Linking Road in Bandra
Linking Road has become a central location for shopping in Mumbai. Lining the street are boutiques selling cheap clothes that look like Western clothes. There is also the hip department store, Shopper’s Stop, selling brands I have never heard of but that are all the rage for Indians who want to dress like a European or American. There is also a United Colors of Benetton. The street is overflowing with people and cars.
Vicky from Jaipur and His Quest for a Box
Every day people are pouring into Mumbai from the countryside, looking for opportunity. Last week a boy asked to shine Alvin’s shoes, and Alvin started talking to the boy. The boy was named Vijay and said he was from Jaipur in Rajasthan. He said that in Jaipur he heard that he could get a good job in Mumbai because he spoke English well, but in Mumbai he couldn’t get a real job because he couldn’t afford the legal papers that would allow him to work. They cost Rs. 9000 or about $120. He said his shoe shining business would be much stronger if he had a box for people to put their feet on. A box cost Rs. 550. Alvin thought that if a box would really help him so much, Rs. 550 is only about $14. Alvin said he would meet the kid at the same spot on Tuesday at 6:30, and he would go with him to buy a box.
I went with Alvin today, Tuesday, at 6:30. Vijay wasn’t there, but there was another shoeshine boy there. I was wearing sneakers, and Alvin was wearing flip-flops. Neither of our shoes could take a shine. We were standing there on Linking Road outside McDonald’s, and this boy was insistent, probably because he thought we were interested, even though our shoes couldn’t take a shine, because we were just standing there in front of him. The boy asked if we were supposed to meet a boy there to buy a box, we were reluctant at first but started talking. This boy said that Vijay, the boy Alvin was supposed to meet to buy a box, already had a box. He had seen him at Bandra station on the suburban railroad.
The boy said his name was Vicky, and he was from Jaipur too. In Jaipur he was a tour guide for Europeans, and he had picked up a little Italian, French, and Spanish along the way. We gave him an easy Spanish and French test, and he passed. In Jaipur he had also gone to school. His English was solid. His skin was dark, probably from working out in the sun every day. He wasn’t a handsome boy. He had big, enthusiastic eyes, talked eagerly, and sort of smiled. He was dirty, but Linking Road is a dusty road. He wore shoes, flips flops actually, which puts him a little higher on the street kid hierarchy. He is 18 years old.
He rode the train from Jaipur. It’s an 18 hour trip and cost Rs. 400 or a little less than $10. He’s been here for ten months. His father stayed in Jaipur, and he drinks. Vicky lives in a slum in Borivali, a distant Mumbai suburb, in a single room with four other people. One of the people is his mom and another his sister. They came down from Jaipur with him, and they beg during the day. He said he might have to go back to Jaipur during the monsoons because Mumbai floods.
Vicky said he can make about Rs. 30 a day shining shoes. My lunch at work is usually about Rs. 45. He takes the train down from Borivali to Bandra every day, which costs about Rs. 4, or $.10. He used to work down in Colaba, which is tourist central, hawking stuff, but there were too many hawkers down there and shining shoes in Bandra was a better living. I asked if he had a passport, and he said no. I asked if he needed one to work, and he said no. He also said that getting a passport would cost Rs. 4500, half of what Vijay said it would cost. Vicky didn’t want papers though, what he wanted was a house where he could set up a business at street level. Then he could make real money.
As we were talking, he asked if we wanted to get tea. I refused, always thinking everything a scam. Standing around us were kids his age selling maps of India and the world. One kid offered me a map for one thousand dollars. He must’ve meant Rupees. Even still, that’s way too much. I bet I could bargain him down to Rs. 250. He said these hustlers on Linking Road were all his friends. These guys were all standing around watching us, probably wondering what the hell Vicky was doing talking to a Chinese guy and white guy.
He said that although Vijay already had a box and had asked Alvin to buy him one, it wasn’t a scam. That makes no sense. I liked this kid Vicky, and I want to buy him a box, but I didn’t feel particularly sorry for him. He seemed happy, and he smiled. He didn’t have a sob story. He was a few levels up on the street kid chain. He wasn’t barefoot, and he didn’t sleep on a sidewalk. I’m worried that eventually he’ll learn that a sob story will make someone more likely to buy him a box. I shook his hand and thanked him for his time and slyly slipped him about Rs. 7. I figured I had taken time he could’ve been shining someone’s shoes, so why not. And then he followed me across the street asking for a box. He said a box was only Rs. 450. “It’s only $10. That’s nothing to you.” He’s right, $10 isn’t much to me, but I told him, “Maybe I would buy you a box if Vijay hadn’t hit Alvin up last week with the exact same story. I don’t trust anyone in Bombay.” For good measure I added the lie, “I don’t even trust my own boss.” I told him I would come back and he could shine my shoes every few days, and he could save up to buy a box. I shook Vickey’s hand and said, “Bonne journée, mon ami.” He fell away after this.
But what am I so afraid of? I’m afraid he’ll learn he can lie and dupe people out of money? Or I’ll teach him that if he’s a nice, honest kid that someone will reward him. Maybe buying this nice kid this box could’ve been his big break. Maybe I’m teaching him that all people are jerks, and he should lie and cheat more, that nice, honest guys don’t get any gains. The gains only go to the cheats. Or maybe if I buy this kid this box then every kid all down Linking Road will start asking people for boxes. But is asking for a box really that bad? The worst that could happen is that he could take the box I bought him for Rs. 450 and then sell it for pure profit. But isn’t that just enterprising? I’m used to American bums who I would never ever trust because American bums are begging because they’re lazy and/or addicted to drugs and alcohol. But because Vicky’s story didn’t match with Vijay’s (difference in prices for box and passport), and because Vijay had lied to Alvin about needing a box, I couldn’t trust Vicky.
Really though, I’m fascinated by Vicky’s world, and I would take him to lunch and just probe him about his life. I would go meet his family. But I know that when you give someone who’s desperate an inch, they’ll want a mile. I’ll buy him food, and he’ll want more food. His family will want money. On the other hand, I’ve read numerous, numerous profiles like his in the press. It’s easy to find a slum kid to interview, and they all have the same story, whether in Kenya, Brazil, or Mexico; they’ve come from the countryside to make more money; they’re struggling; if they could just have this or they could just have that; their education is wasted; their father drinks. What I’m saying is that Vicky’s story isn’t special. His is just special because he spoke English well, and I could understand his story when he told it.
Vicky from Jaipur and His Quest for a Box
Every day people are pouring into Mumbai from the countryside, looking for opportunity. Last week a boy asked to shine Alvin’s shoes, and Alvin started talking to the boy. The boy was named Vijay and said he was from Jaipur in Rajasthan. He said that in Jaipur he heard that he could get a good job in Mumbai because he spoke English well, but in Mumbai he couldn’t get a real job because he couldn’t afford the legal papers that would allow him to work. They cost Rs. 9000 or about $120. He said his shoe shining business would be much stronger if he had a box for people to put their feet on. A box cost Rs. 550. Alvin thought that if a box would really help him so much, Rs. 550 is only about $14. Alvin said he would meet the kid at the same spot on Tuesday at 6:30, and he would go with him to buy a box.
I went with Alvin today, Tuesday, at 6:30. Vijay wasn’t there, but there was another shoeshine boy there. I was wearing sneakers, and Alvin was wearing flip-flops. Neither of our shoes could take a shine. We were standing there on Linking Road outside McDonald’s, and this boy was insistent, probably because he thought we were interested, even though our shoes couldn’t take a shine, because we were just standing there in front of him. The boy asked if we were supposed to meet a boy there to buy a box, we were reluctant at first but started talking. This boy said that Vijay, the boy Alvin was supposed to meet to buy a box, already had a box. He had seen him at Bandra station on the suburban railroad.
The boy said his name was Vicky, and he was from Jaipur too. In Jaipur he was a tour guide for Europeans, and he had picked up a little Italian, French, and Spanish along the way. We gave him an easy Spanish and French test, and he passed. In Jaipur he had also gone to school. His English was solid. His skin was dark, probably from working out in the sun every day. He wasn’t a handsome boy. He had big, enthusiastic eyes, talked eagerly, and sort of smiled. He was dirty, but Linking Road is a dusty road. He wore shoes, flips flops actually, which puts him a little higher on the street kid hierarchy. He is 18 years old.
He rode the train from Jaipur. It’s an 18 hour trip and cost Rs. 400 or a little less than $10. He’s been here for ten months. His father stayed in Jaipur, and he drinks. Vicky lives in a slum in Borivali, a distant Mumbai suburb, in a single room with four other people. One of the people is his mom and another his sister. They came down from Jaipur with him, and they beg during the day. He said he might have to go back to Jaipur during the monsoons because Mumbai floods.
Vicky said he can make about Rs. 30 a day shining shoes. My lunch at work is usually about Rs. 45. He takes the train down from Borivali to Bandra every day, which costs about Rs. 4, or $.10. He used to work down in Colaba, which is tourist central, hawking stuff, but there were too many hawkers down there and shining shoes in Bandra was a better living. I asked if he had a passport, and he said no. I asked if he needed one to work, and he said no. He also said that getting a passport would cost Rs. 4500, half of what Vijay said it would cost. Vicky didn’t want papers though, what he wanted was a house where he could set up a business at street level. Then he could make real money.
As we were talking, he asked if we wanted to get tea. I refused, always thinking everything a scam. Standing around us were kids his age selling maps of India and the world. One kid offered me a map for one thousand dollars. He must’ve meant Rupees. Even still, that’s way too much. I bet I could bargain him down to Rs. 250. He said these hustlers on Linking Road were all his friends. These guys were all standing around watching us, probably wondering what the hell Vicky was doing talking to a Chinese guy and white guy.
He said that although Vijay already had a box and had asked Alvin to buy him one, it wasn’t a scam. That makes no sense. I liked this kid Vicky, and I want to buy him a box, but I didn’t feel particularly sorry for him. He seemed happy, and he smiled. He didn’t have a sob story. He was a few levels up on the street kid chain. He wasn’t barefoot, and he didn’t sleep on a sidewalk. I’m worried that eventually he’ll learn that a sob story will make someone more likely to buy him a box. I shook his hand and thanked him for his time and slyly slipped him about Rs. 7. I figured I had taken time he could’ve been shining someone’s shoes, so why not. And then he followed me across the street asking for a box. He said a box was only Rs. 450. “It’s only $10. That’s nothing to you.” He’s right, $10 isn’t much to me, but I told him, “Maybe I would buy you a box if Vijay hadn’t hit Alvin up last week with the exact same story. I don’t trust anyone in Bombay.” For good measure I added the lie, “I don’t even trust my own boss.” I told him I would come back and he could shine my shoes every few days, and he could save up to buy a box. I shook Vickey’s hand and said, “Bonne journée, mon ami.” He fell away after this.
But what am I so afraid of? I’m afraid he’ll learn he can lie and dupe people out of money? Or I’ll teach him that if he’s a nice, honest kid that someone will reward him. Maybe buying this nice kid this box could’ve been his big break. Maybe I’m teaching him that all people are jerks, and he should lie and cheat more, that nice, honest guys don’t get any gains. The gains only go to the cheats. Or maybe if I buy this kid this box then every kid all down Linking Road will start asking people for boxes. But is asking for a box really that bad? The worst that could happen is that he could take the box I bought him for Rs. 450 and then sell it for pure profit. But isn’t that just enterprising? I’m used to American bums who I would never ever trust because American bums are begging because they’re lazy and/or addicted to drugs and alcohol. But because Vicky’s story didn’t match with Vijay’s (difference in prices for box and passport), and because Vijay had lied to Alvin about needing a box, I couldn’t trust Vicky.
Really though, I’m fascinated by Vicky’s world, and I would take him to lunch and just probe him about his life. I would go meet his family. But I know that when you give someone who’s desperate an inch, they’ll want a mile. I’ll buy him food, and he’ll want more food. His family will want money. On the other hand, I’ve read numerous, numerous profiles like his in the press. It’s easy to find a slum kid to interview, and they all have the same story, whether in Kenya, Brazil, or Mexico; they’ve come from the countryside to make more money; they’re struggling; if they could just have this or they could just have that; their education is wasted; their father drinks. What I’m saying is that Vicky’s story isn’t special. His is just special because he spoke English well, and I could understand his story when he told it.
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