This dusty afternoon, Shiv Kumar, a rickshaw puller, is waiting for customers outside a bus stand in Ballabgarh, Faridabad, in the National Capital Region.
He graciously agrees to take part in our Proust Questionnaire series, in which citizens are nudged to make “Parisian parlour confessions”, all to explore our distinct experiences.
Your main fault? I have never done anything wrong. Not in my Bihar. Not here in Ballabgarh. Bhaisaheb (elder brother) was already working here as a rickshaw puller. Once, bhaisaheb’s wife was visiting us in our village for a few days. I was then a school student. When she was leaving back for Ballabgarh, bhabhi asked me to accompany her to the railway station to help her board the train with all her bags. At the station, she suddenly bought me a ticket too, and I went along with her. At first, I lived with bhaisaheb. He got me my first job in a salt factory, where I would crush pieces of salt into powder in a chakki. Then I became a door-to-door hawker of salt bottles. Then I worked in a brick kiln. After that, I returned to the village, where my father was ill. I looked after him for two years. On returning to Ballabgarh, I worked in a cardboard factory, but it shut down some years later after problems with the labour union. I found work in a cable-making factory. Finally, I bought this rickshaw some six years ago. Your favorite names? Soni and Shalu. My daughters’ names. Soni lives with her husband in Bihar. Shalu is a college student.
I’m 55, and have spent most of my life here with imandari (honesty). My life in Ballabgarh started when I was around 12. Then he insisted I go back to the big city so that I could build my life, like the rest of my brothers.
