Harsukh Raivadera

So much has been written about the hand-pulled rickshaw pullers of Kolkata that perhaps no other subject has been written about as extensively

Many years ago, after watching Roland Joffé’s film City of Joy, a desire arose within me—to know more about the lives of these rickshaw pullers, to speak to them, and to listen to their stories.That wish finally came true during my recent visit to Kolkata.

At that time, i stayed at Gujarat Samaj Bhavan ( MARRIAGE HALL)as i was attending the Bhagwat Saptah( Religious ceremonies of seven days)organised by the Raghuvanshi Mahila Forum. Along with the divine experience of the Bhagwat, I was blessed with the opportunity to meet three rickshaw pullers and listen to their life stories.

These three men live on the footpath beside the park at the crossing of Padupukur and Madhav Chatterjee Street—the very lane of “Gujarat Samaj”.Their ‘home’ is nothing but two big wooden benches laid out on the pavement, and above them a roof made from large plastic sheets tied to four wooden poles.Their belongings are minimal—a few utensils, a few clothes… nothing more.

Many people must have seen them while passing by the road. Some may even have sat in their rickshaws. Yet, hardly anyone would have noticed them… and fewer still would remember their faces.

Their names are Baldev, Bharat, and is the eldest. When he was twenty, he came from a small village named Rangamata in Muzaffarpur district.Bharat and Vasudev are brothers from Bharavaran village in Barka district. Both appeared a little educated, while Baldev had studied only till Class 4. Today he is about 65 years old.

About thirty years ago, the two brothers came to Kolkata, while Baldev had arrived nearly forty years ago. It was he, who later brought his acquaintances—Vasudev.Baldevt and Vasudev—along with him.When I first went to meet them, it was 9 PM. They had just finished their dinner at a small eatery nearby and were sitting on their wooden bench on the footpath.

Sitting beside them, I began to listen to their story.Compared to the others, Vasudev appeared sharper, more talkative, and sturdier.Still, most of the details were shared by Baldev, with Bharat and Vasudev adding information as needed.

According to them, when they first came Vasudev.Baldev Muzaffarpur 30–40 years ago, the train fare was only ₹18—today it is ₹198!

Baldev reminisced: “Back then, rickshaws could go through every lane of Bhawanipur. There were no ‘No Entry’ signs and no restrictions. After 10 PM, the streets would fall silent. And if you wanted to travel late at night, there were no totos (electric rickshaws) or autos—only hand-pulled rickshaws.”

I asked,“Did you live in this same spot even then?”

He replied, “Yes babu… right here, on this very footpath, on this same bench. From the day we arrived, our life has been like this.”

How late into the night do you pull the rickshaw? ” Baldev answered,

“Babu, we have no fixed time. We sleep here itself, and the rickshaw is parked just beside us. Whenever someone calls, we take them.”

Is the rickshaw yours?

“No, all these rickshaws belong to the Sardar here.”

”I didn’t understand. Sardar? A Sikh? Or some local don?”

He smiled at my ignorance and said,

“No babu… Sardar means the big police officer of this area.”

He didn’t reveal the officer’s name.

“In Kolkata, all rickshaw owners are known as Sardar.”“

Don’t you fear that the rickshaw may get stolen at night?

”No babu, nobody dares to steal the rickshaw of a police inspector. Still, for safety, we tie the rickshaw to our wooden bench with a chain.”

As we were talking, a Gujarati gentleman whom I knew arrived, negotiated the fare, and sat on Baldev’s rickshaw.

Baldev excused himself and left.I told him I would return the next day and walked back to my lodging at Gujarat Samaj.

The next night when I went again, Baldev was rubbing khaini (a type of Bihar tobacco) in his palm. After mixing it well, he placed it in his mouth and greeted me, “Aiye babu, kaise hain? Khaini khaiyega?”( welcome sir, how are you ? will you please take this khainy ?)I smiled and declined.“I’m fine. How are you?”

After some casual conversation, I continued from where we had left off.

“Do you ever get into fights or trouble at night?”

“Sometimes a drunk customer creates a scene. But nothing serious. People around here settle it. And if things go out of hand, the police come and calm it down.”

“What time do you start pulling the rickshaw in the morning?” I asked

“Usually by 7 AM we are ready. But if someone comes early, we take them even before bathing.”

“Do you have regular customers?”

“Yes babu. Bharat takes a Gujarati lady to her ‘haveli’ every morning at 7 and brings her back too. Very nice people. And I take three children to school daily.“

” any incident you still remember vividly?”

Baldev thought for a moment and said: “Yes babu… many years ago, a gentleman staying at Gujarat Samaj (the same place you are staying) hired my rickshaw. I took him to Elgin Road. On returning, I saw that he had forgotten his handbag in the rickshaw. I looked around but he was nowhere in sight.So I returned to Gujarat Samaj, parked my rickshaw outside, and waited—hoping he would come back”.

After the wait of almost two hours, a taxi stopped, and he stepped out. I rushed to him with the bag. He was shocked. Tears filled his eyes.He held my hand and said,‘ “God bless you. You saved me. This bag has my daughter’s jewellery”

Wiping his tears, he placed ₹1000 in my hand. I refused many times, but he didn’t listen.That day I remembered my own daughter… who had died young. Had she lived, it would have been the age of her marriage.For the first time in my life, I felt I had done something truly good.”saying this Baldev turned his head in another direction. I saw some tears in his eyes, but pretended not to look at him.Just then my phone rang, and I had to return to the Bhavan.Before leaving, I took Vasudev’s phone number—he was the only one with a mobile.

Two days later, when I went again, I spoke to Vasudev.He said he had five sons and one daughter.Being a joint family with agricultural land, they managed somehow.Among the three rickshaw pullers, only Vasudev had a mobile phone—and he even used WhatsApp!

While we were talking, Baldev also arrived. Since I had spoken the most with him earlier, I resumed my conversation.

“Do you earn more during any festival or season?”

“Not during Diwali or Holi festivals. But during the rainy season, yes“

How? I asked

“As you know, Kolkata’s roads easily get flooded during the monsoon seasons. People cannot travel. Everyone looks for a rickshaw then, and they pay double the fare. But we also fall sick more often due the wet weather. So income wise we don’t earn much during that season.”

part 2 will follow soon

Where were you during COVID?”

“Right here at this place”

Author– Harsukh Raivadera