Kirari, in northwest Delhi, could be a village straight out of Bihar: all residents are migrants from that state, the place is in dire need of development, the people are very keen to improve their lot, and the divisions of caste and religion are firmly intact.

Bhogendra Mishra, who hails from Madhubani, has been living here with his family for eight years. They have grown roots here. Going back to their village is unthinkable. His son, Pramod, runs a grocery store and his grandchildren attend the local school. They live in a 50-square-yard home. The front of the house serves as the grocery store. A narrow, open drain passes under the entrance to the shop, which Pramod’s wife, with empty water canisters in hand, sidesteps to go and wait for the water tanker. Does he feel his life is better than in Bihar? He shrugs and says: “At least here we can work hard and make a living for ourselves.”

Two lanes down, Jayant Kumar Jha sits outside his grocery store with a newspaper in hand. He works at a call centre for an insurance portal and speaks in fluent English. His eyes light up when he talks of the strides he has taken in life.

Right across, Ashfaq Ahmed from Darbhanga runs a small tailoring unit. He relocated to Delhi in 1984 and now owns a house, out of which he runs his shop. He hopes to marry off his daughter to a boy from Bihar who works in Mumbai. Discrimination haunts Ahmed even in cosmopolitan Delhi. “Whether I am in Delhi or Bihar, the Jhas see me as a Muslim, not a Bihari. One has to ignore these things if one wants to live peacefully.”

Young men, and women, in Bihar don’t have to worry too much before they start for Delhi in search of a job. Most have relatives, close as well as distant, and friends where they can stay, often for months without end, before they find work and a house of their own. This is how Hari Kishore Paswan, a vegetable wholesaler, came to Delhi from Madhepura in Bihar 25 years ago.

It’s 7:20 am, and the entrance to the Azadpur wholesale vegetable market in north Delhi is choked with trucks and tempos. Inside, there are kiosks on either side; one of these belongs to Paswan. He weighs the produce brought in by farmers and traders and sells it onwards to greengrocers. These grocers will then take their stuff to different parts of the city on pushcarts.

Paswan, when he first came to Delhi, stayed with another family from his village. The quarters were cramped but space was made for him. For the next three or four years, he worked as a porter. Then his luck improved and he got this kiosk. Paswan, on a good day, can make up to Rs 500. On bad days, his income can drop to Rs 200.

Paswan’s story shows how Delhi accepts migrants, but also eyes them with suspicion. He took a house on rent many years ago near the Azadpur market, where he stays with his family. Yet, he does not have a voter identity card. That’s because his landlord refuses to testify that Paswan lives at his house -- he is scared that if he does so, Paswan might one day claim right to the property.



That Paswan has been his tenant for over a dozen years doesn’t melt the landlord.



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