or thirty-two years, Sammo Puran has dedicated her life to sweeping the streets of the city. Clad in a pale cotton saree paired with a colourful printed blouse, she exudes both pride and uncertainty about her age, estimating it to be somewhere between fifty-five and fifty-eight. As a sarkari mulazim (government employee), she stands tall in her commitment to public service, even though she does not get her due (minimum) wage fixed by the government itself.

Her daily routine kicks off early at 6:00 am, continuing until noon. After a brief respite, she resumes her duties from 2:00 pm and remains at work until 5:00 pm. Since she receives a paltry salary, Sammo has to supplement her income through private work. A widow since her husband Puran’s passing a few years ago, she navigates life with determination.

Positioned on Chand Bibi Road, she is a stalwart figure amidst the Marvi Trust Building, an old four-storey structure somewhat overshadowed by newer, towering edifices. Sammo articulates her official responsibility - cleaning the stretch of road she stands upon. Additionally, she meticulously tends to the staircase and yard of the Marvi Building. Looking at the cobwebs on the grill at the entrance, she points out that it is not within her purview, as another sweeper attends to that specific task for the building’s occupants. “My official duty is to clean this stretch of road,” she says.

Equipped with her work kit of a seasoned wicker tokri (basket) for collecting garbage, which has been reinforced underneath with a fabric base, and a faithful jharoo (broom), Sammo deposits the waste into a nearby kachra kundi (a large waste-bin). The garbage truck, making two daily visits, promptly empties the brimming kachra kundi. She carries the tokri and the jharoo around all day.

Sammo has two married daughters and three sons. Living in Narayanpura, a community hub for sweepers, she shares her dwelling with her two sons, also employed as sweepers. Her unemployed son accompanies her to work, providing assistance.

Surviving on the generosity of others, Sammo collects leftover food from kind-hearted individuals, securing it within her saree like a pouch. Later, she shares it with her son. On rare occasions she is offered a cup of warm tea. However, her status as an ‘untouchable’ necessitates her to carry her own cup, symbolising the dichotomy of her existence, and a daily reminder of the societal divisions that persist.

Sammo’s story is emblematic of the unsung heroes who navigate life on the fringes, their contributions essential yet overlooked.

The writer is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com