January 13, 2005

Young conductors known as cleaners have to work hard. Naseer Ahmad went out to discover why these youngsters join the profession

Waqas is hardly 13-years old, but he has already assumed charge of Filly, a mini-coach running between Qadhafi Town in Landhi and Merewether Tower. His position demands that he perform multiple duties, which he is doing with a great degree of efficiency at such a young age.

As the vehicle slows down to pick up passengers at a bus stop in Korangi, he leaps off and trotting along the vehicle shouts: “Defence, Cantt, PIDC,Tower, Tower …” When the vehicle gets back into full motion, he begins collecting money, without issuing tickets, because in Karachi transport culture tickets do not exist, from the new arrivals.

The boy’s condition is that of a falcon chick that discovers that it can fly unaided — it is naturally joyous –– and he is also enjoying himself because he joined only a few weeks earlier. He is lucky to get the promotion so quickly. But that is perhaps because Waqas is a sharp boy.

When a passenger gets agitated at the driver’s behaviour and engages in heated arguments with him, Waqas intervenes and tries to placate him.

Son of a contractor living in Quaidabad, he is the second of five siblings. His elder brother is a painter. Waqas dropped out of school when he was in class V. He has no plan to return to school. He is eagerly looking to the day when he will be old enough to get a driver’s licence.

Clutching small plastic cans, Noor Khan, 12, Aziz Khan, 8, and Ikramullah, 7, work at the Qayyumabad terminus. They fetch water from the open drain to wash the wheels, mudguards and decorative chains of mini-buses and coaches. They care little for the hazards lurking in the dirty water. The youngest of the trio is barefoot. When asked why he is not wearing any shoes, he points to a pair of slippers tucked under a cabin. Reminded that he might hurt himself with the sharp metal pieces or broken glasses hidden in the ground, he shrugs saying, “Nothing happens to us.”

Noor has begun getting odd jobs as a second conductor, or cleaner, on trips when the conductor needs extra help to tackle the heavy load of passengers. But this is rare. His main job is cleaning and washing on the terminus.

While Waqas does not admit that he is forced to work owing to economic considerations at home, Noor does not make any attempt to hide his family’s financial problems.

He says he has six brothers. The youngest two attend a madressah. One has become a driver, another is a conductor and three are cleaners. And their father sells fruits on a pushcart. “We have to pay electricity, gas and water bills and there are many other expenses. Unless we all work, the household cannot make both ends meet. You know, how frequently prices go up.”

Poverty alone does not force them to work. It includes the thrill of becoming a coach driver.

Noor’s face lights up when he is asked what he wants to become. “I will become a conductor and then a driver. Sometimes I get a chance to sit behind the steering wheel and have learned to drive within the terminus area.”

Asked why he doesn’t go to school. “I have passed the school age,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.

Akbar is 16-years-old and nothing suggests that he is older. It will take a year or more before he grows any moustaches or a beard. He carries a copy of his father’s identity card to establish his own identity.

Akbar will stun you when he says that he is married. ”I do not have a child yet. But my wife is expecting one in a couple of months,” he blushes. By way of explaining his early marriage he says that since there was no one to help his mother in household chores, he had to marry. His father married twice because he did not have any sons from his first wife. “Now my four elder sisters are married and I have a younger brother and sister. I send them Rs2,500 every month.”

He has no home in Karachi and spends his waking and sleeping hours in the coach. He is preparing to go to his hometown Ashokhel, in the tribal areas near Kohat, to celebrate Eid. “On my return, my ustad wants me to begin driving and by then he will arrange for my ID card and subsequently a driver’s licence.”

He is excited not only because he is on the verge of becoming a father, but also a driver.

Salim Khan, around 17, operates the Ilyas coach, which runs between Landhi industrial area and Gulshan-i-Ghazi. He has been in the profession for about five years.

Salim’s father owns a coach of another route. So, the inspiration for him came from home. After five years experience, he is not sure whether he is enthusiastic about the job anymore. “I am happy, and not so happy,” he tells me.

“Actually, it is a very tough job. We work till after midnight and our new day begins at 4am, when we rise to tidy up the vehicle. It is almost a 24-hour job. Besides, there is the day-long squabblings with passengers which does not send us home in a very happy mood. And the same conditions await us the next day.” But he earns something between Rs300 and Rs500 daily, which may seem an attractive amount to uneducated and unskilled youngsters.

The junior conductors call their seniors ustad. The driver is ustad to both the junior and the senior conductors. About his mentors, Salim speaks very reverently. “The ustads I have worked with never ill treated me. Even if they do so, it is for the good of their apprentice.”

Most of the young cleaners have homes and parents. But at least two cases have been reported where two cleaners fell off the vehicles and nobody knew where they lived and who their parents were.

Salim admits that the same caring ustad may turn into a total stranger when he senses trouble. “If a boy dies, the ustad will throw his body and refuse to admit that the boy worked for him before his passing away.”

Salim is among the luckier ones as he spends a few hours of night at home. But there are boys like Akbar who spend the night on a seat of the vehicle, on the ground or a bench at the terminus.

It is but natural, then, that they resort to using narcotics, gutka being the most popular among them, to keep themselves going. And the sale of gutka is banned in the city because it is seen to be one of the major causes of mouth cancer.

If the weather is cold, it adds to their miseries. Indeed, they have to pay a heavy price to become a driver.

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