The noise of subsistence
The Covid-generated lockdown changed our lives; it forced people to come up with new ideas to handle the unforeseen situation. If most of us came up with new ideas to manage household chores, and utilise surplus time, reviving old hobbies, family games, and culinary adventures; a section of society that was hard hit by the shutdown, grappled with the situation on a daily basis, devising new ways for their survival.
The lane I live in is closed on one side with a park entrance, making it a peaceful enclosed zone. As it’s not a thoroughfare, no speedy bikes zoom past, and no cars take a shortcut. We, the residents of a handful of houses, have the privilege of enjoying the calm and quiet mornings of this close-knit neighbourhood. During pre-Covid days, we could easily identify the regular morning sounds even from indoors — a milkman’s motorbike honking at a neighbour’s gate; sounds of different vehicles telling us who all were leaving for their workplace and a vegetable-seller on his daily rounds calling out at the top of his voice.
Post lockdown, the routine tried to drag itself back to its normal pace. The milkman’s bike and the vegetable-seller were back, but a new unfamiliar sound could be heard — a dairyman in a three-wheeler, using a loudspeaker to sell his perishable dairy products in the streets. Though appreciative of his thoughtfulness, I could sympathise with all those who have been forced to reorient their lives for subsistence.
Soon the vegetable-seller found his monopoly threatened by a few intruders. Those daily wagers who had been doing odd jobs, like carrying construction materials and other goods, found themselves jobless, and took up vegetable selling as a viable alternative to keep the wolf from the door. Within days, the mornings got strepitous with four-five vendors trying to outdo one another to attract buyers.
A smart businessman is one who knows the tricks of the trade, keeps his eyes open, and never stops thinking of new plans. Faced with stiff competition on the one hand, and closed gates on the other, these vendors took a cue from the dairyman and started using loudspeakers, announcing their arrival to their customers. We were not only amazed but also appreciated their smart move. If that was not enough, one of them got a motor affixed in his rickshaw-cart, aiming to cover large areas faster. The next day, all other vendors got the same.
For us, this has become the new normal and we are amused watching our lane, once a quiet and serene place, now resonating with a clamorous din of motorbikes, three-wheelers, motor-rickshaws and loudspeakers. If these voices and noises become a source of someone’s bread and butter (rather dal and roti), these are more than welcome.
