"Can we approach that
vehicle?" asked Selvan Dasaraj, Vice President, Mahindra Logistics, on a
mid-April evening as we came out of a dhaba (roadside eatery) in Ranchi,
Jharkhand, one of the most coal-enriched state in the eastern part of India and
110 km away from Jamshedpur or Tata Nagar.
Our earlier attempt to
engage Rajvinder Singh, the dhaba owner, and a few truck drivers sipping
extra-sugary tea in his spacious place did not bear fruit. Though the young Singh
evinced interest to share inputs on the damaged truck hardly 200 metres near
his business place in a casual mode, his attitude changed the moment we took
out notepad and pencil. He must have mistaken us for some police investigating
team. Bad luck. Hem instead, advised us to try our luck with trucks parked on
the roadside.
Having finished the day's
work, the Sun was gently climbing down on the western horizon.
I was anxious to open the
account without any loss of time.
What account?
Well, it is something like
this.
Three years and three books
(10,000 KM on Indian Highways, Naked Banana! and An Affair With
Indian Highways) later, I felt just writing about the plight of highway
drivers alone won't do. It is time for action and as a corollary, set up KRK
Foundation, registered Trust, with the focus on studying and improving the
living standards of these hapless human beings and their families living in
remote villages.
And, this was my maiden trip
and inclement weather delayed my arrival in Ranchi by a day and thereby I had
lost valuable time. Luckily, Mahindra Logistics CEO Pirojshaw Sarkari
understood my zeal and decided to support the weeklong trip to Koderma,
Hazaribagh and Giridih districts in northern Jharkhand because his company was
equally passionate about the same cause.
Jharkhand, originally part
of the state of Bihar, supplies the maximum number of highway truck drivers.
Once upon a time, the states of Punjab and Haryana coveted this title. Having
unlocked their land value, Punjabi and Haryanvi truck drivers have decided to
hang up their boots, thus creating a huge vacuum in the supply chain of truck
driving.
With no industrial
development, Jharkhand youngsters were forced to look out for a living and they
chose 'drivery' - as is commonly known among drivers' community. Why?
Primarily, it is felt that it does not need any special skills and lack of
education is no bar. Right or wrong is debatable.
"Be careful. Let's
cross the road," said the fortyish Selvan, whom I had met few weeks ago in
his Delhi office for the first time after Sarkari indicated that he would be my
co-traveler in the maiden Jharkhand trip. Such a senior officer ready to
hotfoot with me in truck drivers’ company? I was a bit skeptical which blew
away quickly.
Actually, I had mistaken him
for "Sylvan" and for Goan. The only brief I had about him was that he
has also spent a lot of time with the drivers' community across India during
his tenure with various logistics companies.
This misconception
evaporated once I came face to face with him. Though he was born and brought up
in Hyderabad, his roots were Tamil - like mine. Secondly, he actually did his
Bachelors’ degree in mass communication - read journalism - but strangely moved
away from that discipline. What more can I ask for? We hit it off well right
from the word, 'go'. Sel, as he is famously nicknamed, would say, “like Rum and
Coke’!
After that maiden meeting
three weeks ago in Delhi, now I was crossing National Highway 23 in Jharkhand
along with him for a possible interaction with a highway driver on the other
side.
Will that guy open his
mouth? He may. He may not. Let's try.
We noticed two guys
tinkering with some wiring inside the Leyland 3611 truck, parked on the
roadside. The vehicle looked new and whatever its content was
tarpaulin-covered.
On noticing our presence -
Selvan, myself and driver Bipin Singh with his trademark baseball cap, one of
the elderly occupants jumped out with a curious look on his face.
"Where are you
going?" Selvan began the conversation.
"Raipur".
"Are you the
driver?"
"No, no. He is
there," pointed the tall man to a lean, wiry framed young guy at the
steering wheel.
We 'hello'ed him.
Flashing a beaming smile, he
jumped out.
That was first exposure to
Anil Yadav, in his early twenties.
Hailing from Bagadu basti in
Koderma district, Anil took to driving under the tutelage of his uncle.
"Papa kept insisting
that I must take up electric wiring and not truck driving because according to
him, this is 'bekaar' (good for nothing). But I have no patience for
learning electric job," Anil reveals his past without any hint of
hesitation and as if we know each other for long.
An outgoing personality. A
charmer too, to the boot.
Married recently, he is on
his way to Raipur carrying carbon.
Does he miss his wife?
"What are you asking, saab?,"
he giggles.
Does she not want him to be
home every day and night?
"Yeh poochne ki baat
hai?... (Is it something to be asked?). Yes, she wants me home daily,"
adds he.
We perhaps unnecessarily
touched an emotional issue and he looks around to gather his spirits before the
resumption of his outpourings.
Newly married or otherwise.
The physical intimacy between spouses in the initial days automatically leads to
emotional understanding over the long run of the journey called ‘life’. Unlike
the rest of us, who return home every evening from workplace to eat and sleep
with our respective spouses to consummate and avail of conjugal bliss, truck
drivers do not enjoy that privilege. In a way, they consciously decided to stay
away from their families for longer duration out of necessity: to eke out a
living for the entire family. They suffer so that the entire parivar (family)
is able to lead some ‘life’ in remote villages.
"Do you drink?" I
ask the pencil-thin Anil.
He began to laugh.
We could not fathom.
"Saab, more than
me, this truck demands drinks!"
What?
"Yeh sach hai (Yes, it is
true). Whenever this truck gives trouble, I offer Rs.100 worth liquor to it.
Yes, am not joking," tells Anil as Selvan and myself stand transfixed on
hearing this explosive revelation.
Daaru
(liquor)-demanding truck?
"Any trouble with the
vehicle en route is sorted out quickly soon after I offer liquor to it ...
Sometimes, I tell (this truck), 'arre bhai, mera manjil tak powancha do’ '(Help
me reach my destination) and I will give you drinks' and saab, troubles
vanish in no time," Anil elaborates.
Now that the vehicle is
giving trouble and he is tinkering with wiring inside the cabin, is he readying
for the liquor ceremony?
Of course, pat comes the
reply.
The class 8 Jharkhand driver
will halt on the highway near some liquor vend and buy Rs.100 worth liquor.
For the vehicle or for
himself?
He laughs away at our track
of questioning.
Drunken driving on highways
is very common. It is some excuse to buy liquor for his own consumption. Indian
highways are dotted with liquor vends, despite legal restrictions on setting up
such joints on the highways. (Ref: Tipsy on Tarmac, An Affair With Indian
Highways, pp. 39-50, 2013)
Who takes care of his
parents if they fall sick while he is on his rounds away from home?
Bagadu villagers, consisting
od 120 homes, support each other in times of crisis.
"I wish to be there
whenever anyone is sick. But if I go back home, who is there to earn money to
support family?" he asks rhetorically.
What about his children's
education?
It is his/her fate. What can
I do?, asks he innocently.
Does his income sufficient
enough to support his family?
Anil, driving for his
cousin, earns Rs.4,000 out of every trip and if he manages two trips per month,
his take home pay doubles. His family has some arable lands where paddy and
vegetables are grown – both for captive consumption and for the local market.
Does he enjoy drivery?
"In Jharkhand, people
like us (uneducated) have two options: you join the sena (army) or become a
truck driver. Both these professions need no intelligence, but require hard
physical work," responds he.
Selvan looks quizzically at
me over the unusual linkage between intelligence and army/drivery career.
By now, the sun is nowhere
to be seen. Darkness has set in. Our faces get lit up thanks to the powerful
beams of passing vehicles on the highway.
We exchange mobile numbers
and say 'goodbye'.
Day one on this weeklong
Jharkhand visit has commenced on a beautiful note. Anil's liquor offering
practice to pacify troubling truck remains an unforgettable story to be shared
with anyone and everyone.
What a weird and quirky
prescription to cajole a troubling partner!
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