Cleaning jobs in India, especially sanitation work, have deep-rooted ties to the caste system, primarily linked with the Dalit or “untouchable” castes, who have been traditionally relegated to these tasks for centuries. Despite efforts to reduce caste-based discrimination, many people from marginalised communities, particularly Dalits, continue to be overrepresented in these jobs.
This article is based on Shit, a documentary by Amudhan R.P. is a story of a woman from Madurai who shares her experiences with the filmmaker. I have in the following paragraphs tried to go beyond and write an imaginary extension to the documentary and the questions it leaves one with. Imagining myself in her place is deeply unsettling. Yet, even if I were there, may be I would have continued this job because I would have had no better option.
I am Arun from Banaskantha district of Gujarat and belong to the Bhil or Bheel tribe. I have worked as a labourer on the construction site, farm, as a waiter, dishwasher, and other places for my income and to support my family during my education. If I were in the position of a ‘sanitation worker’, I would never do this job, even if it meant dying. I would prefer working as a labourer in building construction, a man servant in nearby houses, or, as a last resort, become a sex worker. I would spend my entire life doing any of these jobs rather than what I am forced to do now.
Let Us Start With, Why Not Construction Labour Work Instead?
For me, my family would be my first priority, so I couldn’t consider migrating for better wages or a better life. Once, I thought about leaving this job and was ready to do labor work if there was any construction nearby, but there was none. Even when work is available, it’s irregular, and the wages are insufficient to support my family. In the city of Madurai, major construction projects offer work, but daily travel and other expenses eat up 130 rupees, leaving me with just 350 rupees. This work isn’t consistent. Some days, there’s no work at all, especially during the monsoon season, when I might be forced to stay home for months.
Given these circumstances, I worry more about leaving this job. Here, I receive 3,000 rupees a month, on time, even though it’s not much, it’s regular.
Why Not Work On Farms?
I could also work on farms, but the same problem exists—insufficient pay of just 200 rupees per day. Farm work is also seasonal. Farmers call us when it’s time to harvest, plant, or weed, but afterwards, there’s no work, leaving me without income. Some people from my community work on farms, but they face disrespect due to our caste. We endure untouchability and verbal abuse over small mistakes. So, I feel it’s better to clean filth and get dirty than to go for so-called respectable work.
Nobody respects my family or my community here. We aren’t allowed in most temples, our burial ground is far away in a separate location, and we’re constantly abused. Our children are forced to sit on the floor and away from others in school. When there’s labor work, they call us, pay us less, and sometimes don’t pay us at all. How can we survive like this? I wouldn’t mind the low wages if only there was respect for the work I do. I am cleaning their filth, and yet they laugh and practice untouchability.
How About Appealing With Authorities?
I have tried to talk to officials many times, and I have even managed to speak to a few. But they never act. They say,
“What can we do? Increasing the salary is not in our hands.”
The government is working on it. It’s been 20 years since I started this job. Now, with inflation so high, we’re struggling. We’re five people at home. The cost of milk and groceries keeps rising. I have a younger son who needs money for his education. My two elder sons are married and run their own households. My husband, younger son, and I live together, and it’s becoming unbearable.
A month ago, some co-workers and I tried to protest. We refused to work until our wages were increased. We stopped working for 17 days, but nobody listened, and they threatened to fire us if we didn’t continue the job. So, unwillingly and out of necessity, I had to go back to work.
But I can’t take it anymore. I’ve made up my mind. I will move to Chennai with my family. We will live on the footpath if we have to. Five of my relatives from the village are already there. They told me that if the whole family works, we will earn more. So, once I get my salary, I am leaving this job. I am taking my younger son, who is in the 5th standard, because he can’t stay here alone. I am sorrowful about it, but I don’t believe the municipal authorities will ever increase our salary.
As I Pack Up
As I pack up the few belongings we have, my heart is heavy with uncertainty, but I know staying here is no longer an option. The fear of the unknown in the city is overwhelming, but what choice do I have? I dream of a life where my son doesn’t have to witness the humiliation I face every day. Perhaps in the city, we will find a small community that accepts us, where our work is valued, if not respected.
I worry about my son’s education and the impact this move will have on him. Will he be able to continue his studies? Will he adapt to the new life? These thoughts haunt me, but I console myself with the hope that anything must be better than the life we are leaving behind.
As we board the crowded bus to Chennai, I take one last look at the town that has been both home and prison to me. My heart aches for the familiar faces, even the ones that have looked down on me. But I must believe that this journey, however difficult, will lead to a better life for my family. I am not sure what the future holds, but I do know that I cannot allow my son to grow up thinking that this life is all there is. We deserve better. He deserves better. And so, with a heavy heart but determined spirit, we embark on this uncertain journey, praying that it leads us to the dignity and respect we have been denied for so long.
My Reflections
I have seen several sanitation workers, and now they realize that while they have changed, the structure of society has not. For example, there is a person who comes to clean the road in my neighborhood, daily. Once, I offered him water from my bottle, but he refused and said, “No, Arunbhai, I am not supposed to drink this water because I belong to the SC community. If I drink it, it would be a sinful act. Please provide me with a separate glass you keep for us, or pour the water directly into my hands so I can drink it.”
Sanitation workers face health hazards, low wages, financial insecurities, social stigma, and marginalization. Despite the deep-rooted caste-based discrimination, I hold onto hope that one day, this system will change, and those who have been marginalized will no longer face these injustices.
“Caste has killed public spirit. Caste has destroyed the sense of public charity. Caste has made public opinion impossible.”
Dr. B.R. Ambedkar
Yet, I believe that with continued efforts, there will come a time when caste no longer determines a person’s worth, and every job, no matter how menial, will be treated with dignity and respect. One day, I hope we will no longer see divisions based on untouchability, and society will recognise the value of all its members, regardless of their background. Until then, we must continue to challenge these outdated norms, imagining a future where equality prevails.
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