Column

The India growth story, as the pink papers like to call it, is not merely about economic growth. The various numbers and statistics that are bandied about — 9 per cent growth, rising per capita income — are only windows to a much larger revolution, that is taking place across the country. It is a story of social change, of altered aspirations and of major shifts in attitude.

All the markers of these changes are familiar to us — the demographic dividend, the growing population of the new rich, the housing boom and the runaway consumerism that is defying every attempt by the RBI to cool down the economy.We also read daily about the mega investments coming in to India and how this is going to create thousands of jobs.

But much of all this is at a macro level. How does it translate at the grassroots, in our daily lives? Yes, incomes have risen, but that works only for the organised sector. What about those who are outside the universe of the securely employed? Have their lives changed and will this wave of rising income and prosperity carry them forward too?

I will not get into an argument about the benefits or otherwise of economic reforms, but it is difficult not to miss profound social changes that seem to be taking place at least where the urban poor are concerned. True, a lower middle-class family in Mumbai earns much more than its counterpart in a village, but then the cost of living is that much higher. What the former has in abundance is opportunity and exposure to a wider world; this impacts upon its hopes and ambitions.

Take the case of our domestic. She came into our lives when we moved into a new apartment. As every Mumbai housewife, especially a working one, knows, good maids are worth their weight in gold. This one was a walk-in, because she had worked in the previous tenant’s home and assumed we would take her too. We welcomed her, but with trepidation. Apart from being a scarce species, maids are also temperamental and unreliable (another housewife crib) but have to be tolerated.

Our worst fears were confirmed when, after successfully negotiating a salary much higher than what we had in mind, she read out a list of do’s and don’ts to us — a weekly off, seven days vacation during the Ganpati festival, a bonus at Diwali. And then, to round it off, she said: “One more thing — you cannot call me ‘bai’; you must address me by my first name.”

This was an interesting one. Bai is the generic name used by Mumbaiwallahs for all their maids but clearly she thought it demeaned her. In a strange way, her conditionality appealed to our politically correct, liberal ways, though her assertiveness was a bit intimidating.

One Sunday, after finishing her work, she asked whether she could discuss something. We were alarmed — was she asking for a raise? Leave? Or horrors, the morbid fear of most middle-class people — a loan.

She wanted none of the above. It turned out that her daughter had just finished her higher secondary exam and was looking for a job. Could we help? I had seen the daughter around when she came to assist her mother. Wasn’t she already working, I asked. Yes, she was, but that was temporary.

What she really wanted to do was to get a proper job. The elder one had trained to be a nurse and had joined a nursing home; the younger was interested in a call centre job. Surely I knew someone influential in the business. I didn’t, but promised I would ask around.

Some days later I told her that I was still looking and would soon have some news for her. Oh, don’t worry, was her answer. My daughter got a call from a supermarket in a mall. She starts there in a couple of days; the salary is good and it is air-conditioned. Plus we will get discounts on everything, especially on clothes, she said. That should come in handy when she gets married.

The following Sunday, her entire family proudly dressed in their finery went — for the very first time — to the mall and sawwhere their daughter worked. After which they went to the food court and had a meal. It must have been an immensely satisfying moment.

A solitary story? Hardly. Thousands of such maids’ daughters are taking up jobs in sales girls, waitresses, hair-stylists — anything but maids. Their mothers worked hard to put them through school, sometimes colleges and often professional courses. This brings additional incomes to their families, but also imparts a great sense of personal pride and dignity. They can shop in the same place as the memsaab does and perhaps wear the same clothes.

The children of these girls will probably become doctors and engineers. They will want to move away from their parents’ professions. This is human side of all those statistics we see in the papers. This is the real India growth story.

Email: sidharth01@dnaindia.net