Among the shoppers

On December 31 2004, four of us had set out to collect contributions for the people who had survived the rage of the tsunami. We represented...

On December 31 2004, four of us had set out to collect contributions for the people who had survived the rage of the tsunami. We represented a collective of 20 voluntary organisations in Delhi. This collection drive was especially being made for the relief and rehabilitation of the affected fisher folk in Tamil Nadu, Kerala and the Andamans. Our leaflet and the inscription on the donation box conveyed this. It was the day the news channels were flashing reports that the death toll had crossed 1.20 lakh.

We chose two upmarket areas of Delhi, South Extension and Greater Kailash, or South Ex and GK as they are popularly called. Both were glittering, as one would expect on New Year’s eve, one even had a Santa cruising on a cart, though a little late. As we went from shop to shop, apart from occasional shows of courtesy and generous contributions from some, we soon found we were not exactly welcome. It was a day for business and we were obstructing that. The person in a big jeweler’s house put a ten rupee note in the donation box. That soon became the trend. We met at the shopping complex park to restrategise. One of our colleagues told us how her 12 year old had donated a large chunk of his pocket money that morning. That gave us some courage to go back and appeal to the altruist within the shopper.

Some had already made contributions through their workplaces; some had pledged a day’s salary to the survivors. Some took the leaflet and promised to get back with a check. Two children donated a hundred rupee each and asked for the receipt. There were some who had just landed from Mars, or so it seemed. We grappled with the dilemma — to give or not to give them an overview of the last five days.

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And by the time some more shoppers said that they did not have the money or that they generally do not carry their wallets, we got used to it. The overflowing ice cream cones in their hands defied their claim, but that did not bother them. There were also some very sincere ones. They did not have change, so after they had shopped a bit they would definitely find us, they promised. But this one takes the cake. As he fidgeted in his pockets, he too did not seem to have change, so he asked if we could give him some in return. We could not open our sealed box in the middle of the shopping complex, we said, and walked away.

We turned back, feeling drained. But yes, an angel did appear that evening. A woman, forty-something. She waylaid us, forced her contribution though the hole of the box and commanded us to come to the gurudwara that evening. She would be there, she said, and she would make an announcement. We need not waste our energies this way, she advised, as she vanished around the corner.