Raddiwala

Five labourers were tearing the files in the corridor when I alighted the lift on the 6th floor of Kendriya sadan. I had instructed the incharge to ensure that the tearing of old files begins early in the morning so that the activity is completed by afternoon. Old audited files in government offices need to be weeded out at regular intervals. Files are torn or shredded before being sent out of office as a matter of security and protocol. I stopped by to see the progress. The labourers were too busy to look at me. Their entire focus was on the tearing activity. The binders were being separated, the thread tags with sharp pins were to be avoided while they tore on the pages lest the pins injured the hands. 

 

The activity of watching the files being torn is cathartic. Mounds of torn papers were getting built and tumbled down every few minutes. The process looked similar to the sand mounds that grow inside an hourglass and tumble down under their own weight when the height increases beyond what the gravity can hold. The binders were thrown separate. 

At some point in the history of time, these files would have commanded respect. They carried an application, with supporting documents, and were moved from table to table where each step of the file was recorded in a movement diary.  The interested parties followed the case till the intended benefit was obtained. Prices might have been set for each movement and people might have obtained their little illegal gratifications. Or not. After processing, the files were sent to records section, where they were audited by the audit teams years later. Once clear, they were marked for destruction and waited out their mandatory waiting time as mentioned in some government circular. Years later, they are brought out for destruction. The binders between which the papers existed are stripped out, the papers themselves torn into twos or fours, loaded into gunny sacks, transported on trucks to some distant pulping mill where they are further processed to become what they once were. Pulp. 

The security asked me if they need to tear the files into two pieces or four. I told him to ensure that the files are torn in enough pieces to avoid usage. Two would do as long as it is done properly. The security explained the same to the leader of the labourers in Tamil. The labourers were relieved that their work has decreased a bit. The leader among them stood up and smiled at me. It took some time but I recognised him. 

Anand was a raddiwala who dealt in old papers. He had a small shop at the 80 feet road on Koramangala in Bangalore and he had tied up with some distant pulping mill at Hosur. He had come last time around 2 years ago when I had destroyed an older batch of files. He had not changed much, except that he had grown a beard now. 

'Hi Anand, how are you?' I asked

'Very well saar'

'So what have you been doing? How's the business?' 

'Same saar. Going ok'

'Are you at the same place where you were two years ago?'

'Yes saar. Where shall I go saar?' 

'hmmm'

'What about you saar?' 

'Same Anand. I am at the same place. Where shall I go too?'

Anand smiled and got back to work. 

I walked back to my cabin. As I sat back on my chair, I looked around. I was at the same place. Doing same things, day after day, for the last two years and more. The routine had set into me so well that I had not noticed the time slipping by. 

'Where shall I go too Anand?' 

I smiled and picked up the first file on my table for the day. It was new, with binder, and contained freshly printed application pages between them.