In the race for the 2020 state elections, the three leading parties of AAP, BJP and Congress had laid down ambitious manifestoes that, if implemented, could really change the very face of the National Capital. Roti Kapda Makaan emerged as the reliable three scaffolds that every party based their canvassing on ; with a snarling population of 35 million, the poorest in Delhi never have enough to feed their skeletal bodies draped in rags. Hence, promises of food and a home have historically borne resounding victories for political parties.
And so it was, with 62 of the 70 seats in Delhi, the AAP party achieved a landslide victory in the 2020 state elections, securing incumbency for a second term. And why not, afterall, in his impressive catalogue of promises, Mr. Arvind Kejrival had guaranteed to provide 24-hour piped water to each household, a continued free 200 units of electricity, mohalla (community) marshals to ensure security for women , 24-hour markets and affordable healthcare to all.
All in all, Kejriwal’s AAP has now been touted as the holier-than-thou movement, an insignia of “clean politics” that ensures that positive externalities percolate to the poorest of all.
Why Slums of Delhi are all but a vote bank
Alas, one walk through Nandlal Basti in Timarpur Constituency of Delhi shreds this carefully curated ideal of prosthetic commonality with the general public that the AAP has harped about since its first win in 2015. Nandlal Basti is one among the many slum areas in Mukherjee Nagar, Timarpur, in North Delhi district. Residents here are engaged in gig work like construction activities and street vending, and women work as domestic workers. In 2020, Dilip Pandey of Aam Aadmi Party won to become the MLA of Timarpur region with much pomp and show!
Talking about the campaigning process, Rinki, a 17-year-old resident of the Nandlal Basti, shares, “I saw in 2020, all the parties – BJP, AAP come in big cars blaring speakers, they touch the feet of elderly women and hug our fathers, asking for votes. After their win, nobody remembers us.”
This sentiment of hopelessness and deception pools in the eyes of all the beleaguered residents of Nandlal Basti who’ve spent years hearing of catchy welfare programmes that have borne no fruit in their lives. For instance, the Delhi Government’s scheme of providing a free uninterrupted supply of electricity up to 200 units has proven to be a sham for residents living under squalid roofs with light bulbs that twitch ceaselessly, a sign of imminent fuse.
Lekha, a 63-year-old woman running a cramped-up kiraane ki dukaan, one of the only few in the slum, tells me, “I have lived here for the past 40 years. My monthly electricity bill ranges from 900-1200 rupees. Aap socho, itna bijli tou ham istemaal bhi nahi karte. (We don’t use so much electricity, so why the skyrocketing bill?) We have to buy 20 liters of water every day for 20-30 rupees. When Kejriwal first won, the water that ran in our taps was worth drinking; the quality was good. Now, the yellowish water stinks. During the recent floods, sewage water from the nearby sewer had seeped into our homes.”
In July 2023, the Delhi government announced its plan to install 500 water ATM machines to provide drinking water treated using the Reverse Osmosis (RO) process to slum dwellers. And yet, around 44% of Delhi slum residents depend on bottled water.
Aam Aadmi Party’s 8-page long manifesto of 2020 reads, “Slum dwellers of Delhi to be provided with pucca houses for a dignified living condition”. The Jahan Jhuggi Wahan Makan scheme promised a vision of providing in-situ construction of houses in JJ clusters (Jhuggi Jhopri Cluster).
Anuradha Devi (43), a home maker says, “Arey sarkaar kahan ghar banakar deti hai, hamne khud bana liye apne paiso se, bas ab inn gharo ko na todein. (The government doesn’t give any funds to build homes; we have built them with our own wages. We just pray they don’t demolish our homes and ask us to leave.)” In light of the recent demolition drives in Badarpur Village and Dhaula Kuan, slum dwellers are in perpetual fear of eviction, with no alternate rehabilitation provided to them. Houses promised on paper will be erected on paper, it seems
In 2021, Delhi implemented the One Nation One Ration Card Scheme, according to which persons holding a ration card under the National Food Security Act (NFSA) can collect their monthly quota of food grain from any fair-price shop across the country. This portability depends on ePoS machines, which use the Aadhaar-linked biometric authentication to verify the identity and entitlement of beneficiaries.
Ali Said (63), a meat seller in Nandlal Jhuggi who came to Delhi 20 years ago, shared, “We have a ration card, but don’t get the allocated amount of grains. As a family of 5, rather than getting 20 kilo atta, we only get 10 kilos.” When I asked his son Nadeem (24) about their monthly income, with a dejected voice, he admitted, “Dhandha bilkul nahi chalta. (We get little work.) We get no customers on Tuesday and Thursday. We barely earn 300-400 on Fridays and Sundays.”
A demise of hope for Slum Dwellers
With their basic sustenance at peril, slum dwellers of Nandlal Basti exist in a disenchanted state of limbo; they have lost faith in the state apparatus. Every 5 years, political parties clamour for their support, but as the shenanigans of election results die down, so do their voices.
When I asked Rinki (17) if she was excited to get her voter ID card made the next year, laughing incredulously, she remarked, “Main kabhi sochti hi nahi ki vote dene jaungi, koi sarkaar hamare liye kaam nahi karti.” (I never even think about voting, no government works for us.)
A sense of rejection and passiveness brims the hearts of slum dwellers who have had their humble hopes crushed every 5 years. They have been abandoned by governments anew; for them, their local MLAs are new faces with the same old vested interests of earning riches and repute.
These slum settlements are made of discarded scraps of tin, and the cynicism engulfing all those who reside here has hit my mind with the full force of a sledgehammer. The thatched jhuggies that cage their lives rudely intrude into our own routine at traffic crossings when we commute to work, come back home or even when we go for a pleasant evening with friends. It is no longer a shock for us to witness humans surviving in the most inhumane conditions; we have adapted our eyes to turn away and scrunch our noses in disgust as we pass through them, always in a hurry to get more aesthetically pleasing surroundings. Our lives flourish whilst theirs echo a recurring story of distrust, pain and neglect.
“For lives that slyly turn in their cramped holes
From fog to endless night?
On their slag heap, these children wear skins peeped through by bones, and spectacles of steel with broken glass, like bottle bits on stones.”
~ Stephen Spender, An Elementary School Classroom in a Slum
This story has been written as part of the My City Writers’ Training Program.