BROKEN CLOCKS
It has only recently become easier to realise that before the virus made its presence felt, different groups of people were obeying different kinds of clock-time(s) all at once. For many, work produced its own time – which in turn created a small window of spare time, some of which was allocated to leisure time and some of it was time to reproduce oneself for work the next day. It is only after these delicate arrangements have been shattered that one can see its fragments more clearly. Money for labour depended on how one moved one’s body around the city fitting into schedules and systems made by (invisible) others. The screen of the phone is now the window through which precious spare time is spent. The virus seems to have unchained time from the rhythms of work and money.
Ram Baht
It might be hard to believe now, but this system of ‘managing time’ that shapes our habits and ideas is only about 150 years old. The virus unknowingly exposed a great number of things that used to be considered ‘normal’. Some of the experiences in this issue reveal how people make sense of their lives in ways that refuse the order of time. Big events we see on TV or hear about from others get mixed with personal incidents. The present seems out of reach – haunted by the past and a dread of the future. The city is always presented as a fast-paced creature, but it turned out to be no more than an illusion. The fragile and cruel realities of the city are clearly out in the open for anyone who wants to see. The city’s pulse is erratic now.
It is clear that while the reality seems like a bad dream, there is another reality that deliberately presents itself as a bad dream. During the time of COVID, the world of media produced a new class of people called the tragic migrant workers – especially those who not only suffered but were reduced to only suffering subjects for others to consume. Those who were locked into their homes saw on their phones and TVs thousands of people out on the streets walking an impossible journey. Caste, language, place and history all dissolved until only the suffering body remained for the cameras. Months of media coverage on this suffering migrant worker became possible because of this tragic adventure which people could follow on their screens. Such a pure suffering subject without politics (who can refuse to feel for such a figure?) became the centre of blame and credit, for state versus centre, for economy versus health, for insider versus outsider.
When other sections of society are intent on playing such games, what would it mean to demand justice? Before justice appears, there must be a shared acknowledgement of the problem. That shared acknowledgement will not be given, it must be claimed. There were and will be stories of unpaid wages, lack of or faulty infrastructure, of delayed or non-compensation which may provide some temporary relief, but until there is a shared acknowledgement of who it is that stands behind the screen; until there is recognition of the complex realities of people behind the image of the worker, all the noise will only result in creating a perception of justice. Some of the experiences recounted in this issue we hope, will go a small way in bringing out that other life of labour, outside of the illusion that has shielded it so far.
