© Penelope Gan – All Rights Reserved – Chandi Chowk, Delhi, INDIA

The nerve centre of commercial activity that dates back to the time of Shah Jahan’s Mughal empire, Chandi Chowk’s chocked up narrow lanes never ceases to fascinate.

Despite what appears to be a chaotic sight at first glance; the sea of people, knots of dangerously low electrical, phone and satellite cables dangling across buildings and streets, and seething mass of hooting, pushing cars, cycle rickshaws, autos and ox carts, Chandi Chowk is really organised and compartmentalised on a larger scale with countless of specialised bazaars that will match just about anything your imagination and senses cooks up.

Heading for the Naya Bazaar on Khari Baoli to stock up on masala, hing, saffron, vanilla pods and dried peaches, then Fatehpuri Masjid to ‘catch’ the Friday prayer mass, I was distracted by the seamless maneuvering of porters weighed-down by burdens of sacks bursting with goods on their heads, push carts or ox carts which trundle off through the mass of motorized traffic with the same ease and grace exhibited by Polina Karpakova in Swan Lake.

Following their trail, I ‘discovered’ Gadodia Market, a covered gathering place for wholesalers who weigh their goods on huge old-fashioned scales, just off Khari Baoli. Armed with a big juicy pomegranate, a packet of dried fig, bottled water and lots of dodged determination and curiosity, I parked myself amongst (now equally curious) sweaty men hauling cargo, pushing carts, spitting paan – adding colour to vibrant blue walls and colourful scenery – and occasionally passing remarks about me and my craziness!

The youngest of the group finally mustered the courage to approach me and after exchanging formalities and clarifying intent, followed by showing replays after replays on my camera’s LCD screen to the throngs of curious porters, normalcy resumed.

During chai, I was introduced to a group of them and soon learned that they were immigrant labourers from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh employed by shop keepers who has opted to live in more comfortable areas of Delhi, leaving Chandi Chowk with immigrants and only a handful of local families who resides in homes that lies far behind the street fronts in alleys and lanes that lace through Chandi Chowk’s maze or in visible haveli‘s which though fading in grandeur is nonetheless huge with as many as over a hundred tiny shops operating in the alleyways beneath it.

Unperturbed by this massive wealth inequality, the porters seemed to me to envy their cousins – the railway coolies – and not their present employers. Life as a railway coolie is apparently better with better rates, work conditions and the union for protection. A railway coolie in Nizamuddin station is said to net Rs150 on an average day and over Rs250 on good days for 6 hours of work with lots of free time in between trains. Other perks includes  two sets of uniforms, medical coverage that extends to him family, free education for his children, one complimentary second/sleeper class travel pass to any station in India per year, free use of the station’s waiting halls, canteens, latrines … Above all, the railway coolie license is granted for perpetuity and it is transferable.

Despite being laid out the laundry list of ‘perks being a coolie’, I could not help but suppress my desire to express in exasperation: “but who wants to be a coolie?”

Well, not until I was told that for a monthly license fee of Rs10, the coolie license can be ‘sold’ for an enormous premium.

“Do lakh rupaiyE” { What?!? 2 lakh rupees? 2,00,000?!? }

My English speaking college graduate Chandi Chowk porter pauses infinitesimally to savour my expression when he delivered the punch line with a satisfied smile while I took a final gulp of my chai.

P/S: Graffiti above the seated boys in the photo reads: DO NOT SIT HERE