary, and my parents never believed in giving us much pocket money; or maybe they didn’t have a lot to spare. Either ways, I remember 10 bucks as my standard pocket money when I was in school in Mizoram. I often bought a Yum Yumm packet and an alu chop with it. When I was in school boarding, my sister and I shared a cash register. We accounted for it and usually bought a sweet, soft, refrigerated cold pastry and a veg patty (the Indian version of puff pastry), or a veg samosa and a cold hard boiled egg. Very tasty. Very economical. In college, both my age and my pocket money increased but since I was addicted to keema samosa, chicken momos, and cheap paperback novels (for which I would haggle for as less as 5 bucks), I didn’t have too much money to spend otherwise, ever. But in all these events when I was counting every rupee, I was counting for snacks or books, never to support a household. So I was never poor. Not like that sad fat man.
At another point, I was searching for the Aviation office, and walking that stretch alongside Lok Bhawan. A casual labourer was walking in front of me. A hand from a passing car flicked something out of the window. The man stopped, bent and picked up a discarded half-smoked cigarette stick from the ground, and continued to smoke it. My eyes widened in great surprise. I have met and dealt with alcoholics and junkies, yes, but this man seemed to be neither. I had to wonder how tired his body must be and how cashless he surely was, too, to pick up someone’s discarded ciggie and smoked it himself. A harsh fact here is how clear it is that someone else cared very little for a ciggie stick because it was just casually thrown out. It’s not even a good activity per se but the labourer obviously wanted that little recreation. You have to think about the gross difference in standard of living between people living in the same town.
I don’t claim that my moral compass points due north. Martyrdom is not my strong suit. However, I do make it a point to think about these things and try to act on them. What if one of the papers I have on my desk can help either one of those men, or people like them? Or even worse off than them? What if me reading the dak carefully and writing down in my Notesheet can start a domino effect that puts a little more rice on their plates? I have been to many trainings and work tours. They have made their impressions on me. I have learned many ways to improve myself and my office. But in terms of pure epiphanies, I don’t think any incident in my life has been more impressionable on me than those two events.
Poverty is real. Poverty is horrible. Poverty can push a man to do things he would not have thought himself capable. Poverty is a very real driving force. I do not believe in suffering for suffering’s sake, or even for religious sakes. You cannot expect people to strive for poverty. Even for a reward in an undefined and un-proven heaven. This then is the sum total of my pursuit towards public service – maintenance of order, and from that order, with the fondest hopes, a way to pull people out from poverty.
People will never be equal. To push for undiluted equality is stupid and untenable. At the very least, then, an equality of opportunity. A cerebral and situational equality, perhaps. As the economy develops – as it continually must – the socio-economic divide will continue to worsen. There very well will come a time in our future when society will have to change to keep up to still maintain some sort of order. The divide will increase further.
I do not believe in ethical billionaires. I fear I will always align a little left of centre. I have a Horace Slughorn in me that will not let go of my pursuit to a little physical comfort and tasty snacks, but beyond that, I hope I will never forget the epiphanies that made me pursue a career shift to civil services. And hopefully not end up somewhere in my career, an existentialist who is allergic to public service, in the manner of Ford Prefect from Betelgeuse Five.
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