Sunday, April 29, 2012

The Dabbawalas of Mumbai

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A dabbawala (Marathi: डबेवाला); also spelled as dabbawalla or dabbawallah; literally meaning ("box person"), is a person in India, most commonly found in the city of Mumbai, who is employed in a unique service industry whose primary business is collecting freshly cooked food in lunch boxes from the residences of the office workers (mostly in the suburbs), delivering it to their respective workplaces and returning the empty boxes back to the customer's residence by using various modes of transport. "Tiffin" is an old-fashioned English word for a light lunch or afternoon snack, and sometimes, by extension, for the box it is carried in. For this reason, the dabbawalas are sometimes called Tiffin Wallahs.

The word "Dabbawala" in Marathi when literally translated, means "one who carries a box". "Dabba" means a box (usually a cylindrical tin or aluminium container), while "wala" is a suffix, denoting a doer or holder of the preceding word.[1] The closest meaning of the Dabbawala in English would be the "lunch box delivery man". Though this profession seems to be simple, it is actually a highly specialized service in Mumbai which is over a century old and has become integral to the cultural life of this city.
The concept of the dabbawala originated when India was under British rule. Many British people who came to the colony did not like the local food, so a service was set up to bring lunch to these people in their workplace straight from their home. Nowadays, although Indian business men are the main customers for the dabbawalas, increasingly affluent families employ them instead for lunch delivery to their school-aged children. Even though the services provided might include cooking, it primarily consists of only delivery either home-made or in that latter case, food ordered from a restaurant.
[edit]The Nutan Mumbai Tiffin Box Suppliers Trust
This service was originated in 1880. In 1890, Mahadeo Havaji Bachche, started a lunch delivery service with about 100 men.[2] In 1930, he informally attempted to unionize the dabbawallas. Later a charitable trust was registered in 1956 under the name of Nutan Mumbai Tiffin Box Suppliers Trust. The commercial arm of this trust was registered in 1968 as Mumbai Tiffin Box Supplier's Association. The present President of the association is Sopan Laxman Mare. Nowadays, the service often includes cooking of foods in addition to the delivery.

Mumbai is a very densely populated city of millions with huge flows of traffic. Because of this, lengthy commutes to workplaces are common, with many workers traveling by train.
Instead of going home for lunch or paying for a meal in a café, many office workers have a cooked meal sent either from their home, or sometimes from a caterer who essentially cooks and delivers the meal in lunch boxes and then have the empty lunch boxes collected and re-sent the same day. This is usually done for a monthly fee, for about 2 pounds. The meal is cooked in the morning and sent in lunch boxes carried by dabbawalas, who have a complex association and hierarchy across the city.


Dabbawalas in action at a Mumbai Suburban Railway station.
A collecting dabbawala, usually on bicycle, collects dabbas either from a worker's home or from the dabba makers. As many of the carriers are illiterate, the dabbas have some sort of distinguishing mark on them, such as a colour or group of symbols.
The dabbawala then takes them to a designated sorting place, where he and other collecting dabbawalas sort (and sometimes bundle) the lunch boxes into groups. The grouped boxes are put in the coaches of trains, with markings to identify the destination of the box (usually there is a designated car for the boxes). The markings include the rail station to unload the boxes and the building address where the box has to be delivered.
At each station, boxes are handed over to a local dabbawala, who delivers them. The empty boxes, after lunch, are again collected and sent back to the respective houses.
Appearance and coding


Markings: (1) abbreviations for collection points, (2) colour code for starting station, (3) number for destination station and (4) markings for handling dabbawala at destination, building and floor.[3]


A typical dabbawala lunch.


It was estimated in 2007 that the dabbawala industry was still growing by 5-10% per annum.[4]
Although the service remains essentially low-tech, with the barefoot delivery men as the prime movers, the dabbawalas have started to embrace technology, and now allow booking for delivery through SMS.[5] An on-line poll on the web site ensures that customer feedback is given pride of place. The success of the system depends on teamwork and time management. Such is the dedication and commitment of the barely literate and barefoot delivery men (there are only a few delivery women) who form links in the extensive delivery chain, that there is no system of documentation at all. A simple colour coding system doubles as an ID system for the destination and recipient. There are no multiple elaborate layers of management either — just three layers. Each dabbawala is also required to contribute a minimum capital in kind, in the form of two bicycles, a wooden crate for the tiffins, white cotton kurta-pyjamas, and the white trademark Gandhi cap (topi). The return on capital is ensured by monthly division of the earnings of each unit.
[edit]Uninterrupted services
The service is almost always uninterrupted, even on the days of severe weather such as monsoons. The local dabbawalas and population know each other well, and often form bonds of trust. Dabbawalas are generally well accustomed to the local areas they cater to, and use shortcuts and other low profile routes to deliver their goods on time. Occasionally, people communicate between home and work by putting messages inside the boxes; however, with the rise of instant communication such as SMS and instant messaging, this trend is vanishing.
[edit]Economic analysis

Each dabbawala, regardless of role, gets paid about two to four thousand rupees per month (around £25–50 or US$40–80).[6]
In 2002, Forbes Magazine found its reliability to be that of a six sigma standard. More than 175,000 to 200,000 lunch boxes get moved every day by an estimated 4,500 to 5,000 dabbawalas, all with an extremely small nominal fee and with utmost punctuality. According to a recent survey, they make less than one mistake in every 6 million deliveries, despite most of the delivery staff being illiterate.[7]
The BBC has produced a documentary on dabbawalas, and Prince Charles, during his visit to India, visited them (he had to fit in with their schedule, since their timing was too precise to permit any flexibility). Prince Charles also invited them to his wedding with Camilla Parker Bowles in London on 9 April 2005. Owing to the tremendous publicity, some of the dabbawalas were invited to give guest lectures in some of the top business schools of India, which is very unusual. Most remarkably in the eyes of many Westerners, the success of the dabbawala trade has involved no advanced technology,[8] except for trains (and as mentioned above, SMS services for booking).
The New York Times reported in 2007 that the 125-year-old dabbawala industry continues to grow at a rate of 5–10% per year.[4]
[edit]Awards and recognition
ISO 9001:2000 certified by the Joint Accreditation System of Australia and New Zealand [9]

used abused thrown out on the streets ...fucked womans day i repeat



man needs
to fuck any women
on two legs
when he comes
on heat
the cock too needs
something to eat
woman once used
abused
is a file so easy
to delete
her tits
her clit
her twat
fuck
who cares a shit
for her heartbeat
woman was made
as a commodity
by a macho male god
no soul flesh
in a winding sheet
woman fragemented
incomplete this is a general
thought not of the beggar poet
who with other poets
photographers
does not compete
a shit head shooting
society scum
barefeet the eunuchs whores
beggars hijras spawned
by mother earth in defeat

used abused thrown out on the streets ...fucked womans day i repeat

in india women are treated as goddess or piece of shit..

beggars are the only indigenous export from India nobody wants

Sometimes Honestly I Dont Know Why I Shoot What I Shoot


my pictures talk
to me but i go mute
they sometimes
reprimand me
courteous
i wont refute
here i saw
two guys
a babe
very cute
dichotomous
beaut
a part of
her tanned
the other
part faded
bag of jute
falling
in love
with women
is jumping
from the
empire state
building
without a
parachute
in your
birthday suit
suicidal pursuit
i also tried
falling in love
with a transvestite
all was fine
till one day
she showed me
her erect offshoot
a new thought
took root i gave
her up now
i am celibate
single happy
i simply
google+
compute
no problems
no dispute
though
i am open
if i do get a
new nubile
recruit
with ample
of fruits
top heavy
not hirsute
of good family
background
my love
wont dilute
my next poem
to her will
be my lasting
tribute

for fuck sake dont ask me if i steal souls when i shoot ...on my multi colored ass a signature collection of my past ladies boots ..

I Prefer The Canon EOS 7D It gives depth of space to my Pictures


And it shoots faster than I think ..

Mother The Whole World Knows Us Now ..



we are
beggars
on the soul
of humanity
thank you all
we take a bow
we are poorer
than the poorest
our worth
far too little
as compared
to the sacrificial
goat or the holy cow
we are fatalists
we live for now
with begging
our empty stomach
we plough
we were born
dreamless
we bless you
for every coin
you give us
may god give
you the golden
laden bough
no we wont
ever return to
this karmic
world of
inhumanity
pain suffering
we take a vow

i have taken poetic liberty muslims dont believe in reincarnation or karma ..

Mother Why Are You Crying Again..When I Grow Up I Will Change Your World

I Shoot Mothers Day Every Day On The Streets In Bandra

Muslims Actually Hate Beggars They Give The Community a Bad Name

Mother And The Bleeding Cosmic Wheel of Pain

If Wishes Were Beggars Than Horses Would Hide

Mother I Finally Understood Why You Cover Your Face ..

Mother When Can I Go Home And Play ...

Mother Why Is He Stealing Our Souls ..

I Am Aging Gracefully

Behind Every Crazy Man Lies A Sane Woman

An Ode To My Great Father In Law

inspired by my friend Jack.. C Crawford

it is the father in law
with his chutzpah
who adds hope
humanity
to our married life
with all
its flaws
he balances
the marital seesaw
before we
get mauled
by the mother
in law
she loves
her daughter
more than
the son outlaw
before we
met our wives
it was her mother
we saw
with the rolling pin
in one hand
in the other
hand
the hacksaw

a fun rhyme
with malice to none
to my mother in law
i am her best one

Both my parents are dead and it is my in laws I consider mother and father , initially they were not willing to give me their daughter ..I was 25 with a salary of Rs750 .. I drank , I had a roving eye .. I was crazy too.. but they gave in and I am married for 35 years now ..thanks to them I became a good person I think so..

I am on Google+

brioni

brioni by firoze shakir photographerno1
brioni, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr.

The Rich Mans Soul Lies In His Wallet

Sometimes It Is Nice To Know What It Feels To Wear Rich Clothes

Clothes Do Not Maketh A Man Humility Does ..Gods Naked Truth

I am the Corporate Malang of Mumbai

Man Can Live Without Fashion But Not Without Style

Distorted Dilemma Of Deleted Dreams

PEOPLE WHO LIVE IN GLASS HOUSES BREAK EASILY

She Locked Me Out And Threw The Keys In The Arabian Sea

Your Suit Is Incomplete Without The Poche

The Touch of Class

She Blocked Me Deleted Me And Stole My Dreams

I am a beggar who lives his dreams in silence ..stealthily shot by jj

I stole the soul of this pianist ...

230,385 items / 1,935,755 views

as she moved
her red nail
polished fingers
rolled her wrist
to shoot
her capture
the sound of her
music on your ears
i could not resist
on the poetry
of your consciousness
she now exists
feathery wispy
emotional
whispering
sensations
my camera kissed

Even Gods Have Become Bribe Takers On The Soul of Humanity


our indian gods need

diamond studded shawls

they ask for hard currency

no travelers cheques

most of all diamonds

gold silver hussains

paintings on their walls

they are more smarter all in all

silken robes golden heeled mojdis

to add to their grandeur

make them stately also tall

if you are broke dont have

anything for them they hang up

whenever you call

if you dont pay them

terrible times will befall

the curse of the potbellied

pujari and the trustee

pimping in the prayer hall

the beginning no end

to your karmic soul its

cosmic downfall

flat on his belly

like a wounded reptilian

the devotee pots of money

slithering silence

as he crawls

behind him his children

his sickly wife wafer thin

so very small

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