On Invisible professions : Bhangarwalas a life beyond repair.

~by Anupama Vernekar

Bhangarwalas, or scrap dealers, are collectors of the broken and the discarded. They engage in repairing and recycling furniture and other such items. They are the ones we turn to for fixing our broken possessions, but who is there to address their brokenness? There is significant stigma attached to this profession, and not many people in society recognize their contributions. These jobs are contract-based, lacking security. If cheated out of a contract, they have no recourse but to remain hopeful and look forward to the next opportunity. Their invisibility is stark and apparent, yet conversations about them in the media landscape are minimal.

Zakir, a 52-year-old bhangar shop owner in Bandra West, shares his thoughts on his everyday life repairing broken furniture. He started the shop in 1993 after migrating to Mumbai from Khasgonda village in Uttar Pradesh. At that time, a landlord provided him with a space on rent for a nominal fee. Such jobs are contract-based, and there are no formal employment systems to ensure regular paychecks like those received by salaried professionals. “Kabhi dhanda hai, kabhi nahi (Sometimes there's business, sometimes there isn't),” he lamented, reflecting on his job security. Life is hard, and Zakir often works from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m., but there is no guarantee of when he will receive a repairing contract, so he must be ready at any time to show his willingness to work. When asked about his job, he replied modestly, “Repair, kharido, becho; isi mein din jaata hai.”(All my day goes in repairing, buying selling) He often runs his household on money saved from previous contracts.

In this age of digitalization, having a digital presence or capital makes one extremely savvy. For example, Rubel and Tajel, brothers who own a bhangar shop in Rayerbazar, created a social media page that connects them with customers, thereby expanding their business. Unfortunately, there are not many government initiatives that could help impart digital training skills to people like Zakir. He does not accept payments via Google Pay and only takes cash. His phone, purchased in 2014, lacks a touchscreen, so he wonders how he could use Google Pay with it. There is visible hesitation in learning the ropes of the digital world. Zakir has one son who unfortunately failed his 12th-grade exams and has since moved to Pune, leaving Zakir with no one to rely on but himself. No one in the family has been able to instill a mindset shift regarding going digital in this profession.

Another aspect of this profession is obtaining contracts in the first place. The only way to secure contracts is through word of mouth or recommendations within their network. People like Zakir have no choice but to continue in this field, however unreliable the method of earning a living may be. “Jo line mein ghusa, ab bahar kaise aayega, aap hi samjho,”(How can one change the field one enters?) he said. Overall, Zakir expressed contentment when asked how he manages the financial demands of the world. “Jitna mile, utne mein khushi hai.” (I’m content with whatever I get)

Nathulal owns an extremely small space in Parel, Lalbaug. There is a stark contrast between the working environment of Zakir’s shop and that of Nathulal. His shop, located on a crowded footpath lane and would almost go unnoticed. It is literally the size of a cubicle an office worker could occupy, albeit even smaller and cluttered. Nathulal was busy repairing a piece of wooden furniture, looking down at his work and only glancing up to speak. The look on his face was far from happy; it conveyed a sense of merely meeting the daily demands life has thrust upon him. When asked how frequently he received contracts, he replied, “Kabhi do milta hai, kabhi das, toh kabhi pachas.” (Sometimes I recieve 2 contracts, on others ten and sometimes even 50)  He referred to his work as “Tod mod ka kaam.” (Breaking and repairing) The shop isn’t in his name; his 'seth' (boss) lives in the village and gives him no credit for the work done. When asked if he would avail himself of any digital training, he looked perplexed. A young boy was sleeping next to him, possibly his son or grandson. Had he been awake, it would have been good to ask whether he would help Nathulal build a digital presence.

The invisibility, lack of formal support, and dignity of such professions are truly appalling. Sadly, few filmmakers or storytellers make films about such professions. A well-known director, Nandita Das, recently made a movie called "Zwigato" about gig economy workers, but there are no mainstream films focusing on informal professions and their piecemeal struggles. People must recognize the value of those in these roles and their contributions. The space of repairing and recycling broken items could be improved if these workers were exposed to digital training initiatives. For that to happen, such initiatives must exist at a PAN India Level.  Younger, technologically savvy family members must take it upon themselves to encourage a mindset shift in older generations. Change, adaptation to newer systems must become a constant.