Twice everyday a haunting melody is heard from the street below.. It is the flute and toy vendor who peddles his ware in our rather upmarket colony. Street vendors still  ply across the city  though much less than some decades ago. The flute vendor in our street has a cycle where his flutes and toys are displayed as you can see in the picture above. There are so many things that he cannot ride his cycle but has to push it the whole day.

The tune he plays is soul stirring. I often wonder how many flutes he sells in a day and actually who buys flutes in this day and age.

Before I started Project Why and crossed the invisible line that exists between us and them, street vendors were anonymous and invisible, their lives a far cry from mine. It is only when I began my work in the slums and came across daily wage workers be they selling vegetables or flutes, that I came to know about their lives and  their struggle. I remember, in the very early days of Project Why, wondering why the woman next door sat woefully every evening staring at the road. When I enquired about this, I was told that her husband was a vegetable vendor and she waited for him to come back and give her money to purchase what was needed for the family’s dinner. Depending on what he gave, the family would eat a good meal or a frugal one.

Whenever I hear my flute vendor’s tune, I wonder whether his family would eat or not. How many flutes or poor quality plastic toys do you sell in. a colony like ours where people would go to Hamley’s to purchase toys, It’s a matter of prestige. And with the total disappearance of servant quarters where families could be lodged together and there maybe some child needing a cheap toy. But today the erstwhile servant quarters have been spruced up transformed into rentable spaces. All about money, honey! When I rebuilt my house I insisted to the horror of my contractor that I wanted servants quarters to be a space where I could live too. Sadly in today’s day and age servant quarters in all upcoming builders flats are either so tiny that they barely fit a bed for one, or some flimsy structure in the parking lot replete with toxic fumes and scant privacy.

One forgets that those who work for us within our homes or sell vegetables at your doorstep are persons just like us with dreams and hope for a better life for their children. As I am now aware of their struggle, these vendors who for  long time remained invisible have become part of my life and yes I buy the occasional flute or toy.

I still am the little 3 year old whose granny organised a bear dance for her but who only saw the man in a threadbare coat asking for something warm. Even then I did not give up and wailed till the man was founded given a coat.

People write off such souls not realising that they make our life easier each and everyday.

So next time, if you hear a  haunting tune on a flute, stop and acknowledge that the person exists.