<b>Geetanjali Krishna:</b> On strike against bandhs

Last week I was in an auto, when its driver, a garrulous fellow with interesting political opinion, asked me what I thought of the Bharat Bandh called by trade unions on September 2. Some of the demands, I said, were valid, like the raising of the minimum wage for the unorganised sector and opposing the proposal to take companies with a workforce of under 40 out of the purview of labour laws. "But what do you think of bandhs, strikes, as a form of protest," he persisted. It was a fraught topic, because while on the one hand they were an effective pressure tool, they also crippled everyday life. The driver said this particular bandh, the first time he had participated in any such protest, made him realise that the only people it inconvenienced were people like him - who were, strangely enough, also the ones on strike. I asked him why he felt that way.

"By sitting at home that day, I lost business worth at least Rs 5,000. Which trade union is going to compensate me for that? In comparison, in all offices, it was business as usual," he said. "Also, people like you have cars. So you don't care if buses or autos don't run on the roads. But such strikes are very hard for people like us who depend on public transport." He told me what had happened to his son Babloo that day. Babloo studies in class XI in a government school in Lajpat Nagar. "Every day, he gets a direct bus to school from near our house in Madan Gir," he said. On the day of the bandh, he insisted on going to school as he had a test. Fortunately, the bus he habitually took, came that morning. In the afternoon, when Babloo had to return home, it was a different story.

"He waited at the bus stop for over an hour, but no bus came," he recounted. "There were only cars on the road; no autos or buses were available." Eventually, the boy ended up walking five-odd kilometres with his heavy school-bag to reach home. "Some students, who lived farther away, had to walk eight, even 10 kilometres that day," he said. Babloo eventually reached his house two hours late, and his parents were frantic. The boy said later that while he was walking home, there were many students like him on the pavements, while privileged students whizzed past in their cars. "That day, I realised that wealth insulates people from a lot of things, strikes included," said the driver. "In contrast, people like us, who struggle to survive every day, bear the brunt."

That evening, the driver said, after he heard his son's story, he decided he would never join a strike again. "Anyway, I don't think it matters in the larger scheme of things if I join a public bandh or not. Just like it doesn't matter in the larger scheme of things if my Babloo has to walk six kilometres because of a strike," he said as we reached our destination. "Whether or not I participate in a public protest will have as much bearing on its outcome as will my single vote, on the fate of a political party."

As I was paying the fare, I felt I just had to say it. A little inconvenience could not be a viable excuse for apathy, could it? Of course his vote mattered. His participation in the nation's politics and society mattered as well. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't," he shrugged. "All I know is that I'm struggling to do the best I can for myself and my son - and nothing else is important."