<p>May in Bangalore is a nostalgic reminder of carefree summer holidays spent playing in the scorching sun, savouring the first showers with ice chips, and marvelling at the glorious Gulmohars, or May flowers, in Cubbon Park and along roads like Mosque Road and Vanivilas Road. In the 1950s and 1960s, many households had a family member working in public sector giants like HAL, ITI, HMT, BEL, and BEML, making May 1 a familiar holiday, akin to Deepavali, Christmas, or Ramzan.</p>.<p>As I grew older, I came to understand the significance of Labour Day, which commemorates the struggles of the working class. While we shall not go into the details of the Russian Revolution, when the labour overthrew the ruling class, and subsequently the same labour overthrew their own self-appointed political leaders, one thing became clear: that the inherited wealth cannot ill-treat the working class. This was repeated in several parts of the world, like the upsurge of the Labour Party in England and back home in India too.</p>.<p>The message was simple. The hard-working men and women need recreation and rest besides fair wages for the eight-hour day. May Day is in recognition of this basic respect for fellow humans.</p>.<p>Having spent a major portion of life rubbing shoulders with workmen, I have always felt that their demands were largely just and fair. However, many of my contemporaries saw strikes as a disruption to corporate operations, as huge companies were brought to a grinding halt by striking workmen. The inequality was stark, leaving workers with little alternative.</p>.<p>However, as people, they had a soft heart. I recall a personal experience where a unit leader discreetly escorted me home to avoid a gherao. How can he be otherwise, as he had known me for decades? The leader showcased the human side of our relationship. Yet, when I reflect on our treatment of workers, I wonder if it was fair.</p>.<p>I doubt it. My heart bleeds when I see sanitary workers still risking their lives in manholes, succumbing to suffocation and gas fires. Reminds me of Mulk Raj Anand’s famous work, Untouchable, wherein Bakha asks his father when there would be relief from toilet cleaning. The onset of technology, like the flush in this case, has reduced the drudgery of human labour in some cases.</p>.<p>In my own line of work of metal casting, humans continue to suffer exposure to extreme heat and dust despite technological advancements. Lives have been lost. While we can wrestle out statutory responsibilities, the conscience is unforgiving.</p>.<p>May Day serves as a poignant reminder of our duty towards those with lesser power and privilege. As we celebrate the beauty of Gulmohar flowers, let us strive to do better and acknowledge our responsibilities towards those who toil behind the scenes.</p>.<p>Let the Gulmohar remind us to do better.</p>
<p>May in Bangalore is a nostalgic reminder of carefree summer holidays spent playing in the scorching sun, savouring the first showers with ice chips, and marvelling at the glorious Gulmohars, or May flowers, in Cubbon Park and along roads like Mosque Road and Vanivilas Road. In the 1950s and 1960s, many households had a family member working in public sector giants like HAL, ITI, HMT, BEL, and BEML, making May 1 a familiar holiday, akin to Deepavali, Christmas, or Ramzan.</p>.<p>As I grew older, I came to understand the significance of Labour Day, which commemorates the struggles of the working class. While we shall not go into the details of the Russian Revolution, when the labour overthrew the ruling class, and subsequently the same labour overthrew their own self-appointed political leaders, one thing became clear: that the inherited wealth cannot ill-treat the working class. This was repeated in several parts of the world, like the upsurge of the Labour Party in England and back home in India too.</p>.<p>The message was simple. The hard-working men and women need recreation and rest besides fair wages for the eight-hour day. May Day is in recognition of this basic respect for fellow humans.</p>.<p>Having spent a major portion of life rubbing shoulders with workmen, I have always felt that their demands were largely just and fair. However, many of my contemporaries saw strikes as a disruption to corporate operations, as huge companies were brought to a grinding halt by striking workmen. The inequality was stark, leaving workers with little alternative.</p>.<p>However, as people, they had a soft heart. I recall a personal experience where a unit leader discreetly escorted me home to avoid a gherao. How can he be otherwise, as he had known me for decades? The leader showcased the human side of our relationship. Yet, when I reflect on our treatment of workers, I wonder if it was fair.</p>.<p>I doubt it. My heart bleeds when I see sanitary workers still risking their lives in manholes, succumbing to suffocation and gas fires. Reminds me of Mulk Raj Anand’s famous work, Untouchable, wherein Bakha asks his father when there would be relief from toilet cleaning. The onset of technology, like the flush in this case, has reduced the drudgery of human labour in some cases.</p>.<p>In my own line of work of metal casting, humans continue to suffer exposure to extreme heat and dust despite technological advancements. Lives have been lost. While we can wrestle out statutory responsibilities, the conscience is unforgiving.</p>.<p>May Day serves as a poignant reminder of our duty towards those with lesser power and privilege. As we celebrate the beauty of Gulmohar flowers, let us strive to do better and acknowledge our responsibilities towards those who toil behind the scenes.</p>.<p>Let the Gulmohar remind us to do better.</p>
