Paanch Matlab Chota Coke aur Inclusive Growth!

Nobody noticed him when he shuffled upto the counter and ordered his regular drink. Looking uneasily around him, the man tried to search for familiar faces in the crowded, poorly lit bar. He found many. Saroja (the buxom maid) saw him looking at her and quickly turned her face away. Shankar (the carpenter) was slumped across the bar counter. Srinu (the mason) was sitting at one of the far tables looking absently at his now empty bottle of arrack. Another motley group of labourers from a nearbly construction site were talking loudly among themselves. It was a regular bawdy, boisterous night at ‘Golden Peacock Bar’. The stench of liquor hung heavily in the air.

Ramaswamy sniffed the air with relish.

Golden Peacock, one of the most prominent landmarks in South Bhimavaram, was his second home. Town 2 (as South Bhimavaram is more popularly known among the locals) is a mandal in the West Godavari District in the state of Andhra Pradesh and is the district with the highest per capita income in the state. Statistics aside, the town, like most others in India, has a large segment of the population living below the poverty line. The town is a quiet one though. People keep to themselves. Ramaswamy looked around the room once again at his colleagues. Tonight, as all other nights, would remain a blur in their collective memory. Tomorrow, as all other days, would see all of them behaving like long lost friends. Endless bonhomie and back slapping before the rigours of the day began. They worked together at the construction site of the new Pepsi Bottling Plant.

Flicking away a startled-looking grasshopper from the mouth of the bottle, Ramaswamy took a large swig. He rubbed his throat gingerly as the arrack flowed down his gullet. He smacked his lips and looked fondly at the bottle. The taste was somewhere ‘between rum and whiskey’. It suited him well. By the time he took the last swig, he felt fatigue drain away completely from his body. It was as if a faith healer had run her hands all over his body. When Srinu (the mason) stumbled his way out of the bar, his last memory of that night was that smile. Ramswamy’s lips were curved into a placid smile. It lit up his face. Not unlike the young crescent moon outside that lit up the night sky.

* * * * * * * * *

The sour taste of the arrack lingered in his mouth. Ramaswamy walked with a limp. As he shifted weighted from one foot to the other, the clink of the bottles under his shirt reminded him strongly of his home. His daughters would be waiting for him. He checked, for the second time that night, if the bottles were safe. He had wanted three bottles but the Site Manager had given him only two. The third, he suspected, had been filched by the very buxom Saroja who had been making sheep eyes at the Site Manager for the entire week. Ramaswamy did not like this drink but his daughters loved it. It was unfortunate though, thought Ramaswamy, that the Pepsi turned warm by the time he reached home. None of his three daughter’s minded that though. Ramaswamy had only once purchased Pepsi by himself for his daughters.

That was in the summer of 2003. At Rs 5 a bottle, he could afford it. Six years on, he now got these bottles as perks. As he trudged along the narrow alley leading to his shack, he could not help but think that some things in this world were definitely out of his reach. Would he really be able to own them in his lifetime? Was it right for him to aspire for them? The 46 year old mason sighed and leaned heavily against a lamppost. He had been working for the last 25 years. How much had he saved? Not too much. But, not too less either. A shade under a couple of lakhs, maybe. That’s not too bad, he told himself. He summed up his material possessions. A cracked up colour television. A pocket transistor. A moped (he called it a luna and used it only when he took his wife, Balamani, to the temple). That’s not too bad a list either, he thought. Fishing inside the pockets of his trouser, he bought out a newspaper clipping that was frayed at the edges. He examined it closely once again, as he had done for the past several months. With trembling fingers, Ramaswamy traced the outline of the tiny car shown in the clipping. His heart skipped a beat when he looked at the price tag. A new world was still possible. That night, Ramaswamy looked up at the young crescent moon for a long time.


On Jul 17, 2009, Ratan Tata handed over the keys of the first Tata Nano, the world’s cheapest car, to Ashok Raghunath Vichare of Mumbai who paid just INR 100,000 for the car.

© All rights reserved with Avinash Menon