But in the relentless search by the media and the populace for a larger than life example, I wonder if we sometimes miss out the men who show equal acumen and determination — albeit in a less spectacular manner.
In Kolkotta I saw one such person two months ago. A 10 minute walk away from my friend’s house, where we were staying, was an ostensible tea stall. Posh cars with darkened windows (a sure sign of the rich and the powerful) pulled up close to it, knots of office-goers gathered on both sides of the street, and bicyclists tethered their vehicles to posts. No one talked. Everyone seemed intent on chewing and slurping, emitting satisfied grunts.
The stall was a makeshift one, about six feet wide and deep and 10 feet high, partitioned to make two working levels. The proprietor — a round faced gentleman talking, ordering, instructing and greeting his customers — sat in the upper part. This level was where the tea was made, Although not a tea drinker, I was told that it was something “to die for”. Piping hot, strong and milky with cardamom and saffron on request, tea is served in clay cups. He does not serve any other brew.
He also serves mouth watering snacks in biodegradable bowls made of processed leaves. He makes kachoris, samosas, club or small kachoris and puris — small and big — with potato sabji.
Below the partition are huddled two or three young men, engaged in making snacks with harmony and economy of movement. There were two woks (I shudder to think of fire hazards, but I understand that there has been no accident so far) with bubbling oil. Other youngsters were rolling puris of different sizes and cutting the dough for samosas, filling them, tamping them and laying them in neat geometric patterns. They concentrated on their work to the exclusion of all else. Near the structure, a man sat frying golden jalebis. A delicious combination with hot and spicy tea.
And who was this owner? A Bihari immigrant who came as a small boy to look for the city, where he could make his fortune. He was given his chances by a Good Samaritan (was that why he was playing that same role to these young boys?) and who made it.
According to my friend, who made a rough calculation, he would be making almost a lakh of rupees a month on his tea alone. His overheads are small, his quality is not compromised. He has found a foothold in the city and proved himself, by dint of grit and industry. His dreams have been realised and his children will go to school — and who knows, may become the Ambanis of the next generation. Of such stuff are dreams made.
