29/01/2016
As the crude oil price keeps dropping like Arctic temps, and the talks of a prolonged slump snowballing, an uneasy pall of gloom looms large over the millions of Malayalees in the Arabian Gulf.
Thousands have lost their jobs in the oil and related industries. Experts say the region is in a silent recession. It is no secret that if the Gulf sneezes, Kerala catches a cold.
Is it the end of the reverie? Will they throw in the sweat-soaked towel?
But unlike the Malayalees in other parts of the world, the Gulf Malayalee is a tough cookie -- conditioned to survive any hostility. Their only strength: sacrificial living. Like, Ali’s.
Ali used to come three days a week to clean our house in Sharjah. An office boy in a government department, Ali freelanced in as many houses as possible, sleeping only a few hours a day. He had three sisters to marry off. Every time gold price went up, Ali’s smile vanished and a cloud of worries darkened his face. By the time we left the country eight years ago, he had married off two of his sisters, and was working hard towards the marriage of the third. And, only then could he even think of his own life.
In many ways Ali represents the Gulf Malayalee: a baggage of never-ending familial responsibilities -- be it his sisters’ marriage, brothers’ education and job, children’s schooling, family concerns… Added to them are work-pressure and existential anxiety. He is constantly stressed and tensed. A taut wire. Yet, he is the perennial cash cow, milked thanklessly dry by all. There are hundreds of Alis. Some of them haven't gone home for decades. Like, Najeeb in Benyamin's Aadu Jeevitham (The Goat Days).
Migration in search of job and better living conditions has always been there for centuries across the globe. But what makes the life of the Gulf Malayalees unique is the sad fact that once they leave home, they are second-class citizens till they die. No matter how long they live in these Gulf countries -- be it four days to four decades -- they will always be expatriates. Unlike the Malayalees in other parts of the world, the Gulf Malayalees can never call their country of residence their home. They can never own a piece of land and nor a house -- well, except the ultra-rich -- they are never given citizenship, nor even a wafer-sense of belonging. They can be chucked out any moment. ‘A sad box tucked under the bed’ represents most of them. Passports of most them are not with them: they are with their employers.
The Gulf Malayalees are an obedient class of employees, in stark contrast with those back home. They have weaned themselves off their proverbial ‘working class’ spirit that make them fight for their rights. They have run away from themselves to live for others.
If the Gulf Malayalees come home briefly showing off, that’s the only time they get to enjoy the fruits of their labor. Most of their life, they live alone, away from spouse, children, parents and siblings. If a man gets a month’s holiday, in 12 years he can spend only a year with his family.
An average construction worker makes peanuts, living in squalid conditions, and doesn’t get paid on time. Until the recent international hue and cry over human rights violations in these countries, getting paid on time was an act of charity rather than one’s right. Recruitment agencies make a fortune by plain cheating. A friend of mine recently paid two million rupees, raised through a bank loan against his family property, for a job in the Ministry of Health in Kuwait. He did get the job but even if he hadn’t, he had no proof of paying such a huge sum. The question of why one coughs up such huge amounts for a job in the Gulf needs to be debated in a socio-economic context. The Government wing to look after the concerns of the non-resident Keralites is mostly inefficient.
Recent government reports have revealed the remittance from non-residents to Kerala has crossed one trillion rupees a year, directly supporting not less than five million people. In fact, Kerala society should be grateful to the Gulf Malayalees for their unselfish ways of sending home money. Yet, the way the Gulf Malayalees are treated at airports is really bad, if not shameful. Police officers push and pull them with scant respect, as if they were hedging in strayed cattle. Immigration officers question them to the point that the poor homecoming people never feel welcome home. Then, the Customs officers turn them inside out as if all of them were smugglers. Often one wishes, if these officers could realize that if the government is paying their salaries on time, it is also because the Gulf Malayalees turn their blood into sweat.
The Gulf Malayalees cannot vote from the country of their residence. Still, politicians frequently visit the Malayalee associations and Kerala Samajams for contributions in cash and kind. The government recognizes, mostly, the rich and famous Pravasis. It’s a clique.
Sadly, after decades of living away from one’s own family, the Gulf Malayalee is an ill-fit in his own family. Everyone is used to the monthly remittance. Once that is stopped, and he is back home, the applecart is upset. He happens to rub many on the wrong, step on a toe or two. Worse, some come back sick -- to the ignominy of being redundant.
The plummeting oil price is certainly not the end of the story for the Gulf Malayalees. It could well be a jolt. They will continue to live in these countries, braving the acrimonious summer heat, biting cold and the insults and consistent sense of impermanence. How will history describe these millions of people in perpetual exodus, who will never settle in the Promised Land?
If only, their own people cared to acknowledge the long years of sacrifice. And, those silent cries.
(Photo credit: khedmati via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA) Paul Keller via Foter.com / CC BY JakeBrewer via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND !efatima via Foter.com / CC BY-NC0)