In praise of small vendors

The small-time vendor was being able to do what I'd have imagined would be easier for the Amazons, Big Baskets and Grofers of the world to do

Last week, we nervously stepped out of the house to buy groceries and ran into Raghuvir Singh. No sight could have gladdened my heart more. Over the years, this vegetable vendor had become a familiar sight in one corner of the neighbourhood. Although the streets had almost completely emptied, there he was — face covered in white head cloth that had seen better days and a badge that declared he’d been allowed to operate his vegetable cart in our neighbourhood prominently on display. Relieved that we didn’t have to step out on the main road, we stopped to re­plenish our supplies. While we selected the veggies, he told us what he’d had to do to bring them to us — and keep his business afloat.

A migrant from Hardoi, Uttar Pra­desh, Singh has supported his family of six by selling vegetables for the last four years. Every morning, he goes to the Okhla mandi in Delhi, buys Rs 5,000 worth of fresh vegetables and sells them for a modest profit. Whatever he can’t sell inside the neighbourhood, he sells at a discount in the evening. “When the lockdown was declared, I realised that I won’t be able to support my family if I stayed at home,” he said. So even though he’d not been granted a pass, he decided to go to the Okhla mandi to buy his daily stock of vegetables.

Singh says that the scene at the mandi right now isn’t very different from what it used to be before the lockdown. “These days too, there are hundreds of wholesalers and buyers there, all too worried about making ends meet to worry about social distancing and getting coronavirus infection,” he described. “There are plenty of vegetables and fruits but also a sense of desperation in the air.” For their window to sell is not large: By 8 am, Singh says, the police swoops down and shoos everyone away. “I’ve also been at the wrong end of their sticks a couple of times,” he said showing us some bruises.

However, it is when he returns to our neighbourhood to sell his wares that Singh has noticed a difference. “Many people here who earlier perhaps ordered their vegetables online because it was convenient and cheap, have now be­come my regular customers,” he said. “I’ve come to realise that I’m discharging an important function by selling my vegetables at people’s doorsteps. It’s because of me that people like you are able to stay at home and limit exposure.”

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me as we filled our bags with fresh produce. This small-time vendor was being able to do what I’d have imagined would be easier for the Amazons, Big Baskets and Grofers of the world to do. Yet, in spite of their relatively deeper pockets, technology and manpower, their services have been severely curtailed while Raghuvir Singh and others like him have been going strong.

As he added some coriander and chillies to our bag, I requested him to deliver vegetables to us daily, even after the lockdown was over. “Regular customers mean regular income for me,” he smiled. “I wonder who earns an income when people buy vegetables online.” As we exchanged numbers, I reflected that my online veggie shopping in the pre-Covid past might have been convenient, but I’ll probably never go back to it.