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An abridged life in Mumbai

P.Devarajan

A MONTH ago, Raji went to Ramesh Sau to invite him for her marriage in Ernakulam. Ramesh wished her the best and offered a free copy of Catherine Frank's biography on Indira Gandhi. He packed it neatly in an old newspaper while Raji stood still overtaken by the gesture.

"This book is not easily available and many of my customers have placed orders,'' informed Ramesh as he moved over to tend a fresh client.

One was there some two years ago when he set shop on the footpath near our office early in the morning before the office crowds came marching down the roads. On the wall he placed a framed picture of Goddess Kali with a small prayer before neatly arrangi ng a pack of old books on wooden planks. One knew Ramesh had to be a Bengali from either West Bengal or Bangladesh as Goddess Kali is their favourite deity. To test out my guess, one opened a conversation in Bengali which went off well for about five min utes and at the end of it one picked up an old Wodehouse favourite from the stand: Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit.

Many of us in the office are on good terms with Ramesh Sau, with some deals being struck on credit.

Sau and his bookstall have been missing over the last 10 days, with the police and municipal officials doing a clean-up ahead of Diwali. The men and women who make life interesting at Churchgate had packed up and one thought it was the end. But they have come back and Ramesh is at his familiar station with an abridged bookstall.

"The police have warned me against spreading out my books on the footpath. I have been allotted a 2x2 feet space and have to make do with it,'' he said smoking his favourite Wills Flake.

The 24-year old fellow travels 60 km each way daily from Ulhasnagar to VT on the Central Railway and then walks 20 minutes to his kiosk at Churchgate and back. For Ramesh, the day starts at around 7 in the morning and ends at one in the night with a brea k on Sunday. "One has to live,'' admits Ramesh sipping a cup of tea at Vihar hotel.

Ramesh hails from Santi Niketan in West Bengal where his parents and four brothers run a small hotel. Father is old and today, the eldest brother, Kartik Sau, runs the show. "Now Santi Niketan has become a tourist spot and the hotel gets some business,'' he admits.

Quitting school after passing class 7, Ramesh started the long trek to Mumbai in 1993 where one of his distant relatives was working at the Churchgate petrol pump. The relative now has a bookstall close to that of Ramesh and it was here Ramesh Sau learnt the book trade. "We visit ruddiwalas and libraries to buy books at prices ranging between Rs 10 and Rs 40. We know what the customer wants and price our sales at rates which are about 50 per cent lower than the cover price of a new book at a regular boo k stall. It is still cheap for any book lover and yet they bargain hard,'' Ramesh explains.

He is not into reading, admitting in Bengali, ``boi bhalo laage na (I do not like books). And anyway, I cannot read English books as I studied in Bengali.''

The peak season for book purchases is October to February, when daily sales move up to over Rs 400 a day as against about Rs 200 a day otherwise. After paying haftas to police and municipal authorities and taking out food expenses, the man makes about Rs 100 per day if the day is good. He has no bank account, being unsure of getting guarantors to open accounts in any nationalised bank nor is he ever hopeful of getting bank funds to climb the business scale as he is not bankable.

Even after chatting with Ramesh for 30 minutes at Vihar, one could not get at the essential Bengali in Ramesh. As we thought of quitting, one dropped a query about his hobbies and Ramesh became the Bengali one is familiar with. Switching to his native, h e said: "Ami films dekhi (I see films). I have seen Gaddar 10 times, Lagaan twice and Chandni Bar once. Gaddar is the best film of the year while Chandni Bar is realistic. It is just superb. I also see hit English films.''

The tea session was over. As we stepped out he confessed, "There is no fun living in Mumbai (Aanando nai). Mumbai chedde chale jabo (I will leave Mumbai).'' That's what everyone who comes to Mumbai says.