Two countries called India

In a world of distorted priorities, a wealthy person's needs are of more consequence than those of a poor person.

RECENTLY a large slum called Nangal Machi beside the busy Ring Road in New Delhi was razed in two days. Those of us who had to pass that area witnessed, if only briefly, the exodus of a whole community. Long lines of trucks were loaded with the belongings of the residents of Nangal Machi - wooden cupboards, cots, a few chairs, boxes, an assortment of bundles of different shapes and sizes, and, among them the odd symbols of what were once homes, a framed photograph, an umbrella, a pot with a plant.

A few days ago they had an allotted space to live in, however mean it was. A space in which they properly belonged, together giving the dwelling the image of a home. Now they were stuck on top of a truck with a lot of other things; having lost their space, they had also lost the little dignity that it had given them and were now just odd bits of luggage, without the meaning and the links to a household they once had. Things had to be taken away. To where, it was not really important. From being the elements of a home they had become objects that had to be moved.

One has no intention of becoming maudlin about these objects. They were, after all, not very different from the suitcases and boxes that belong to the thousands of passengers travelling on planes. Those, too, doubtless contain items of some importance to their owners, but they are, to the baggage handlers, just luggage to be thrown onto a trolley or onto a carousel, depending on the direction in which they are all going. Except for one major difference; the luggage of a traveller is being taken on a journey voluntarily, because it has to travel with as much purpose as its owner. These items of what was a household are being taken because there is no alternative to a journey not wanted, nor are they the kind of items that lend themselves to travel.

One noticed as well the resignation among those whose houses were being levelled. There was, at least in Nangal Machi, no anger or grief. All one could see before the swirl of traffic swept one away was that dull resignation as the residents carried their belongings to the trucks. The driver of the vehicle we were travelling in said, again, in the manner of one relating an incident, that they were being moved to make way for a power station, and that they were being taken to Narela. What he did not say was that Narela is 35 kilometres from Nangal Machi.

The people who had lived in Nangal Machi worked, for the most part in places not too far away, places accessible by bicycle, or after a fairly short journey by bus. Whether they would be able to commute from Narela every day is difficult to say, but most of us would agree that they would not be able to do so. What they would do to earn a living is impossible to say, nor is it generally of interest to most people, other than those who have been 'relocated'. There is more interest in the power station that will come up there, one of those meant to supply power for that golden time when the eagerly awaited Commonwealth Games will be held in the national capital.

And why should the power station not provoke great interest? Commonwealth Games apart, the city of Delhi is plagued by a terrible shortage of power, matched by mismanagement on an epic scale of whatever power is available. The new power station ought to, in theory, lessen the shortage to some extent. And that is something that everyone would want, even if it means that some of those who lived in the slum called Nangal Machi have had to be 'relocated'.

One does not disagree with this proposition. Some kinds of development mean that a number of people have to go through an ordeal they had never wanted to or needed to until the general need for development overcame them like a tidal wave. For the greater good, that is the saying that we are inspired by, and which takes us onwards on the path to progress and the good life. Consider the many road building projects in the country, each of which means the acquisition of land. And land has, for the most part, belonged to farmers for generations. One cannot stop building roads, any more than stop building power stations.

And the slum in Nangal Machi was illegal. The land belonged to the state. The former residents had brazenly encroached on state land, and may well have been stealing power from the overhead lines in the bargain. They had to be removed as their living there was illegal, whether or not a power station had to be constructed there. All this is true and no one will disagree.

Yet, not too long before this, some fine, expensive buildings had also been demolished, as they had been illegally built on state land. One was a well-known shopping mall, and its demolition was a major media affair. And what a furore there was. A yagna was held, many of those with very trendy shops in that mall wept before television cameras, there were ritual marches in front of India Gate, and, if one remembers correctly, a petition was handed over by distraught fashion designers (who owned some of the shops) to the President.

There were more such demolitions in the well-to-do areas of the city, such as Lajpat Nagar and Defence Colony. And a large section of the middle class was up in arms. There were demonstrations and angry statements, until the government hurriedly passed a law putting all such demolitions on hold for a year. What difference a year will make is not clear, but at least for now the bulldozers have stopped.

Not for the residents of Nangal Machi, of course. But then there are two Indias - the one we, who read this and others like us, live in, and the other, perceived India, seen from the outside. That it, too, has its homes, whose residents share relationships of as varied a kind as ours, where a dank and cramped room is as affectionately familiar, with a framed photograph on a table, as our light-filled bedrooms with their elegant paintings and curtains are, is not something that is understood by most, or accepted. That people in the two Indias can have the same needs and aspirations is merely a proposition, not a shared belief. As the tormented King Lear cried out,

O reason not the need! Our basest beggars Are in the poorest things superfluous. Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life were cheap as beast's.

In the end, as we will one day surely realise, that is what it is. The illusion is the perception of need; reduce it to its essentials, and everyone is truly equal. Beyond that, it becomes a truly subjective matter; our tragedy is that we place great store by the nature of the need.

A wealthy man's needs are quite naturally of more consequence. So when he is deprived of what is seen as a part of it, it is of enough concern to warrant a law; the needs of an erstwhile resident of Nangal Machi is seen as some odd items of furniture and luggage on top of a truck, to be moved away. It is why we will always have two countries called India.