Moneycontrol

It's 8 am on Friday and 21-year old Anjali is tip toeing anxiously in sneakers across her tiny room in a Delhi urban slum, clad in denim jeans and a black t-shirt.

She is waiting for her co-worker Nazreen so that they can start their day together through the bylanes of South Delhi, on a scooter.

Anjali and Nazreen work as delivery riders at Delhi-based logistics firm Even Cargo that delivers packages for e-commerce companies such as Amazon and Clovia, among others.

Nazreen reaches in about five minutes. The two get into a discussion on how to plan the route for the day.

Anjali grabs her newly bought smartphone and the two climb down the dingy stairs of her tiny two room apartment in Madangir, a colony in South Delhi.

For the unacquainted, Madangir is one of South Delhi’s most crime prone areas, known for its juvenile criminals.

Anjali's mother peeps out of the kitchen to say goodbye to her daughter, even as her brother is sleeping on the floor in the adjacent room.

Anjali and Nazreen (both requested use of only their first names) are part of the new workforce that is trying to create a difference in a male dominated work area. Almost 99 percent of delivery executives in the e-commerce sector are men.

As fragile as she may look, Anjali faces no difficulty in dragging out the pink scooty from a makeshift parking about 200 meters away from Anjali's house. Thefts are common in the area, and Anjali can’t risk losing the only source of her livelihood.

The e-commerce market in India has shown a growth trajectory in the last three years, touching a gross merchandise value (GMV) of USD 15 billion.

While women have technically entered almost all the mainstream professions in India, courier delivery, especially for the e-commerce companies has only now started to see some entrants.

No doubt, the challenges for women are aplenty in a city where safety is a big issue.

Riding two wheelers for 8-10 hours, they need to carry a heavy baggage on their backs, visit unknown localities and houses. Talking to strangers to find the correct address, and overcoming strange glances from men -- are just a few of the issues.

(In pic: The bylane in a Delhi urban slum, where Anjali stays)

Today, she asks Nazreen, an even slender figure to drive as she pillions.

I follow her around to gauge the problems a woman delivery executive may face from a distance.

Usually, the girls go out for deliveries alone, not in a pair. However, Nazreen recently met with an accident and badly bruised her elbow and ankle that are wrapped in a white bandage.

"I want her to hang out with me, at least till her wounds are healed," says Anjali even as Nazreen limps forward, takes the key from her and pushes the ignition button to start the scooty, a thinner version of scooter.

Madangir Gaon, an area which is alive till late past midnight, seems to be asleep early morning. The shops are shut while some old men can be seen brushing teeth while sitting on the roadside.

Zigzagging through the narrow lanes of her colony, the two drive like a pro. Meandering through the potholes, muddy streets and the garbage piled on both sides of the streets in Madangir, they zoom for their destination - a logistics warehouse.

The girls are greeted warmly by the other delivery executives and managers, mostly men. There seems to be an admiration of the duo by the men, who also face issues of health while carrying heavy loads on back and climbing stairs in peak Delhi summer. Most of Delhi’s urban colonies don’t have elevators and are built to four floors.

The executives engage in light banter while scouting for their daily duty sheets.

This sheet will have the database of the customers that need to be delivered the parcels.

Fairly new in the business, the girls are much smaller in numbers here as compared to men -- 6:40 to be precise, I'm told by Nazreen.

Huge white rucksacks filled with packages lie on the floor. The managers are calling out names of the delivery executive to pick up their respective rucksack.

"Anjali...," one of them calls aloud.

She is shown a blue crate filled with parcels that she has to deliver during the day.

For some reason, the load is lesser today. Anjali and Nazreen get around 16 parcels each, unlike regular days when individuals are given around 30-40 parcels.

They are given a black pouch which they wrap around their waist. This will be used to keep phones, card swipe machines and cash collected from the cash on delivery (COD) payments.

Since the two are travelling together, they decide to stuff one backpack with both of their parcels instead of carrying them in separate ones.

With around 32 parcels, the bag takes a gigantic shape.

However, instead of carrying them on the back, like most delivery men conventionally do, the two strategically place the bag in the front space of the scooty.

(Ringing the door bell....waiting for an answer)

“That is the benefit of riding a scooty against a motorcycle,” says Anjali even as the two scan their duty sheets.

9: 15 am: While Nazreen is riding, Anjali sits behind clutching the first parcel to be delivered. It is a glass item, as mentioned in bold red on the packet and needs special care.

The roads are bumpy and yesterday's rain has added to the misery. By this time, Delhi’s bylanes are now buzzing with street vendors and people rushing to their offices.

While it is not unusual for women to ride a scooty especially in a megacity like Delhi, men, mostly street vendors and guards, can be spotted staring at them.

"I will give it to them. It is not so common for them to see girls carrying huge bags or going for a door to door delivery clad in jeans,” Anjali reasons out.

“Many times, they also ask us, why we are doing this (difficult) job. I tell them I just love to ride," she adds.

The first delivery is in Shivalik, a posh South Delhi colony with huge bungalows and lush green parks, quite a contrast to Anjali’s neighbourhood just five kilometres away.

Anjali calls the customer on his phone for location even as Nazreen rides the scooty from one lane to another.

Being the month of September, the weather is relatively pleasant, unlike peak summer when mercury touches 47 degree celsius and even the tar on Delhi’s roads starts to melt. It is mostly breezy today, making it easier for the girls to ride.

They ask a passerby for the location and are directed towards the right house.

The grey painted bungalow has a large Ganesha mural on the wall near its nicely mowed green lawn.

The Diwali lights are still hung on its railing for some reason.

Delighted to find the first house within ten minutes, Anjali goes to deliver the parcel inside the gate.

Nazreen waits outside, guarding the backpack.

"We have to carry the backpacks on our backs when we are riding alone. Can't risk it keeping unattended," says Nazreen.

As per the company policy, in case a girl loses a parcel, she will have to bear the entire cost. However, according to the company, nothing of that sort has happened so far.

(Sorting the packages even as curious people stare....)

Besides the company also says that the rule may vary on a case to case basis. For instance, if the parcel is snatched or something and there wasn't any fault of the girl, the company would bear the cost.

Meanwhile, a middle-aged woman clad in jogger pants and a grey polo answers the doorbell.

It is a pre-paid order, so there isn't much of a fuss. She accepts the parcel and shuts the door. No questions asked, no water offered!

Anjali and Nazreen dig out other parcels from the backpack.

The second delivery is on the second floor of a nearby bungalow. Despite daylight outside, the staircase inside is pitch dark. I follow Anjali.

She switches on the torch from her phone and climbs the stairs.

A maid answers the doorbell and informs the house owner about the parcel. She is followed by an old lady, who slowly puts her signature on the mobile device, takes the parcel and asks Anjali to close the door back.

How often do they have to climb multi-story buildings?

"A countless number of times,” says Anjali adding that the second floor is still easy but when it comes to third or the fourth floor, she starts panting and waits for a few seconds before ringing the bell.

10:12 am: The girls are out on their fourth delivery.

The sun is slowly rising in the sky. Delhi’s heat is touching 32 degrees.

This would be the first cash on a delivery parcel of the day. The guard calls the owner on the intercom. It takes her three calls to respond. All this while, Anjali waits with the parcel in her hand.

There’s a lady on the other side, who asks the guard to send Anjali in.

She takes the elevator and is transported to a dimly lit isolated corridor with huge paintings and a large wooden door.

She rings the bell and is answered in about a minute by a woman who takes the parcel, shuts the door on her face as she goes in to get the cash.

“That’s a common gesture. They are concerned about their security,” says Anjali shrugging off the behaviour. “Once we do come across a polite customer who offers a glass of water,” she adds.

"Isn’t it scary to enter into such huge and isolated buildings in a city like Delhi?" I ask.

"Not scary, but yeah we are apprehensive at times. But I know how to keep myself safe. I dare someone to even touch me," says the young lass, from Madangir. Struggles of a tough childhood in a crime prone neighbourhood are clearly visible on her face.

They have been trained by the company in the basics of self-defence such as what to do when a customer asks to come inside the house, how to use a pepper spray. The pepper-spray kit is provided to the girls by the company.

For a more rigorous self-defence training, the company has tied up with Delhi Police, that will teach them karate. But the session is yet to begin.

11 am: It has been nearly three hours into the work. But for them, the day has just begun. There are over 26 more deliveries to be done.

So far, they haven't even had a sip of water.

"We keep water bottles but avoid drinking during work hours," explains Anjali adding that it requires them to look out for public toilets which in Delhi’s neighbourhoods are hard to find. Of course, customers rarely allow them entry inside homes, leave alone use of a toilet.

The duo share with me that they seldom get time to have lunch. Today certainly seems to be one of those days.

“Some customers call us requesting for urgent deliveries. If that happens then we try to prioritise deliveries over anything else,” says Nazreen.

Both Anjali and Nazreen get Rs 10,000 as cash salary. Fuel usage is paid extra. They spend about Rs 3,000 on fuel each. Besides this, the company pays for their medical insurance.

For Anjali, the bigger concern every day in a city like Delhi is to wrap up early unlike boys who continue even after dark. “The best thing is to finish off the deliveries in one go before it gets dark and then head straight to home,” she says.

Anjali's obsession with finishing deliveries off early is understandable, even if that means skipping lunch everyday.

In that case, what about nature’s call?

“Humlog acche se subah fresh hokar ate hain (We attend to nature’s call early morning),” she says in order to avoid the use of public toilets. Men, on the other hand, can be seen attending to nature’s calls on roadside in India.

She had to fight with her parents to get into this profession. She can't take any risk, else it may be back to spending days in bylanes of Madangir, or getting married off to a man, she has not even seen.

Suddenly, it starts to drizzle.

"Not to worry, we pack the parcels in a plastic bag first," says Anjali, assuring that the parcels are safe.

"But what about you two? Won’t you get drenched?" I ask.

She smiles. "That’s okay. We are supposed to be getting raincoats. It will be given to us soon," she says.

Fortunately for them, it doesn’t pour heavily right now.

According to Nazreen, the monsoon is better than Delhi’s summers when the scorching sun makes it difficult to even ride a scooter.

The next delivery is for a girl staying in a paying guest (PG) accommodation.

The customer, however, is not present and the old landlady in her late 60s is miffed. Her tenant has neither informed her in advance of any such delivery nor has she paid her the money for a CoD order.

The woman is about to ask the girls to leave when her son intervenes. He talks to his tenant via phone and politely tells the girls to either return the package or come back later as the tenant has not given them the money to accept the parcel. Trust issues even between people of the same house complicate problems for e-commerce delivery staff in India.

This the first failed delivery of the day.

"Would they be penalised?" I ask.

"No, not at all. We came to deliver but if the customer is not available that's not our fault," says Nazreen.

The two also ask every CoD customers if they would like to use cards to make payments instead of cash.

Many oblige!

However, even as the e-commerce firms have reported a significant jump in the prepaid orders after demonetisation by the government, there are still many who prefer using cash for making payment.

During one of their deliveries, while the son, in his mid-20s, is about to make a card payment, his mother stops him and helps him with cash instead.

"At times, there are parcels worth Rs 10,000. It is convenient if we do not have to carry a huge amount of money. Besides, we also have to stand in long queues once back at the warehouse, to hand over the cash," says Nazreen even as she puts the money in her black pouch around her waist.

The next order is in a big bungalow located in the C block of Shivalik colony.

By now it has started to rain heavily.

As Nazreen runs for shelter inside the gate, the guard shouts at her. He thinks she wants to barge into the house.

She is quick to retort in a rather convincing manner. "If I don't take cover, your owner's parcel will get spoilt," she says. The guard allows her to take shelter.

"We mostly come across guards and maids because the owners are out for their offices. Sometimes there are housewives," she says adding that most of the deliveries allotted to them happen within a radius of 3 to 5 kilometres.

1:15 pm: The two girls who had their last meal before 8 am seem to be in no mood to rest.

"I eat at least three chapati with a veg curry before leaving from home," says Anjali.

Nazreen says that on most days she ends up having breakfast at Anjali's home along with her.

They now head towards Sarvodya Enclave, yet another posh colony of Delhi.

They stop at the gate of a bungalow to dig out the parcel from their large backpack.

One of the guards starts questioning them.

“Are you also selling Jio phones?” he asks.

Nazreen takes a minute to patiently explain that they are delivering on behalf of an e-commerce company.

A senior maintenance staffer of the bungalow arrives and sternly asks for the parcel.

He warns that since there are dogs inside the house, she will not be allowed inside and that he will get the device electronically signed from the owners.

(Held back by the guard...calling customer...)

However, the moment, the gate is opened, Nazreen is greeted rather unceremoniously by a four feet tall Doberman who comes to pounce at her.

The guard manages to shut the gate right in time. Pets are another hazard that e-commerce delivery staff face.

Nazreen gasps for breath. She tells me that usually, she isn’t scared of dogs, staring at the tiny pug, standing next to his aggressive companion, peeping from the tiny hole on the giant iron gate.

She says she is really fond of the "Vodafone pug".

"Fancy having one?" I ask.

She just smiles.

Anjali informs me that the duo plan to buy a scooty of their own soon. The current one is given to them by the company, they work for.

"We need to have a down payment of Rs 13,000 and our company will help us get a loan from the bank," says Anjali who received Rs 10,000 as her first salary a few days ago.

She hasn't yet decided what to do with this money. She would perhaps buy something for her mother first.

Nazreen, on the other hand, said her first salary went in paying off the electricity bill. Her tenant ran away without paying off the bill.

Nazreen’s father is an auto mechanic and mother a housewife. She plans to reduce her father’s load from the next month. She will use her salary to get the ration for the house, besides paying off the EMIs of the smartphone that she bought along with Anjali, the previous month.

“We need to have smartphones because this is required for work purpose,” she says.

Anjali, on the other hand, does not disclose much about her parents.

But does she like her work? I ask her.

“This is one of the best things that has happened to me,” she says with a sense of satisfaction and a broad smile.

Even as the white collared employees in urban India crib about the lack of satisfaction from their desk jobs - despite having six figure salary, it is ironical to see that for these girls this back-breaking job is "the best" in the world.

Perhaps this is the only passage that allows them to break the age old conventions of the society that demand women to be housewives. These jobs emerging from a digital India help them come out of slums, roam across the cities freely and most importantly possess financial independence.

Anjali has completed her intermediate. She took a break from studies due to personal reasons, she says without wanting to elaborate further.

But now she plans to pursue higher studies.

"Would like to do a correspondence course, so that my work is not affected," she says.

Which course?

"The one that Nazreen is pursuing. It seems to be good," she says with a smile.

Nazreen is pursuing a BA Pass course from an open university.

It’s 2:30 pm: The lanes have narrowed down from the two-way roads to five feet wide passages. One can easily see the remains of what looks like an old heritage site on the right-hand side, as they enter into the ill maintained lanes of Begumpur.

There are clusters of old houses. Many seem to be in dire need of a repair with plasters peeling-off the walls.

The lanes have become narrow to a point where the two have to get down the scooty and start walking.

Nazreen calls one of the customers for location, who instead asks her to wait at a local grocery shop. In about five minutes he has come down to collect the parcel himself and he pays using his card.

“Customers also realise that it is difficult for delivery personals to find out places in such tiny spaces. They usually cooperate. We don’t even have to ask them,” she says.

3:20 pm: Their backpack has shrunk to the size of a school bag and they are out again on the main roads in South Delhi.

Nazreen is standing with the parcel outside Sri Aurobindo Society when a female customer preferably of the same age comes to college the package.

Of all the customers, she is perhaps the first person since the morning who notices the white bandage around Nazreen’s right elbow and asks about the wound.

“How did you hurt yourself? Shouldn’t you be resting today?” she enquires politely expressing concern.

“Weekend is near. I will take complete rest,” Nazreen responds as she gets ready to ride the scooty again.

By now three of her parcels have been returned due to the non-availability of the customers.

Almost six more parcels are left as black clouds thicken in the sky followed up by thunderstorms.

Their next stop is a house near an old Madarsa where they are greeted by a five-year old. The kid perhaps has stepped outside the gate without the knowledge of the parents, the moment they opened the gate.

The girls smile at him as he feels shy.

The father frantically catches him so that he doesn’t run on the main road. He collects the parcel from the girls and asks if the payment has been done in advance.

“Yes, it has been,” says Anjali.

Just three more parcels are left now.

But by the time, they hit the roads, it has started to rain cats and dogs.

While many are running for shelter towards the nearby shops or buildings, the two decide to continue with their ride.

They stop only at their next destination, a law firm’s office in South Delhi. Fortunately, two deliveries are to be made in the same office.

While Nazreen goes inside to make the delivery, Anjali takes a moment to peacefully look at the rain. She is standing on the porch of the law firm which has a tiny little open garden with some trees and fake green grass.

Nazreen is back soon. The two seem to be cracking some jokes. And after a quick laughter, the duo finish off some paper work -- ticking off deliveries that have been done and cancelling the ones that have to be returned on their duty sheets.

The rain, however, is in no mood to stop.

The two then decide to just finish off the last delivery that is to be made right across the road.

Can’t they wait till the time the rain stops?

“What’s the use? We will just wrap it up early,” says Nazreen and climbs on the scooty with Anjali behind her.

In ten minutes, they are back. The final delivery is done.

But, the job is not over yet!

They head towards the warehouse to submit the parcels that couldn’t be delivered and the money collected via COD.

(Sorting out the next address....in a tony South Delhi colony)

4:30 pm: The girls are back in the warehouse. It takes them nearly 20 minutes to finish off the formalities and now they are done for the day.

They look relaxed now and head towards home.

Nazreen and Anjali are among the many men and women riding back home after a tiring day at work. They ride past the glitzy Select City Mall towards dingy Madangir Colony, just about 2 kilometres away. Anjali stares at the big posters of fashion models posing for luxury brands outside the mall.

The arterial road is now packed with cars.

As you look at the traffic jam with drivers frantically beeping horns, one can see a pink scooty zigzagging through the spaces in between, making her way out without creating any noise.

In about ten minutes, they have gone far ahead of me. I keep looking till I lose the sight of the two fragile figures on a pink scooter.

Perhaps I would meet them again at my doorstep when I shop for a product online....