National

Who’s That Man In The Angadi?

While the migrant community continues to grow, Kerala can barely tame its prejudices

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Who’s That Man In The Angadi?
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A Matter of Number

  • In 2013, the number of migrants in Kerala was ­calculated to be around 25 lakh
  • It ­increases by at least 2.5 lakh every year, to fill the ­necessity of a ­robust ­labour force
  • And yet, despite the large numbers, long-term residency still hovers around a measly 30,000

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In the 2015  film Amar Akbar Anthony, the usage of word ‘bhai’ is hip: more like a cool bro than an appellation for brother. The word is bandied about by the three protagonists played by Prithviraj, Jayasurya and Indrajith interestingly. It fits easily into the Malayalam lexicon and one would think it was the beginning of loanwords from the Hindi—lingua franca of the large migrant population in Kerala. In real­ity, ‘bhai’ is a generic term used by Keralites for the entire migrant labour population from the north and the Northeast. More than 30 lakh migrants who come from West Bengal, Bihar, Assam, Uttar Pradesh, Jharkhand, Orissa are lumped together as bhais or Bengalis: no distinction obvious. A 2013 study on migrants by the Gulati Institute of Finance and Taxation puts the population around 25 lakh, adding at least 2.5 lakh every year. Staggering numbers, and they are beg­inning to have an effect: an incipient xenophobia.

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Going back to ‘bhai’, while it is employed in casual chatter to build a bond, here in Kerala it’s starting to take on negative connotations. A crime committed by them is depicted as done by ‘the Bengali or bhais’. Says N. Ajith Kumar, director of Centre for Socio-economic and Environmental Studies, Kochi, “If you or I commit a crime, the criminal is a specific person but if a mig­rant commits a crime, the focus is not on the individual but the whole community. People tend to view the migrant population in a different manner.” All too typically, Amar Akbar Anthony participates in this default attitude of suspicion and depicts a migrant as a paedophile. Images of the villain are crudely interspersed in this largely comic film, creating a menacing vibe that outlasts and exceeds the frame of the film. Fr Sabu Malayil, director of Jeevika Migrant Worker’s Movement, a Jesuit initiative in Kalady, thinks this trend is both ironic and unfortunate. “Malayalis have migra­ted to different parts of India and the world too, so we expect Keralites to und­erstand that these people come from very backward areas and they come here only to make a living and they must be respec­ted just like expat Malayalis expect to be. At one of our seminars in 2014, the former DGP of Kerala had made a presentation that as against the 35 lakh cases filed against Kerali­tes in that year, there were hardly 1,000 against the migrants. The media seems to magnify these incidents, thus ­creating a phobia.”

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Ironically, Kerala is legendary for its migrations both in the labour force and in white collar jobs. And the shores of Kerala once welcomed refu­gees and settlers from all over the world: both Asian and European Jews fleeing persecution, Syrians, Arabs, and other trading communities from India and the labour population from Tamil Nadu. The hard-working migrant population is much needed to fill the gap that has been left by Kerala’s own migration both within India and abroad that comes to around 30 lakh and more. The migrants have entered every field of work in the state: building industry, plywood indu­stry, hot­els, carpen­try, gardening, security, beauty parlo­urs, boutiques, household help etc. But not many have settled here permanently. GIFT puts the figure of long-term residents at just 30,000; inter-marriage is rarer. The cultural ­exchange between the two comm­unities is still in a nascent stage. If anything, Kerala seems to enjoy the paan and the pani-puri that have come with the migrants whose homes are anywhere between 2,000 to 3,000 km away. These pani-puri carts, which all go by the name “Yadav”, are ubiquitous even in the rural landscape and paan-shops have sprung up in every nook and corner, some right next to government-run beverage outlets. Likewise, the migrants have adopted the ways of Keralites—especially those of using the toilet and not spitting paan on the roads. Says Ajith Kumar, “I was told by a police off­icer who'd gone to the Northeast to inv­estigate a crime against a migrant that the houses of the Kerala migrants are distinc­tly different: some are even fitt­ed with toilets. These houses are akin to the houses of Gulf migrants in Kerala.” It is perhaps the dreams of these poor migrants that really touch a chord and fuses these two peoples together. Much like the migrant Malayali, the “bhai” too yearns to make enough to build a house back in his homeland.

By Minu Ittyipe in Kochi

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