Staying in a place like Bangalore has its own charm and glory. There are certain characteristics which I have noticed which strongly paints the rich Bangalore domestic fabric with its very own shades of lifestyle, people and life which they 'live'. I choose to use the word 'Live' for the simple reason that these observations somewhere are so much part of the domestic scene that they leave you with awe and a sense of introspection. Few of them being the weather, the lush greenery around, the daily ritual of Rangoli's artistically drawn without fail in the courtyard of every Bangalorean House in the wee hours of dawn, and not to forget the quintessential Bangalore Vegetable/Domestic Goods Hawkers.

Having stayed in Bangalore for few years now, the Hawkers have always caught my fascination. Be it early morning when you are barely welcomed by the strong beams of early morning sunlight blazing brightly through the curtains as though wishing to warn you to get out of the bed. You are disappointed. Yet you still choose to look at your watch and convince your conscience that you still have 10 more minutes to catch up on your prized nap. Just then you hear the string of words voiced in a typical style of cadence "Bale, Kilip, Bindi". God! You wonder why people wake up so early. You clutch the Pillow closer to your ears hoping that it will deafen you  and you can sleep peacefully. The squeal still continues.

Thanks to the Hawkers who oppress your precious hours of early morning sleep. Hawkers have a sense of dedication and commitment to their work and no matter if the world turns upside down the hardworking Hawker would still make his mark by ensuring his short visit across your street. Be it the scortching heat of April or the days with heavy heavenly  deluge, the Hawker would still take the daily stroll with great aplomb and the same sense of deja-vu. One such Hawker who has left a lasting impression on me is Baleamma. Thanks to my mother despite of several bribes of weekend shopping sessions at Comm. Street or any other plush locale, she still refuses to budge from her decision of buying her stock from Baleamma.

Baleamma is a middle aged woman, thin frame, very lean and lanky. Her skin brightly shimmers and flaunts a burnt brown tan, her arms and face are deeply wrinkled silently oozing zillions of unspoken tales of pain and penury. Her body is deeply charred, thanks  to her daily walk in the sun. Always adorned in Green Hubbali Saree, she never fails to make her daily ceremonious presence in our locality. Despite of her struggle with poverty, her hair is neatly oiled and plaited and has got a redolent aura of coconut oil. There is a thick stream of fresh vermillion  meticulously filled in the middle parting of her hair. Her skin is dry, parched and devoid of any nutrition. She wears glass bangles which perfectly match with her saree. Baleamma strolls across our locality with her little wood Gaadi (Wood Cart) which has got all types of Bale (Bangles), Clips, Cosmetics hence our name for her - Baleamma. Due to her generous nature and excellent Sales skills, she makes quite a good amount by selling her wares. Initially my mom picked a liking for her goods because of her sense of honesty. Baleamma has an elephant's memory and remembers all the goods we had bought from her in the past. She has the uncanny sense of judging her customers taste and offering them the goods which suit their pocket and taste. Her Business Acumen and Trade Intelligence would give any IIM student a run for money. Initially Baleamma used to stop by our house to quench her thirst with generous helping of water offered by my mom and later it graduated to my mom inquiring about her health and her well-being. So much so that Baleamma became a daily drawing room talking point for us. 

Suddenly just a few days back Baleamma stopped visiting us. The sudden stop bothered my mother. We were hoping that she is safe and sound. Just a couple of days back she came back again with her Gaadi (cart) of goods. This time her face was droopy, she was looking pale, anaemic and drained out. She had her right leg bandaged completely. Much to our curiosity, she sulked with her face turning cold and numb. She narrated her saga, we realised that a car ran over the side of her leg one day while she was on the main road trundling with her cart. The Car owner offered a paltry compensation of mere Rs.200, she also went on explaining how difficult it was arranging for her medical expense which spilled over a thousand rupees. Upon being questioned on why she is still continuing with her job when she needs rest, she informed by mother that her Husband comes home drunk and beats her and her little kid all the while without even contributing to the household expense. 
"Amma, I am doing this for my daughter, who is studying in Govt. school and I do not want her to have a destiny as cruel as mine. I want her to become like Kiran Bedi some day, powerful and strong" said Baleamma with moist eyes.

I am deeply moved by Baleamma's saga of battle agains the odds, the gory struggle against poverty. I realised that there would so many Baleamma's scattered across the length and breadth of our country who don't have the good fortune of  one square meal, who are not fortunate enough to have a good support system in place except for the hay-thatched house which have multilple leakage points which need a fix but there is no one to help; The chullah (hearth) in the corner of the house which has pile of wood neatly stocked and stuffed waiting for the karta (breadwinner) to ignite and fuel the fire. These ladies who wear a smile which replenishes their soul, however choose to pinch their stomach for the welfare of their kids, who toil hard and take brickbats from their husbands, silently gulp the choking feeling, just in the hope of a better tomorrow for their kith and kin. I salute all such Baleamma's across the borders who sacrifice their today for a better tomorrow. Her mere thought brings forth the image of a strong woman - Hubbali saree clad lady with the redolent aura. 

- Copyright - Ash K