From rags to riches

It used to be newspapers, bottles and cans and plastic ware. Today they deal in old computers, home theatres and Persian carpets.

Kareena N Gianani reports on the transformation of the neighbourhood raddiwala

When Ajay Parmar first walked into his father’s raddi shop four years ago, the sight of newspapers stacked in every corner didn’t exactly set his pulses racing. The idea of weighing and selling them by the kilo to a quibbling customer did even less. “I didn’t want to be just another raddiwala,” says the nineteen-year-old, running his hands through his gelled coiffeur (his attire is inspired by a recent Bollywood flick). He relates how his father spent his life working as a pheriwala around Colaba and Marine Lines, a life he didn’t see for himself. Parmar chose to upgrade and upgrade his raddi — he began dealing in old computers, video cameras, watches, washing machines, laptops and even home theatre systems. He spread the word around in the neighbourhood that he was open to buying used electronics. And he got a huge response, thanks to the trend of Mumbaikars upgrading to the latest gadgets in the market and discarding their old stuff. “There was a lot of potential for my kind of business in the elite areas of Mumbai — I just tapped the existing market,” he says.

It’s evident Parmar is savvier than his predecessors. Minutes into the conversation, he enquires about the advertising rates of this newspaper and jots down contact details. “I place advertisements in English newspapers and have a regular network of vendors who insert my flyers in the newspapers circulated here. It brings in good business  —  almost 60 per cent of my profit comes from dealing in electronics.” He takes out a fluorescent green flyer, complete with contact details and a line or two about getting a good deal on silverware and old Persian carpets, too. Parmar sells electronics to Sony World in Mumbai and to regular dealers from Maharashtra and Jodhpur who find many takers for his second-hand goods in small villages and towns.

Parmar isn’t the only one. There are many like him  who are unlike your typical neighbourhood raddiwala who used to spend decades toiling amidst newspapers, weighing scales, glass bottles and plastic files. Today’s raddiwalas are  busy striking deals with big companies, small towners and even with the loyal neighbourhood customer who cannot afford a brand new computer.

A glance at Ramesh Jain’s shop in Prabhadevi tells the story of the changing face of Mumbai’s new-age junkyard guys. Computer monitors and printers are stacked on top of each other, CPUs serve as tea stands and printer cartridges are shoved into stray gaps. High up on the shelves that almost touch the ceiling are old models of radios and transistors — some dismantled with wires coiled tightly around them. One can also spot a few newspaper bundles. Jain says that they now constitute only 30 per cent of his business. And he doesn’t take old scraps of metal or glass bottles any more. “What’s the profit?” he asks with a wave of his hand. Jain says he has always been fascinated by electronic goods. “Disbanding and assembling radios was my childhood hobby and I turned it into a business soon after I joined my uncle 20 years ago. People didn’t associate a raddiwala with electronics back then, but I was confident that I would get clients for my goods.” And he did. People flocked to his raddiwala shop to buy second-hand radios and transistors. And students were thrilled to get PCs assembled by Jain for throwaway prices. “The profession might have seemed mundane but it never meant that there was no possibility of branching out,” sums up Jain.

Despite the upgrade, many raddiwalas insist that they would rather not pass on this legacy to their children. Mushtaq Batliwala, who runs AG Batliwala & Sons at Colaba with his father and brother, is glad his sons are educated and will not choose this profession. Though Batliwala has a loyal clientele (one client who shifted to Andheri still comes to him to drop old newspapers), he says it’s not worth the effort. “Who would want their children to be ‘labourers’ in this day and age?” Batliwala has fond memories of coming to his 53-year-old shop and devouring the pile of books and newspapers, which, perhaps, explains his good English diction. He looks across at his 78-year-old father who is taking an order over the telephone and says, “I didn’t have a choice back then. But my children do. I fought prejudice too — I was the only Muslim raddiwala in this area. I’d rather see my children exploring better avenues.”

Many raddiwalas say that new junkyard shops are springing up in neighbourhoods at the speed of light, most of them belonging to migrants from Kutch. And not all choose to venture into electronics — they stick to the good, old newspapers. Kirti Patel, seated in her shop at Churchgate, is happy being a chip off the old block. This 25-year-old took over from her father eight years ago and says she is content selling and buying newspapers. “My father was sceptical about branching out to electronics. And since I am one of the few women raddiwalas, I have my own constrains — I don’t know much about technology or how to strike profits with dealers,” she explains. An acquaintance nearby overhears her and says, “So, will this be your chosen path ahead?” Patel giggles and shoots back, “Of course. I plan to spend all my life amidst this raddi.”
g_kareena@dnaindia.net