Unemployment

Modi government

Tech Mahindra

angiography

The truth is out:in India is at an all-time, 45-year high. On May 31, the Ministry of Statistics and Program Implementation (MoSPI) released data, which indicated that joblessness had peaked to an impossible 6.1 per cent. This confirmed the National Sample Survey Office’s report for 2017-’18, which had been withheld by the government (ostensibly for being a ‘draft’), but became public following a leak.Despite the’s previous efforts to play this down, lay-offs are rife and jobs creation are increasingly an uphill task in a slow-growing economy. Another study, by the Delhi-based centre for Science and Environment portends, that the country’s youth and the better-educated face the highest levels of unemployment.But behind the statistics, are the real, heart-rending stories of people — and their families — who have been hit hard by joblessness, and are struggling to just stay afloat. Modi’s second term in power will be shaped by his ability to tackle this rise in unemployment, while jumpstarting the economy. But the human cost of unemployment, the crumbling of hopes and dreams of thousands of Indians, will always remain incalculable. Mirror captures the angst and anxiety of a few such cases.Sandeep Tupe, considered putting an end to his life the day he was laid off. Tupe, who was a project coordinator atin Pune, claims he was forced to submit his resignation on June 6 last year. “The thought of committing suicide crossed my mind the day I was asked to quit,” he admits.The father of two school-going children, Tupe used to be the sole breadwinner in his household of five dependents (including his parents). “I didn’t know how to face my family,” he says. “I also wondered how I would pay the EMI on my personal loan. Now I am reduced to borrowing money from family and friends. Whatever savings I have, are gradually running out.”Other aspects of Tupe’s life have also been hit hard. His father passed away shortly after he became unemployed, and Tupe has stopped attending family gatherings just to avoid having to explain his situation to well-meaning relatives. “They inevitably ask me questions about my work,” he says – queries he is not yet prepared to field. Family outings have stopped completely for the Tupes. “I was the saddest when I could not celebrate my son’s birthday,” he says, and also regrets that he can no longer take care of his diabetic mother. “If someone in my family falls ill, I have no option now but to take them to a government hospital,” he says.Tupe was one of the many IT professionals laid off last year by Tech Mahindra. The layoffs had begun in 2017, which was also the year he had joined the company at a handsome pay package. At his previous job at IBM, Tupe was a “star performer”. But at Tech Mahindra, he had to deal with an abusive boss, long work hours, discrimination and office politics — all of which took a toll on his health as well. A month before he was sacked, Tupe had even collapsed in office, had to be hospitalised, and underwent an. “But I was still asked to come to work during that time for a knowledge transfer session,” he recollects.Tupe has filed a case in the Pune labour court to contest his forced termination. “I don’t know when I will get justice,” he says. The only silver lining in his life has been the cake shop that was started by his wife nine months ago in Yerawada. “Business is slow, but we are just about managing,” he says.Sunny Muntode, a former manager with an IT company, hasn’t had a job since March 2018. “For the last year, my family and I have been living off our friends’ generosity,” says Muntode. “I have had to borrow money from them just to get by and, to their credit, most of them have stepped in to help. Whatever my former company paid me as the final settlement, along with my Provident Fund dues, ran out in seven months.” After working in a reputed company for over six years, Muntode thought he would get a job easily. He hadn’t reckoned otherwise. “The truth is, you can only get a decent job while you have one. If you lose it, your stock as an employee plummets.”The Mumbai resident, whose wife Snehal is a homemaker, has a two-yearold son — and another child on the way. Which is why the couple is desperate to find something. Muntode has recently been offered a position — at less than half his previous salary — and he’s considering taking it. “I owe my friends almost Rs 80,000, and I want to start paying them back at the earliest,” he says. “If I take up this offer, my salary will be halved and my career graph will be set back by several years, but I really don’t have a choice.”The Muntodes have had downsize to make ends meet. “I haven’t bought new clothes for a year,” says Sunny. “Birthdays and anniversaries are celebrated without gifts and cakes. I’ve had to give up my First Class train pass for a Second Class one, and radio cabs are out of the question now.” Muntode is, however, thankful for some small mercies. “My parents don’t have any medical conditions that requires hospitalisation. But my son will soon be three, and I’ll have to find a good playschool for him. I don’t want to have to skimp on that.”Jitendra Arjan Pavatiya, who is from Hanol village in Gujarat, shifted to Surat in 1991, in pursuit of a better life for his family. Pavatiya decided to groom himself in polishing, cutting and shining, to land a decent job in the diamond industry. He was drawing a salary of Rs 35,000 at the time he was laid off.The pay seemed to be Pavatiya’s undoing; six months ago, his employers cited his “high salary” as a reason for letting him go. The father of two has now had to shelve his dream of providing a good education for his sons Rudra and Shlok. He has taken a loan of Rs 2 lakh just to manage his day-to-day living.“I have been searching for a job for the last six months, and I’m fine with being paid less, too. But companies make us work for a day or two and then refuse to hire us,” says Pavatiya. “There are thousands of workers like me who have made Surat their home in search of a livelihood. Poor government policies are the reason we are all struggling to survive.” Keeping the home fires burning is also a challenge. “For the last six months, we have been eating khichdi for lunch and dinner because we can’t afford wheat or vegetables,” says Pavatiya. “We had chapatis recently after our neighbour bought some wheat for us.”Joblessness has hit Ashar Kkhan, and his family like a double blow. In July 2017, his wife Trrupti, 39, who worked with an education services company, was laid off. A few months later Kkhan, a senior manager with a telecom company at the time, quit his job when his father was hospitalised. “Finding a job, I used to think, was like buying a bottle of water,” says Kkhan. “You open it and drink it, knowing that you can always buy another bottle if you feel thirsty. After 15 years in the corporate sector, I never imagined it would be so hard to get one.” The Kkhans also found that their savings, collected over two decades, evaporate within a year, with a large chunk of it going towards Ashar’s father’s treatment (his father died within three months).Fed up of waiting for the right offer, Trrupti has now started a catering service from their Thane home. “It’s not enough to support our family,” says Kkhan, who has two daughters. “We used to travel a lot, but in the last two years, we haven’t taken a vacation. We haven’t gone to the cinemas, or even a mall in many months.” They’ve had to let go of amenities they took for granted earlier, like the DTH connection. But the biggest sacrifice the Kkhans have had to make is to pull their older, nine-year-old daughter Tulip, out of school. “I’m going to home-school her,” says Trrupti. “The fees are unaffordable for us, and since I’m home, I thought I’d help save us some money.”The Kkhans are a miffed by the government’s recent attempts to play down unemployment in the country. “I don’t know who Prime Minister Modi has been speaking to, but he certainly didn’t speak to people like us,” says Trrupti. “We would have given him a more accurate picture.”