Skilled Labour
The Boon and The Curse of India
My story involves precise cutting of a pineapple — free of cost. But I need to give some context before I get to the story.
It’s been about 9 years since I left Mumbai to pursue my Bachelor’s in Science from the US. I was only 20 years old and had no idea about the profound impact that single decision would have on my life.
Now that I am 29 and a bit more mature (I hope), I can see the difference between myself and others (who haven’t had the same opportunity) very clearly.
Going away from the chaos of India, especially from the chaos of Mumbai, has been conducive to my personal and professional growth, I have to say. In fact, it has become such that I have essentially become a tourist in my own country. Familiar streets have started to become nothing but a memory and the way of life in India, even in my own home has started to feel ‘different’ than the way of life in Europe. (I live in Ireland now.)
However, my heart still resides here. I am deeply in love with my country and my people and it is this love which pulls me to my country at least once (sometimes twice) a year.
And the phenomenon which hits me instantly as soon as I land in India is the phenomenon of convenience. Something which is either entirely lacking in the west, or is very expensive.
Of course, the singular reason for this availability of convenience is the population, which gives rise to an extremely robust labour market.
But calling it a ‘labour’ market would be a half-truth.
In reality, most of India’s labour is highly skilled in at least one vocation. ‘Skilled Labour Market’ or a ‘Skill-Market’ hence would be a more accurate term.
If I had to summarise this in a statement then I would say that someone who is a labourer in India would be an artisan in Europe or the US. (The West.) There would be an exponential increase in the quality of the product (owing to an access to better materials), social-status and from the individual’s perspective, higher self-confidence to meander in the society.
I add the latter because it must be understood, especially if someone from outside India is reading this, that we Indians neither value the labour (the work), nor the labourer. This is not because we do not value good things, but rather because the availability and spread of skilled labour is extremely granular.
Indian streets are riddled with skilled labour and in simple economic terms: Higher the resource, lesser the value.
It is hence that Indians do not value the gold which they pass by every-day of their lives.
Let’s get to the pineapple.
Look at this beauty!
I bought this from a roadside seller who was selling fruits and other vegetables.
On a humble roadside stall, he had neatly arranged the fruits on the left and vegetables on the right.
There was an allure to the stall. The produce, set freely on a wooden stand, not packaged in plastic, seemed to call me towards it.
I realised in that quick moment of contemplation that I rarely get to see this visual. Free produce with an actual face behind it. A personality which understands what it is selling.
In an attempt to celebrate my liberation from the supermarket, I walked towards the stall and asked the old man, “How much for the pineapple?”
He was sitting down, hunched on a stool. Carefully and neatly, he was placing the stars of the pre-cut pineapple into a plastic bag and then sealing it.
He did not answer right away. Once he was done placing the last piece inside the plastic, he looked up. Adjusting his spectacles he replied, “120 rupees for one.” (1.35$)
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Maybe he thought I was contemplating the purchase.
“If you want I can cut one and give it to you.”, he added, trying to secure the sale.
I nodded at the offer and immediately he began to cut the pineapple for me.
I watched patiently as the seasoned man began the process of de-skinning and then taking off the dots which are visible beneath the thorny and rough skin.
Now this wasn’t my first time looking at this, but my distance from such expertise was making me value it more than I had done before.
And as I observed him process the pineapple with ultimate skill, I felt an elevation of pride in the skill of my people and a pang of disappointment in the fact that such skill is not valued in my country.
A couple minutes passed and the pineapple was ready for me to take home.
He cleaned his knife with a checkered cloth, and put the fruit in a plastic bag.
As he gave it to me, I asked him, “Kitna hua?” (how much?) expecting an increase in the total amount.
Without missing a beat he responded, “120”.
As a consumer I was happy. Happy because I got this amazing service for free. But as an Indian, as a patriot I was disappointed, because the seller doesn’t even know the value-add of this skilled labour. The service that he’s provided to probably millions of customers over an immense career.
With mixed feelings, I reached out into my wallet. A single note of 100, and another of 50 stared at me. I took them out and gave it to the old man.
“Keep the change.”, I said, falsely convincing myself that an extra 30 Rupees (30 cents) would justify his skilled work.
I took a deep breath, accepting the reality of India. Accepting that this labour, at least for the next few years will never receive a remuneration that they truly deserve. Accepting that what India values are brands, and not the people.
I walked past the stall and hung the plastic bag on the handle of my scooter. Twisting the key to the right and pressing the start button on my Activa, I rode into the by-lanes of Dadar which took me to Mahim, my new home, where I enjoyed the pineapple at a price and its aesthetic for free.
If this was the West — first of all, there wouldn’t be such expertise freely available on the streets. I wouldn’t find a pineapple of 1.35$ and if I did, the cost of manual processing would at least be 10$. At least.
The same seller would have a brand, and his USP would be that he expertly cuts the pineapple without any machines. Add to that packaging costs and the rent for his brick and mortar store and the total amount for the same experience would be 10x of that in Mumbai.
Also, I must add that I got this in Mumbai, one of the most expensive cities in India. If you go into the interiors of the country, the price would be different as well.
My point is that the West does not only want automation, but also needs it, owing to the fact that its peoples deeply lack the skill which this, and millions others like this man possess.
Hence, automation can be a wave of the future in the west, but in India, it’ll take time for anything automated to penetrate the streets because India is not a country which is dependent on tools. It has been, is, and will, continue to thrive without machinery for years to come, bringing the boon of skilled service to the consumer, and the curse of 0 valuation of that skill to the labourer.
