<b>Geetanjali Krishna:</b> A tale of two migrants

Arrey bhaiya, is that really you?" I heard, before I saw the plumber and the electrician locked in a tight embrace in my living room. It turned out that the two supposedly unconnected maintenance men I'd hired were childhood friends, reuniting after 20 years. "Just imagine," said the plumber Satish Jha, "we went to the same school!" His long-lost friend Ram Singh added, "Moreover, since we were perhaps destined to not work in the fields, we even went to the same vocational training class in our village in Bihar! That's where I learnt electrical work, and you, plumbing." As they exchanged notes, it transpired that they had both migrated to Delhi in their early 20s. Both had relatives in the capital to help them find work. And both lived within striking distance of one another in Sangam Vihar. "It was the natural choice for us as most people from back home stay there," said Jha. "I decided to stay there, as my cousins lived there and I thought my wife would adapt better among her own people," explained Singh.

As I heard their conversation unfold, I was piqued by the similarities of their lives. The two men went about their work, reminiscing the way people are wont to do when they meet after a long time. They asked each other about common friends and I was not surprised when they both realised there were other boys from their vocational training class who'd also migrated to Delhi and were pursuing similar vocations. Some even stayed in the same vicinity as them. There seemed to be a strange herd-like mentality at work here, I surmised, and I asked them if they'd never thought of doing anything else, or making different life choices.

"Migration is a tough process," said the plumber. "I had nothing when I moved to Delhi; in fact, that I had nothing was the reason I moved here. When my uncle, a construction contractor here, said he could get me assignments, it was the easiest course of action for me." The electrician said he chose to live in Sangam Vihar for the sheer comfort of being among known faces in an unknown terrain. "Delhi is so different from my village," he said. "I thought if I stayed in a neighbourhood where there were others like me, it would be easier." The more the two men spoke about the different reasons for their similar choices, the more I realised that perhaps the city was brimming with people like Jha and Singh.

As one unclogged the drain and the other repaired some faulty wiring in the kitchen, their conversation veered to their children. I wasn't quite surprised to learn that both had sons who were pursuing undergraduate degrees through correspondence and were taking English speaking courses on the side. "Our neighbour's son got a good job in McDonald's after doing this," said the electrician by way of explanation. The plumber said his brother's son, a call centre executive, had told them that speaking good English was as important as having a college degree. Both were confident that with education, their children would make much better lives for themselves than they had.

By then, the two had completed their day's work. "Look at us, two high school dropouts from a village in Bihar - but maybe our sons will wear shirts and ties and go to work in Gurgaon's posh call centres," said Singh pocketing his money. I wouldn't be surprised if his prophesy came true, for these two migrants have shown me that often in life, the more things change, the more they tend to remain the same.