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Resilience, the secret of their survival

What do the flower seller, idli seller and the salesgirl have in common? It's the spirit to surmount odds, says KAUSALYA SANTHANAM

THE WILL TO SURVIVE A flower seller

You have only seen the flower seller on Mada Street, Mylapore, in her avatar as avenging fury, her words pursuing you like hot missiles when you walk away without purchasing the kanakambaram or mallipoo. You have only heard the vegetable vendor burst into an almost non-stop flow of invective when you rub her on the wrong side. And to you the surly salesgirl at the sari shop seems inexplicably hostile and lethargic.

But then you are viewing them all across the divide — whether it is the rough plank at the vegetable shop, the polished counter at the showroom or even the wicker basket of the roving fruit seller. Meet them on the other side and the barriers fall to reveal an existence so filled with hurdles that you can only marvel at their resilience, and their ability to survive and triumph.

Meet these women who are empowered merely by their strength and will power helped by their vocal chords. They tell you what being a woman in an underprivileged world means: husbands who are confirmed alcoholics, adulterers or just bone lazy, customers who are plain callous and haggle over half a rupee, and authorities to whom you don't seem to exist. The mother is the heroine of these stories, the maternal instinct helps the women cope and win.

"I don't remember my husband, a goldsmith, giving me even Rs. 20 for household expenses," says Parvati (75) who migrated to the city from Madurantakam. She has walked hundreds of km in the past three decades selling idlis on the streets of South Chennai. "By the Goddess' grace, I was able to raise my four children and get them married with my earnings. Initially, I did not have money even to buy an aluminium pan for steaming idlis and had to use a discarded oil can," she says. "My husband too came here during his last days and I was able to perform his last rites. He hated to work but was a good man."

That is much more than what Vijaya (24) can say for hers. Threading flowers on Mada Street, she tells you how her husband deserted her. "Now I am taking care of my two boys, one of whom is disabled. I get a profit of Rs.50 a day. My mother and sister, with whom I stay, also sell flowers."

And her father? "Don't ask me about him. He is the country's greatest `Kudimagan'," she puns on the word bitterly.

The entire stretch has women in charge of many of the stalls. Vijaya sells greens and so does 80-year-old Nilambari beside her. "It is easy to carry the basket when the police drive us off the pavement," she says. "We work so hard only to educate our children. They should sign off from this trade," Devi and Bhagyalakshmi, who sit at their stall from morning to night, tell you passionately.

A step up the ladder is the job of the salesgirl at the shops. Exploitation continues on a massive scale in many of the shops as they are generally underpaid and overworked. Girls are preferred to boys as they are more patient and meek. And they need the job to supplement the family income, escape unhappy homes or to save up for the inevitable dowry.

"We have to be on our feet all day and incur the owners' wrath if the customer does not buy. My hands ache having to fold piles of saris," says Prema who works in a textile shop. She is paid Rs. 1,400 a month with just a couple of days off. "In some of the bigger shops, you get your salary on time, a commission and bonus as well. A widow, I have been able to get my daughter married with my earnings," says Gomathi Lakshmi.

The door-to-door salesgirls who work for small dealers have a tough life. "I dropped out after a month," says Anita. "I was promised Rs. 3,500 for selling samples for three months. At the end of it, the agent shooed us away after giving us Rs. 100 and a bagful of cosmetics. And to think of the 60 houses we had to visit every day and the manner in which a couple of inebriated houseowners tried to beckon us in," she shudders.

"My first two children were girls. They helped me with the household work. If the boys had been the older ones, I don't think I could have coped. Can a man accomplish as much as I have," asks Parvati, the idli seller. The question, of course, is purely rhetorical.

International Women's Days come and go. But these women's lives trundle on like the carts — and the family burden — they pull along.

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