Nangla's Delhi

Signboards. Sometimes they tell the way, sometimes give unsolicited advise, sometimes instruct how one must conduct oneself in the city, and sometimes distract you from your path by making your attention wander. “Gas pipeline underneath. Do not excavate.” “The name of this crossroad is -------.” “Welcome to Delhi Railway Station.” “Get your tenant verified before trusting him with your house.” “Punctured tyres are repaired here.” A board amid the soft breaths of many in front of an emergency ward, announcing, “Emergency Ward”. “Please Use Me” written on garbage bins. And a board in my neighbourhood which gives the impression of the presence of a property dealer in the vicinity: “Cheap plots available here.” But to tell you the truth, there is neither any property dealer here, nor any property! But the board remains standing in its place.

There is one more board that falls in the company of these boards. It's a notice board that appears from time to time in front of colonies in the wake of the State's “cleanliness drives”. It's a board that doesn’t say anything of its own, but repeats the contents of the sheet that is pasted on it. One such board stands in front of a locality in my neighbourhood. It reads:

“This land is the property of the government. It should be vacated. It can be broken at any time.”

Everyone's hair stood on end each time they saw this board.

The sun hasn't risen yet. There is a fog of smoke in Nangla. People who live along the Pushta have lit up their stoves. They sit by the stoves, sipping tea. These stoves are not inside the rooms, but outside, along the lanes. And the kitchen is where the stove is. When people pass by they don't touch anything, just look and go their way.

A woman is sitting by her stove. She places the vessel with the kneaded dough in the lane and starts to cook. The door behind her does not have a curtain. When the kitchen is on the road, then where is the need to conceal anything else. It is winter. She has filled a canister with water and placed it on the stove. The water heats on a low flame. A young boy, about five to seven years old, comes and sits by the canister and, from time to time, he stokes the fire by moving the firewood about. He dips his hand in the water repeatedly to see how warm it is. Then he calls out, “Mother, the water is warm now.” The woman appears from inside the house, empties the water from the canister into a vessel, refills the canister with more water, and carries the warm water into the house.

People pass by from the lane in front. But the lanes are not only for passing! Some people are sleeping in the lane, their bodies covered with a sheet which they have tightened by tucking under their head and pulling it from the other end with their toes. For some, morning is when they go to sleep. People skirt them, and go on their way.

This young man, probably fifteen to sixteen years old, sees the first rays of the morning sun only after having earned two to four hundred rupees. He keeps the length of his hair long. A sack always hangs on his shoulder. His face is dark, and he always chews tobacco.

He can be seen in places where probably everyone hesitates to go. He collects money from the ground, but money which probably no one else would agree to pick up. He bends his body forward to pick up anything he finds, and puts it in his sack.

Dogs and pigs follow him around. But he roams fearlessly in places around Nangla where garbage is thrown. He picks up whatever he finds – plastic bottles, scraps of paper – with his hands or a wire that he carries with him. He pokes the object with the hard, long wire, picks up the object, and it goes straight into his sack. He also carries a stick, at one end of which he has attached a magnet. Whatever the magnet catches, he deposits in the broad iron vessel with steep sides, which he also carries with himself.

He finishes his work before the sun rises; and then drinks tea with everyone else in a tea stall in Nangla. He disappears with the appearance of the sun.

"One of the first, and perhaps most important, housing rights cases to go up to the Supreme Court in India was the Olga Tellis case in 1985. This petition to the Bombay High Court was in the form of a public interest litigation by thousands of pavement dwellers of Bombay city. The petitioners argued that they could not be evicted from their squalid shelters without being offered alternative accommodation. They further argued that they had chosen a pavement or slum to live in only because it was nearest to their place of work, and that evicting them would result in depriving them of their livelihood. The petitioners (living in around more than 10,000 hutments) were to be evicted under the Bombay Municipal Corporation Act, which empowered the Municipal Commissioner to remove encroachments on footpaths or pavements over which the public have a right of passage or access."

From http://www.indiatogether.org/opinions/rhousing02.htm

Manilal reached Shershah school to get his daughter admitted.
The teacher asked, “Where do you live?”
“In Nangla Maanchi,” Manilal said.
“Where is that?”
“Do you know the road that leads to Noida from in front of Pragati Maidan? It's on that same road, beyond the red light immediately after Pragati Maidan.”
“Yes, I know. The swamps with a few bushes... almost a lake... But there aren't any houses there,” she said, trying to recollect the place.
“But now there is, madamji,” Manilal said.

Of late, Nangla seems to be emptying. When I step out for a walk in the evening, there are fewer people in the lanes. Till recently, I used to have to watch my step; but now it seems to me I can walk without care. The group of men who had made the threshold of one of their houses their usual spot to play cards, were a usual sight till late. I haven't seen them around for some days now. Far fewer people can be seen in the market. Sellers sit around, waiting, with nothing to do. A friend tells me he gets ample space to play these days. Earlier he either had to make do with little, or had to “capture” space. People who manage or own eating places say a lot of food gets left over from the day, even though they prepare it in quantities that would usually get consumed in a single day. Fewer CDs and television sets are being rented out from shops. Public toilets don't open at 4:30 AM as before. The person who mans the STD phone booth says almost no one comes to make calls these days. Maybe now they don't need a phone to keep in touch with the places they used to call up till now...