How the homeless, old and poor struggle for food in Lucknow amid lockdown

Despite community kitchens, many go hungry in Lucknow

Ramavati-Puja-Awasthi-hungry Ramavati and her daughter sleeping on the side of the road | Puja Awasthi

As the nationwide lockdown to slow the march of COVID-19 is extended by another two weeks, countless remain hungry, despite community kitchens attempting to serve them.

Food being served at a community kitchen in Lucknow | Pawan Kumar Food being served at a community kitchen in Lucknow | Pawan Kumar

Within Lucknow’s municipal zone, eight community kitchens are functional. These churn out meals once a day to be distributed through a network of volunteers, the police and the administration. These did not start immediately after the lockdown and when they did they asked volunteer groups to channel all food distribution through them. Thus, an accurate list of how many meals provided by just the kitchens is not possible. But, going by government press releases, the figure hovers around 80,000.

Most likely to be missing from the list of those who benefit from this are the weak, the ill and the infirm. Or those who simply do not know when or where to show up to get food.

Volunteers working at a community kitchen | Pawan Kumar Volunteers working at a community kitchen | Pawan Kumar

That list of the excluded includes Ramavati, and her 11-year-old daughter. Ramavati, who does not know her age, has lived off alms across a small Hanuman Temple for years. The remains of a styrofoam hoarding have been her bed. “The temple was never deserted. We always had something to eat”, she says.

Her daughter has been running a fever for a couple of weeks. Ramawati cannot leave her side to go looking for food—so they eat intermittently. The last meal they had was two days ago. When they are fed, it is either by community kitchens or by helpful strangers.

“The police are forever telling us to move away from here. We have nowhere to go”, she says.

As evening melds into night the mother and daughter walk across the road to sleep in the front of a dimly-lit shop, carrying with them their few possessions in a couple of plastic bags.

Jyoti Khare is a Lucknow-based Sector Warden with the Civil Defence Corps—a force that helps the administration and police deal with immediate emergency conditions, protect the public and restore vital services. She says that she has tried to ask for food for such people who live alone or in small groups who are thus made vulnerable as they have no one to turn to for help. These are the people who are most likely to have been overlooked by civil society efforts.

“There is an old temple in the neighbourhood where I live and work. Those who live inside its premises do not have food as there are no devotees or offerings at the temple. I requested the area community kitchen in charge to give me some 25 packets for distribution to people such as these, but I was told to give dry rations if I wanted any food packets”, says Jyoti.

She also put out a message for help on a social media group (named after the BJP’s election tag line ‘Sabka Saath, Sabka Vikas’) of the city’s municipal corporation—headed by the Mayor but heard nothing. “When someone like me fails to elicit any response, you can understand what happens to the poor,” she says.

According to the 2011 Census of India, 18.56 per cent of India’s homeless were in Uttar Pradesh. While many in the state remain unfed, the government estimates that it will need to feed lakhs more people as it brings back those stranded elsewhere. On April 30, a government release said that quarantine/shelter homes and community kitchens to cater to 10 lakh returnees are to be set up.

At the temple, not far from Ramavati and her daughter sits Jawahar—a 50-year-old who worked in a cycle repair shop before the lockdown. The shop was where he slept most nights; to guard it and also because he had no home. With work stopped and the rudimentary shop set up taken away by its owner, Jawahar sleeps on the roads around the temple. On the right side of his neck are two deep cut marks, each about three inches long. These ooze a mix of blood and pus. “I used to go to a doctor. He shooed me away when this thing started”, he says.

“I eat when someone gives me food. It is never more than once a day”, he says. He has no Jan Dhan Yojana account and says that he is not registered under any government schemes to claim benefits.

On the streets, Jawahar has struck up a friendship with 60-year-old Ramesh—a construction worker. Both men keep a wary watch over each other. Single and homeless, Ramesh has gone through his meagre savings. “I am not registered with any organisation. Why will anyone help me?”, he asks.

It is a question, with no answers. No right answers at least.