Kartikey Sehgal

(Written in 2005, a few days after the floods of 26TH July. The garbage collectors are often blamed for inefficiency.)

“We collect garbage, we are not garbage ourselves.”

These are the words of the Solid Waste Management Department (SWM) of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC). The SWM, with 24 centres spread across 24 wards across the city is responsible for Mumbai’s garbage disposal and maintenance.

Tuesday, July 26. The rains had paralysed the Mumbaikars but the 22000 strong labour force of the SWM was on the move. “We worked for forty eight hours nonstop. Rains had brought lots of garbage onto the streets,” says a grave looking 33-year-old Satish Jadhav. “Luckily, 15 years of garbage disposal have taught me well how to deal in such calamities.”

Every morning, for 365 days in a year, people like Jadhav gather garbage from your area and dispose them to the landfill areas of Gorai, Mulund and Deonar. This way, they renew your life.

We decide to travel with a SWM team to the Vaishali Nagar-Amrut Nagar area of Jogeshwari where water level on the streets had risen up to eight feet on Tuesday night. Besides extensive loss to human lives and property, the massive flooding in this area had killed around twelve hundred buffalos.

We enter a green coloured BMC vehicle called a compactor. It is a refuse collecting vehicle with a capacity of carrying 8-10 tons of compressed refuse. Inside the compactor sit eight labours who manually dump the garbage inside the compactor. Add to this one cleaner who compresses the garbage through a lever at regular intervals of time, and a driver. The driver is also responsible for any damages to the vehicle.

It seems like the city is wounded by water. The once busy lanes and marketplaces look like barren swampy areas. Heaps of garbage lie on either sides of the roads. A man clutching his suitcase suddenly waves at us and points in the direction of some unattended garbage.  

“This garbage is not our job. Some other compactor has to clear it. Every compactor is assigned specific areas of coverage”. Manoj Tak, a cleaner with the SWM since the last nineteen years is meticulous with his words.

The mood inside the vehicle is upbeat. Topics of incessant chatter range from sale of VIP undergarments at Jogeshwari for Rs 10 to how each one of them braved the Tuesday rains. “This driver was stuck in the compactor at Andheri from 3 P.M. to 6 A.M.,” says a labour of driver B V Rasal, a seemingly silent man who just chooses to look at the road ahead.

We reach our destination safely. The Vaishali-Amrut Nagar looks ravaged. Just like a war torn territory. A marriage hall now looks like a morgue. Red saris with silver borders, wet and soiled, lie scattered. Most of the shops are closed. Muslim merchants whose garments were destroyed in the rains are forced to sell them at a discount of over 75% to a crowd of Burqa clad women.

Barely 30 meters from this sale, a BMC dumper is preparing to load a dead buffalo.

We park the compactor next to a stretch of stinking wet garbage. Today, not the road but the stink and garbage link Vaishali Nagar to Amrut Nagar. The narrow road curtails the movements of pedestrians. They ask the driver to move the truck elsewhere. He pleads for patience. Meanwhile, the labours have changed from their checkered Cambridge shirts to Rupa vests, popularized by Sunny Deol. They fold their pants to save them from sludge. Armed with a Kata, Phawda (used to gather garbage) and Pati (small plastic basket to carry garbage to the compactor), the labours begin their work.

Every day, Mumbai produces 7025 metric tons of solid waste. This includes household and commercial waste, as well as the waste silted from the nallahs and drains.

Five minutes later, a resident comes up to the labours and says, “You scums, where were you all this long? This foul smell has reached my fourth floor flat. Because of you I missed office today.”

“People fail to realize we are just like them,” cleaner Manoj Tak says pensively. “We too have home and family and go to office like everyone.”

For Manoj the day starts at seven thirty. Daily prayers follow a quick bath. He spends some time with his son who is studying in standard ten. After watching his favourite TV shows, he leaves for office. 

“It is a dirty job. Even in 1974 when I joined, this job was looked down upon. Few people joined it then; fewer do now. Due to the unemployment brought by mills’ closure, the youth takes it up reluctantly,” says 50- year- old driver Rasal. Reflectively, he smiles and adds, “The job pays rather well. My daughters couldn’t study much but my son wants to be a doctor.”

It has started raining.

“Rain or storms, the labour will continue to work,” says Rasal.

Doesn’t the BMC provide for raincoats?

“These people sell them.”

“Not true,” retorts a labour carrying a dead chicken in one hand. “They are skin tight. They tear the minute we stretch them. So we are forced to sell them. We request the higher officials for better raincoats. But nothing happens.”

He puts the chicken in the compactor. “No labour wants discomfort for himself. We are even short of the pati and kata. Sometimes, we work without them, with bare hands. What to do?”

Ninety minute later, the compactor is filled but half of the garbage stretch remains. The residents tell them to clear all the stretch. The cleaner explains that the compactor can take no more.

Another resident comes up and asks a bearded labour to come for a second round.

“Not possible, sir. We will dump this garbage at Gorai. By the time we come back, it will be nine p.m…”

The resident promptly removes Rs 500 from his kurta’s pocket and extends it to the labour. The labour takes a few steps back. “We don’t want this. We are not…”

He looks at the other labours for the appropriate word. The miffed resident gives him a mouthful and leaves. The labours look hurt.

“We do want some money but not in this way. Who do these people think they are? Just because we pick up their dirt doesn’t mean we have no self respect,” says the labour.

“The monsoon water also entered our house. Instead of helping our family members, we work for other families. And yet they think we do no work”, says another.

The labours wash their hands and feet, change into their Cambridge shirts and drink tea before boarding the vehicle. The mood inside the compactor is now quiet and sullen. The silence is interrupted only by some soft conversations about rising vegetable prices. The bearded labour breaks this monotonous silence.

“Look at our skin. We labours look old at forty. There is no medical aid for us. All newspapers talk about vaccination against diseases for the Mumbaikars. What about us? We need to be vaccinated before everyone else. Can’t the BMC or some social group in Mumbai arrange for doctors to give us injections?”

None offers any remark.

“Many of our comrades suffer from TB”, continues the bearded man.

Now the other labours speak in unison and prod this labour to talk about one Khimji Kadam.

“He is suffering from TB. The treatment will cost him one lakh rupees. We are told the BMC would give only thirty five thousand rupees. How will he survive? Isn’t it the BMC’s fault that this labour was not vaccinated?”

“There is no respect for humans”, says the driver.

“ We collect garbage, we are not garbage ourselves.”