Poor People in a Rich Compartment | The Burning Reality of the AC Compartment

The Burning Reality of the AC Compartment (Poor People in a Rich Compartment)

I travelled in an AC coach for the first time in my life. A boy appointed for service came into the compartment. He brought water. He brought a pillow. This boy, appointed by the Railways for the AC compartment, was working hard. Since the compartment was not crowded, the waiter did not come. This boy got down and brought the food. Even when I called him to sit and eat, he refused. He was forced to sit separately.

While eating together, I casually asked him a few questions. But in that cold, air-conditioned environment, I began to feel a burning anger inside.

He was from Bhopal. Every Monday, he joined this train. When the week ended, he would go home for a day. The next day, he’d be back on duty. The railway had become his home.

Until then, it was all okay. But what he said next was deeply painful.

I asked him, “How much salary do you get for this 24-hour duty, seven days a week?”

His face turned sad.

He replied, “What should I tell you?”

I asked again, “What do you mean?”

He said, “They make us sign for ₹20,000 on paper, but in reality, we’re only paid ₹5,000.”

He added, “While travelling, I get only ₹200 a day. That’s all — for tea, breakfast, and lunch. I can’t afford anything extra. To save money, I take back some leftover snacks and eat those for two days. The rest of the time, I survive on vada pav.”

I couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

He continued painfully, “Saheb, only the driver is on permanent duty in this train. Everyone else is on temporary contract. We get overtime, but the contractor takes a cut. That’s why we only get ₹200 a day.”

I was stunned.

He said, “There are 2,000 of us in Bhopal. But if we try to organise or protest, they fire us immediately.”

When I got down, he smiled.

While taking the money from me, he said, “Saheb, the climax is yet to be told.”

I asked, “What do you mean?”

He said, “Passengers steal things while getting off. When they steal a small towel, ₹50 is deducted from our salary. If a bedsheet is stolen, ₹200 is cut. A blanket? ₹1,000 gone. One or two such incidents happen every week. It happens right in front of us, but we can’t say anything to these ‘respectable’ people — they abuse us.”

I was shocked.

I took his photo and said, “I will write about you.”

He folded his hands and said, “Please don’t put my photo. If the owner sees it, he’ll remove me from the job.”

I said, “I’ll write it in Marathi. Your owner reads Hindi.”

He said, “Still, he can do anything.”

That intense fear of the owner… how will someone like him ever fight back?

I could see the ugly face of contractual exploitation in his expression.

These poor people, in rich compartments… they belong to no one.

Read this once, and ask yourself — Is privatization truly necessary?

This is happening in every office, in every department. A handful of employees become “Sahebs” because they’ve learned how to survive the system — but they are few. Meanwhile, crores of educated youth are being crushed under the weight of privatization. And the exploitation continues...