As I walked through a construction site in Ambernath last Sunday, I had an innocent revelation. Construction is a miracle. One just has to mix cement, small stones, gravel, and some water and wallah! you have concrete, the flesh of most modern buildings. The long rusty iron rods are their bones. But as I looked at the hardy migrant construction workers, some from Andhra Pradesh, and others from Bihar and Madhya Pradesh, who toiled laboriously through the stark sunshine and the miserable downpours, I realized how unaffected they were by the enormous changes that were occurring all over India. Their lives seemed untouched by the strides in technology, education, and incomes that most Indians are experiencing. They are in a time-warp, living in a black-hole at the heart of India.
They lived in shanties on the site. I couldn't detect any antennae so I doubt there were any TV sets around. Some youngsters taking a break played cards. In contrast to the shanties of the poor who live permanently in the city, but move from one street to another, and have some access to modern appliances such as TV and fridges, migrant labourers have no such luck. They are to the modern urban world what cattle are to farmers.
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