CEMENTED DREAMS

Lalita Iyer Musings

There was nothing across from our flat in Srinagar Colony except typical two-storeyed buildings and old (as in long-established) families living there. It was quiet, filled only with everyday sounds—a plate falling, vessels being moved around, perhaps a pressure cooker whistle. The top floors of our apartment were, therefore, pry-proof, or so I thought.

There is also an empty plot behind the apartments, currently being used as a parking lot for visitors. It might get built upon someday. I pray that happens later. Sometimes, when I am in a good mood and feeling happy and grateful to God, I actually think I live near a resort because of the openness and the greenery. The bubble bursts pretty soon, but still.

Then someone demolished one of these calming two-storeyed buildings and built a three-storeyed structure, all white. On a typical blazing summer day, I am surprised it does not melt because it actually looks like icing. But the gulmohar and copper pod trees, flourishing most of the time, do the needful, and my privacy is still maintained. Now another fellow is doing one better by building a four-storeyed structure. And the rooms look straight into my TV room. I am not liking it at all. I am already thinking of ways to cover the windows while still allowing the light to flow in. I have thought of something and will let you know soon.

But forget the privacy. I was thinking of the men working on the building without any safety gear, standing on edges, clambering over thin wooden scaffolding tied together by themselves. Some of them continue working even when it drizzles. Apart from it being hazardous for all these construction workers—especially those building the 54th floor in the newer part of the city—I often wonder what they are thinking.

Building swanky places while living in tiny homes themselves. Do they dream of living in an unnecessarily large house simply because they can afford one? Or would they rather build a small home of their own? And can they ever afford even that?

I once met a group of them at the street food lane next to ITC Kohinoor, near Durgam Cheruvu. They were all from Bihar. They arrived in style—as in swaggering after straddling their bikes—ordered hot snacks, and each of them bought a Sting Energy Drink. They spent ₹50 in one go, and I noticed a few of them smoking too. I did not speak to them long enough, but they looked cheerful enough to enjoy a snack and a drink.

There is always some construction work happening in Hyderabad, and I often see men walking along the roads, streaked with paint, cement, or dust. Then, suddenly, on a Sunday, you see a group of well-washed, neatly dressed young men walking in a straight line on a busy road. That is when you know they are not locals. They are probably heading to a movie or to a roadside bandi for a meal. Each one of them carries a different story, a different dream.

These gig workers, who come for a period of time to work, are generally taken care of by the construction company. Though that was not quite the case during COVID. Yet, the cheerfulness on their faces is always a surprise, considering the backbreaking labour they do.

As an aside, every time I see a construction worker, I think of Howard Roark of Ayn Rand fame. Why, do you think?

– Lalita Iyer 

  Senior Journalist