Mohan's Story - And why India works

At the junction of Aruna Asaf Ali Marg and Katwaria Sarai in south Delhi where the IIT (Delhi) and the JNU campuses stand on either sides of the two-lane road, you can see several fruit vendors towards your right (if you are going towards Africa Avenue). From a distance, most of the mobile units look identical, except for one among them.

I had first noticed Mohan about four years back, for three reasons.

One?- unlike others, his trailer did not carry an assortment of various kinds of fruits, but he always sold any one kind of fruit (apples in October, pears in December, grapes in August , mangoes in summer, and sometimes just bananas when every other fruit is out of season).?

The?second?thing was that unlike his peers, the fruit Mohan sold would be of impeccable quality – the best you could find anywhere in Delhi.?

The?third?(and the initially irritating) reason was that Mohan would never bend to negotiation. When every other vendor would sell apples at Rs.125 / kg, Mohan would ask for Rs.160 / kg and refuse to even listen to any offer for negotiation (no matter whatever the bait you threw at him).

For some reason I had taken a liking towards him and he has been my preferred fruit vendor for the past few years.

Every morning while driving to work (when I would be in town), I would see Mohan setting up his trailer. And every evening, on my way home, I would see Mohan neatly packing up his leftover wares in his wooden boxes. On days when I'd buy fruit from him, I would stop over and order him sitting in the car, and he'd bring the fruit and place it on the rear seat.

Then one day in late April, while driving towards work (& after having popped my daily doze of paracetamol to keep the fever at bay, resultant of a flu which had been nagging me for 3 weeks ), I saw a minor traffic congestion at the main traffic intersection. Straining my neck from my window, I saw that a fruit trailer lay over turned at the center of the road and melons lying squashed & damaged by a flow of early morning traffic running over them. I then saw someone trying to save some of the leftover fruit from the road, pleading to the various motorists to go slow and not damage the handful that lay un-spoilt till then . Apparently some spoilt rich brat of South Delhi had smashed it with his speeding car and had sped off.

The man was Mohan.

For some reason I took the car into a service lane leading to the nearby central school, and parked it. I walked back to the point of commotion. I saw that Mohan had managed to save about 10-12 melons from the road while a majority of his day’s trade lay battered and bloodied on the road.

Recognizing me, Mohan gave me a wry smile. I reached out and touched his arm to console him. To my shock I saw that he was running a high temperature. If I felt so (while carrying a fever myself), it meant that his was much more serious than mine.

“?A bad loss, eh Mohan? And that too when you seem to be unwell ?”,?I asked sympathetically. I knew how terrible I felt at having to go for work ( which principally comprised of sitting in my air conditioned car to reach my office, sit in front of a laptop in an air conditioned cabin for a few hours and talk on the phone for some time if I was up to it) and hence could relate to the level of despair he must be going through in his current physical condition at having to deal with this cruel twist of fate on the same date.

“?Arre Sahab, this is Bhagwaan ki marzi ( “ Sir – This is God’s will" ) , and cannot be helped”,?he said, not seeming as heartbroken as I would have imagined him to be. In a queer way he reminded me of a Munshi Premchand phrase I had read in school – “niraashaa janit akarmanyata” – meaning a sense of inertia and loss of will to do anything (including mourning) because of some deeper despair.

?On my way back home that evening I spotted Mohan sitting at a makeshift stand near where his stall would normally be parked. I stopped and walked over to him to enquire how he was doing.

“So how long before you can get your business back on it’s feet , considering the loss you suffered ?”, I asked , curious to know how the mind of a daily wage earner tackled a crisis of his wages being stopped.

“15 days, 20 maybe Sahaab. I buy on credit. Currently I owe 2500 /- to the whole seller, which I would repay in next 7-8 days, requesting him for some rope, considering my loss. And then repairing my “thelaa” would take up another 1500 rupees or so. Sab milaake, next month ke 10-12 taariq tak shaayad waapas aa jaaoonga”. Explained Mohan in a matter of fact manner.

“ But what would you do to earn in the interim??” I asked, curious and concerned.

“ Oh Saahab, I have some of people from my native village who work for a contractor in R.K. Puram. They would fetch me a half day job from each of their quotas for the next 15 days. That way, they will be burdened by losing only a half day pay once a week, but I will still manage to earn enough so that my family doesn’t go hungry. During the remaining part of the day, I shall work as a salesman at the whole seller’s own shop and earn the money to repay him in time”.

Something about Mohan was deeply inspiring. Here he was, a daily wage earner facing one of the worst nightmares that he can, and yet he was completely sorted as he thought through it ! And I shamefully reflected on how we keep cribbing when the slightest things go wrong in our daily work life (despite having our sick leaves, our health insurance, our air conditioners and our numerous little luxuries that we take for granted).

“Chalo, get well soon and good luck”, I said , saying good bye and passing him a 100 rupee note (“Show a doctor and take some medicine” – the least I could do).

Last evening on my way back home, I was running a bit late. When I reached the Aruna Asaf Ali Marg junction, while most of the fruit vendors had left, I saw a solitary trailer(freshly painted) standing at the corner with the best mangoes I have seen this season. Even before I reached the spot I knew that Mohan was back, and also working overtime to make up for his lost fortnight.

“Please pay only 120 rupees sahaab. Mere taraf se half kilo gift, aapke bachhe ke liye” , ("?Please take half a kilo of fruit as a gift for your kid from me"?) said the self- respectful Mohan, returning me a fifty rupee note.

Switching my car back to life, I reflected on some lessons that Mohan taught me without realizing.

One?– You don’t need to be perched at the highest rung of Maslow’s pyramid in order to be quality conscious.

Two?– No matter what crisis hits you, there is a way around it provided you do not sit idle and sob.?

Three?– Even at the lowest strata of our society there exists this brotherhood and support structure where one man in trouble gets bailed out by his well-wishers (Why does this feeling disappear as we move higher in the society ?)

And Lastly?– A self- made man has a lot of self- respect (who knows his own worth & never sells himself short , and who also doesn't forget a favor), besides of course, a lot of clarity on exactly when and how he is going to “fix” his problem at hand.

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(From my 2012 blog archives , when we used to live in Delhi, and which was also a chapter in my 2020 book, 'As You Life It').

A big thanks to my reader friends for the great response to my new book, 'Life-ing it'. If your friends or colleagues would like to check it out, it's available on Amazon in your country.