Geetanjali Krishna: The problem with dole

The other day, for the umpteenth time I heard the watchman say that the reason he liked Delhi's new chief minister was that he was a common man just like him. Then he added that it was the first time that any politician had offered sops of free water and reduced electricity bills before elections - and actually made good on his promises afterwards. I listened quietly, wondering why dole of any sort was instinctively abhorrent to me. Somehow, it seemed to me that when the dole was doled out, someone had to pay for it. This train of thought took me to the two cute kids in District Park that I've been meeting during my daily walks, and finally I understood why.
 

When I first saw them in December, I approached them as the threadbare duo looked too young to be in the park alone. "Our parents are labourers constructing a house nearby," the older one said. "They come and check on us every now and then," said the younger one, not more than four years old. I saw them again the next day too, only this time, another walker like me had stopped to chat with them. I saw him hand them a half-finished bag of chips and a bottle of cola, and they scampered away excitedly to enjoy their loot. Over the next few days, attracted by their diminutive size and polite demeanour, many walkers and picnickers would stop by the kids, invite them to play and sometimes give them a meal. Picnickers would invariably give the duo all the food they had left unconsumed. It used to be quite a pleasant sight.

When I eventually saw their parents sharing their morning meal with the kids in the park, I had to stop. "Your children are very well-behaved," I said. The mother smiled and said, "we are working on a project across the park, and have no option but to leave them here as they have winter vacations. But the people here are so nice, every day the children tell me how they get looked after even behind us!" Just then the younger one said, "this chapatti is so dry! We should have some sweet cola to drink with it!" The parents were still reprimanding the boy when I resumed my walk. I left for a longish vacation and had a rude shock when I next saw the kids in the park.

They were chasing picnickers, asking for their leftover food. When they spotted lovers behind bushes, they'd make nuisances of themselves until the lovers bribed them with some goodies. They saw me, and came running to me. "Do you have anything to give us?" they asked with a troubling sense of entitlement.

Later, when I saw their mother, I asked her how the children had changed so much in the month they'd spent in District Park. She said gloomily, "I don't know! It's as if all the attention they've received has gone to their heads. We are poor people, and have never had the time to pamper them the way they've been here in District Park..." At home too, she said, their meal aspirations had changed. "Instead of the chapattis and vegetables that I make, they want to have goodies like chips and cola," she said. "I was so happy to see the rich people in the park being nice to my boys - but now I wonder, how we will be able to meet their demands..."

She was right. There really is no such thing as a free lunch. And when our common man chief minister offers free water and cheap power to the underprivileged, at the end of the day, it's the common man who'll pay for them.