Skip to main content

The cucumber seller of Chennai

This is one of the best forwards that I have received till date!!

SUBROTO BAGCHI
(The author is co-founder & chief operating officer at MindTree Consulting. )
On a hot July day, my colleague Moses and I were trying to locate our car on Chennai’s Nungambakkam High Road in front of Nalli Silks when I saw a roadside cart laden with cucumbers.
The seller was vacantly gazing at passersby. Clad in a white shirt and a dhoti worn in the traditional Chennai style, he had long hair and an unkempt beard. I did not know Tamil, and asked Moses to find out the price. One rupee apiece, came the reply.
We wanted one piece each. The cucumber seller began deftly slicing them to put salt and the delectable red chilly powder on the neat halves. As we bit into the cucumber, I asked Moses to tell him that his pricing was too low, and that he should raise it. Moses conveyed this. The seller shook his head, and replied that "customer satisfaction" is more important than extra profit. The words ‘customer satisfaction’ were in English. I gulped my patronizing comment.
At this time, Moses excused himself to find our car. After a few moments, the seller asked me in English where I was from. From Bangalore, I replied. What follows here is our conversation. His statements are highlighted.
Isn’t the Karnataka budget due to be presented tomorrow? Yes, that is true. Living in Karnataka, it was easy for me to concur on this.
I wonder how the governments of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu will ever solve the water-sharing problem. Man cannot solve this problem. It has to be God. After all, it is an issue of how much rain is going to fall! I nodded. I was not sure if I had a view at all.
See the way the monsoon is progressing. It does not look good. The progress of the rains is leaving a ‘V’ of a dry patch as the clouds move north. Bihar, Orissa, Madhya Pradesh and the states up north will have problems. Politicians are the ones who use such problems to create a divide among people. They always do it. They use water, religion, anything they can, to create a divide. Look at the way Amarinder Singh of Punjab is taking a stand. I looked at him, in part admiration and part disbelief.
You’re from Bangalore. Things are going well for you folks. But I don’t understand how people with shady business interests can become representatives of public opinion there. It was part complaint and part observation.
At this point, a fellow peddler arrived — helped himself to some of the cucumber, and the two had a quick conversation on some issue I did not understand.
After the other person left, I asked him if selling cucumber was his full-time vocation. He told me that right now it was. Earlier, he sold lottery tickets, the trading of which has since been banned. As a result he had to switch his business to selling cucumbers on the wheeled cart. No complaints and no issues. Meaning to engage him further, I asked him his religion. This drew an instant look of disappointment from him: "Sir, I am an Indian. That is my religion. In my eyes, all people are equal, and it does not matter to me at all."
The clarity of his response and his conviction took me completely by surprise. His net worth was probably equal to his day’s turnover. The newspaper and magazines he reads, to keep abreast of things, wipe off the disposable income he generates.
Bare feet on this busy, dusty road, he sold a low-value, perishable product from a rickety cart. At peace with himself and with the world rushing past, this man was dressed in poverty. But in his presence, it was I who felt poor.
We are not complete if we are not connected. It is only when we are connected that things make sense. Only when things make sense, we can form an opinion. Standing there, I wondered how many in the corporate world know who the chief minister of Punjab is, and about the progress of the monsoon! How many have an informed view on river water politics and budget proceedings of another state. Soon, Moses appeared with our car. It was time for me to go. I shook hands with the nameless cucumber seller of Chennai. Actually, I wanted to touch his feet.

Comments

Tulaja said…
A good candidate for the South Madras constituency. State Assembly elections are not far away. Hats off to the Vellarikkai Vandikkaaran!

Popular posts from this blog

The emotion called Katta Pai!

    A couple of weeks ago, my husband had inadvertently given three bags of washed clothes to an unknown ironing person. He said some new person had come asking for clothes to iron when he was on the phone, and he had handed them over to him. And now, all his new pants were missing. My first reaction was, “Oh dear! All my good Katta Pais!”   I know I know… but I really couldn’t help it. Katta Pais, or what we call the Big Shopper bags, are not just some random objects; they are, as the new lingo for all things close to the heart goes, an emotion! There have been many Instagram reels by various groups around the theme of Katta Pais. The most hilarious one for me was the one by Vikkals Vikram group when the son informs his mother that he scored cent per cent in Class X Math exam or came state first in Class XII or even that he got a handsomely paying job abroad, her reaction was a simple smile. But when he says that he said no to Katta Pai at a saree shop in line with ...

Hair now, gone tomorrow!

  Today, my husband was pleasantly surprised when he called out from the bathroom for a shampoo bottle. Normally, this would prompt a tirade about his laziness, followed by my hurried hand off of our regular brand of shampoo. But today, I handed him expensive bottles of shampoo and conditioner with a smile, saying, “With love.” Though puzzled, he was happy to indulge in the fancy products. I quietly slipped away before he realised they were the result of one of my hair care experiments gone wrong. Since moving into our new home, my obsession with hair care has reached new heights. Hair loss is such a rampant problem in my community that it’s probably the only topic people don’t argue about in our WhatsApp group. In a desperate attempt to save what’s left of my hair, I’ve tried everything: onion shampoo, rice water conditioner, WoW serum, Adivasi hair oil—you name it, I’ve tried it! Adding insult to injury, my mother delights in reminding me, “You used to have such thick hair I ...

Enough, Just as You Are

“Hey, you’ve put on weight since the last time we met!” This isn’t an uncommon greeting from one of my friends. Trust me, he doesn’t mean to hurt—but somehow, he always does. He’s not a mean guy; in fact, he’s one of those friends I can call in the middle of the night for help. But that’s just his way of talking—not just with me, but with everyone. I’ve tried explaining to him that this sort of comment is body shaming and that it’s neither kind nor funny. But he just waves me off, insisting it’s all harmless fun. The truth? He’s far from alone. Comments like these are ingrained in our everyday conversations, especially among women. Often, they come from people who claim to mean well. Think about it—how many times have you heard a relative or a friend casually drop a remark like, “Your dress seems tighter. Gained weight, huh?” For me, it’s my aunt. She never fails to greet me with, “Enna nalla sappadare pole irukke?!” (Translation: “You seem to be eating well!” ) I know she do...