Today I happened to visit a Tyre factory for some official
work. It is the month of September here and the rainfall this year has been
more than generous. An arduous 45 kilometer journey to work is no endearing
feeling every morning. Road traffic and potholes test your patience to the
core. So it is one of those very cloudy, drizzly and windy days. The area I was
going to visit is an industrial hub with many small, medium and large scale
units. Most of the population comprises migrant laborers from different parts
of the country.
I hired an auto to reach my destination. As I stepped out of
the auto a gigantic iron gate stood tall, one similar to the gate of a prison.
After Id’ing myself to the gate keeper, I entered the factory. As I set my foot
inside the gate, I was immediately teleported to one of those Hollywood movies
about prisons, concentration camps or punishment cells. The towering walls, the
dark surroundings, the greasy and weary faces, the reek of rubber, it all
painted a very gloomy picture. There was something very depressing about the
place.
As I kept walking inside after signing the visitor’s
register, guided by a guard from the Northern part of India, many thoughts
crossed my mind. The place was filled with hounding sounds of machines, stench
of chemicals and black fluid spilled all over the floor. I entered the HR
person's cabin and was asked to wait for him. I sat there,
absorbing my surroundings. I thought “how can someone wake up and walk into a
place like this, every day? What on earth could have possibly forced them to
travel all the way, away from home and family to a gloomy dungeon like this
one?” Then I realized, these people are not here out of their choices, they are
here to make a living. I realized the subtle difference between, just making a
living and making money. Maybe I have undermined the phrase “making a living”
in the previous sentence. Making a living is not as easy. Unlike some of us
with swanky, air-conditioned and well-furnished work places, others have to be
content with dreary ones, places which can suck the energy out of their lives
and reduce them to mere robots. And here we are, complaining about long drives
to work, bad bosses, bad roads, mean colleagues and the list is endless.
As I walked out of the cabin after meeting the official, I
requested if I can click a few photographs, which was politely declined. While
walking out, I managed to steal a few clicks from whatever angles I could. I
crossed the exit gate, with a feeling of victory for getting the clicks, a
sense of relief for having my job and my life, and a sense of wretchedness for
the workers of the factory.
PS: Scenes from a couple of Hollywood movies that flashed
through my mind are: The Shawshank Redemption and Life is Beautiful.
