Calcutta

Calcutta, India. 2011.

During India's wet season, it doesn't just rain, it pours.

This man under a tree is a cobbler. He didn't speak English and I didn't speak Bengali or Hindi. I didn't learn his name, age, or any of his story. But I walked past him each morning and evening when I was volunteering in the Campaign and Advocacy department of the small charity we were based in.

Calcutta (Kolkata) is like other Indian cities, and pavement sellers are incredibly common. Business is conducted outside shops. These sellers are usually poor and often homeless. They rely on selling to survive and will start at 4am, often not finishing until midnight. The weather doesn't matter - when it pours, they still work.

Calcutta is old-fashioned. Unlike neighbouring cities, modern buildings are limited and international business seems absent. Calcutta feels like it's lost in the past. Poor and rich exist alongside one another without interacting. Divide is striking, and those in poverty find it difficult to escape. I chatted to a homeless family on the street one afternoon and they told me how they had to run from the police because they didn't have identity cards. You can't get one unless you have a permanent address. You can't get a house unless you've got a card. It's unfair and it's biased against the lowest in society. Those who have nothing.

I broke my only pair of shoes one day and it was pouring with rain so I hopped in a taxi and got to the office. I purchased a new pair of shoes and wore them home. On the way back I walked past this cobbler and showed him my broken shoes. He smiled and started to fix them with a needle and thread. He charged me 30 pence.

After I got home that afternoon I realised that I hadn't thought twice about hopping in a taxi or buying a new pair of flip-flops. Yet the best thing about that day was being able to wear my broken shoes again, and the person who helped me was someone I wasn't supposed to interact with. And it barely cost me anything.

After that incident the cobbler and I were friends. I waved each day and he waved back. He smiled the same way as the photo records. Each time I look at this picture I realise that we're equal; that this cobbler helped me so much more than I aided him. It reminds me to be humble and gracious, and to keep fighting for a world that's more equal than the one we're currently living in.
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This post is part of "A Picture is a Story" and other posts can be found under the label, below.