Barriers to mobile money adoption among rickshaw pullers in Delhi: Part two

This is the second of a two part post (see here for part one). IMTFI sponsored researcher Mani Nandhi highlights barriers to mobile money adoption among rickshaw pullers in Delhi by sharing her notes from the field.

How do rickshaw pullers like Vinod 
Kumar cope with everyday debt relations?

Vinod Kumar is about 27 years old from Bilheri Village, Chattarpur district in Madhya Pradesh. After finishing middle school he was not allowed to study, so he ran away to Delhi at the age of 16. He became a puller because of his tekedar (rickshaw contractor), who is also from his village. He had tried to open a bank account in his village by providing the necessary documentation (e.g. voter’s ID, ration card) about 3 years ago, but his application was rejected because the fellow villager who signed his application form was not deemed eligible. Vinod could not find another person who could sign for him. When he learned about mobile banking, he was happy that he could open an account because he owned a mobile phone. On 26th October, 2012 he opened his ICICI –EKO mobile banking account with Rs.600 (about US $10).

But when I contacted Vinod in December to check his progress, he had lost his phone. Despite knowing that he had to get a duplicate SIM card to access his account using his voter’s ID card, he said that he had left the card in his village and would have to ask the next fellow villager coming to Delhi to get it from his house. As he ran out of excuses, I sensed that there was more to the story than met the eye. Over the course of a number of small personal meetings (in the rickshaw or on the pavement away from his slum where the tekedar kept a watch), I pieced together the story.

High stakes card games drag borrowers like
Vinod into cyclical debt relations with
tekedar-cum-lenders 

Gambling with cards was the main issue. He had accumulated a huge debt to his tekedar as well as a few fellow villagers. He plays cards to relax after the working day. He played much more during Dipawali (a major Indian festival of lights) because if you win a card game during the festival the Goddess Lakshmi is said to bestow good luck and prosperity on you.

Vinod explained to me that whilst small amounts are taken on a reciprocal basis, bigger amounts of money lent by the tekedar (the rickshaw contractor) or malik (the rickshaw owner) are repayable with interest. For instance, a loan of Rs.1000 (US $17) would have to be repaid in a week's time with an interest amount of Rs.250 (US $4) per every Rs.1000. Vinod's debts totalled Rs.115,000 (almost US $2,000). He said he normally earns about Rs.500 per day, which is his net earnings (after basic expenses and rent for rickshaw) from pulling a rickshaw. So that would mean repaying the debt in 7 to 8 months!

When I asked Vinod if he was frightened about such a huge debt, he shot back “Why would I be scared? I know I will have to earn and repay if I lose, but if I win I will be able to clear off some debts.” When I asked what he would do if he needed to send money home, his answer was “tekedar will lend for that purpose, if the need arises.” On seeing me shaking my head, he said calmly: “Madam, I have a small diary maintained about my loans,” and he was ready to show it to me.

There are eight tekedars in this kandhar (the Hindi term for "wasteland"), and three are frequent lenders. Vinod explained that the tekedars and maliks are happy to lend when the juwa (card games) are on, but rarely lend for other purposes. Many pullers like Vinod deposit their daily earnings from the rickshaw with the tekedar. However, the deposited earnings and the loans are treated separately. The earnings deposited are also treated as collateral when a puller borrows from the tekedar. He said that in one of the games he won Rs.40,000 (US $670). The stake was doubled in the next game by his tekedar, who encouraged him to gamble, and he was unable to resist the temptation. He fell for it and lost Rs.80,000 (US $1,340). He was forced to borrow big sums of Rs.10,000 (US $168) from three tekedars and small amounts from others. Vinod stole Rs.55,000 (US $922) in cash from his brothers at home during his visit for Dipawali, hoping that he would win big in the next game. Now he owes this huge amount to his brothers, too.

"Lena-dena hota hai and isab kitab ban jati hain" -
 "Normally there is give and take when we play;
we square up debt obligations
depending on who wins or loses."  

Vinod explained that many people in the kandhar are tempted into playing cards and thus fall into a debt trap. Normally debts are squared between winners and losers. If a friend wins big one week, he will lend to his friends who have lost and borrow from them the next, “like a moving wheel.”

But the relations with the tekedar seem different. I witnessed an ugly spat between Vinod and his tekedar. The tekedar would not let him take out the rickshaw that day because his rent for it was overdue by five days. His tekedar issued Vinod an ultimatum to clear off all dues (Rs.4300, about US $72) in ten days time. But from Vinod’s explanation this was just one of a number of debts that would need to be settled at the same time: “I will repay each lender alternately because if I repay one and not bother about repaying another, I will face the wrath of the lender who is not getting back the loan from me.”

Vinod has aspirations, but when gently reminded about saving in his newly opened mobile banking account, Vinod simply said: “How can I think of saving or bother about Rs.600 savings in my mobile banking account when my mind is concerned only with now and only about returning the huge amount I owe people? Such things are far away in my mind now.” His answer echoed his life situation that dangles between desires and actual choices made under harsh circumstances.

1. Link to their full report: Evolving Participatory Relationships for Uplifting the Urban Poor Rickshaw pullers: Next Step Forward.

Barriers to mobile money adoption among rickshaw pullers in Delhi: The first of two personal stories

IMTFI sponsored researcher Mani Nandhi highlights barriers to mobile money adoption among rickshaw pullers in Delhi by sharing her notes from the field in the first of two personal stories.

I would personally like to see all of the un-banked rickshaw pullers in Delhi be able to deposit their savings safely via a mobile phone into a bank account. Is this wishful thinking? Do these poor migrant pullers have the same desire as I do in finding a safe place to save? Are there factors beyond their control or my vision that comes between desire and effort? The following is the first in a two-part blog post looking at my encounters with two rickshaw pullers in Delhi. In the process of trying to unravel the main issues I pay particular attention to the way poor people's desire and choices can inform us about context and culturally specific barriers to mobile money adoption.

Tulsi Ram guessed that he is about 55- 57 years old. He is an uneducated rickshaw puller who migrated from Madhya Pradesh to Delhi with his wife and five sons, 12 years ago. Within a day of our meeting him, he was interested in acquiring a bank account. He explained that up until then he had not been able to get one because he had no savings. Softly-spoken but determined that he should think of saving for his twilight years, he volunteered with us to get a mobile bank account. It was a real achievement for him when, after using his thumb print on the application form, he received the EKO Okeykey code book. It was the sign that he had opened a new account with EKO mobile money. Tulsi received a message about his successful account opening and was told that another message would come for activation. Tulsi said “Since I cannot read I automatically delete the messages always.” We told him to show the messages to someone to check about how to activate his account. 

The train was on track. I was happy. Will the ride be a smooth one? I contacted Tulsi to check that he had managed to register successfully but his mobile phone was answered by his son who informed me that his father had been hospitalised with an eye ailment. 

Days passed....

Two main problems became clear to me as I continued to work with Tulsi. The first was an error made by the retail agent. His thumb impression was taken in red ink when it should have been done in blue or black ink. The agent’s error was rectified when Tulsi made a fresh application, this time at the counter. The second barrier was Tulsi's illiteracy. Later I understood that his account had not migrated to the CBS platform of the State Bank of India (SBI) because he had given only 9 digits for his mobile number. When his 10 digit number was relayed to the EKO office, the account was finally activated, 61 days after the first step. During the long waiting period Tulsi kept asking me two questions: "Madam, I was told that account activation status would be known through a message, but it’s not yet received in my mobile phone.” And: “Madam, when can I go to deposit some money?" 

Four days after his account was opened he went to deposit a small sum of money to operate his “first bank account” but his enthusiasm was immediately dampened. The customer service representative told him to come back after 3pm the same day. Time is precious for rickshaw pullers and Tulsi could not go to deposit his money at a time that was convenient for him. In the interim, he lost his mobile phone while visiting his village two days after Dipavali (a major Indian festival.) When I met him on 23rd November 2012, he said he could not go again to the EKO counter because he did not have the mobile phone and had neither time nor money to buy another mobile phone now. He did not know about blocking the mobile phone (SIM) number with the service provider nor did he know about lodging a police complaint about the loss of his mobile phone and SIM card. When I told him that his lost mobile number is the account number for his mobile banking account and that he needs to get a duplicate number, he exclaimed: "Madam, what can I do? I don’t have time to go for this because I need to earn?” Nonetheless, he promised to speak to his son to get a duplicate number. 

Exactly a month later on 22nd December 2012, I met him again and he had not been able to get a duplicate mobile number; instead, he had found it easier to buy a new SIM card and a new mobile phone. What were the factors involved in this decision? "Time constraints" and "illiteracy"? Or should that be "time constraints" and his own "rational choice" from his perspective? I explained to him that he still needed to register the new mobile to his bank account.

After a missed meeting and repeated reminders we finally met, albeit two hours after the arranged time. But there had been a domestic crisis. His daughter-in-law had left for her mother’s village in a huff after a fight with his second son. His son had left soon after to bring her back. Tulsi’s mobile phone was taken by this son because the family only has two mobile phones – one with Tulsi and another at home with his wife. From my perspective, another delay, yet Tulsi was unperturbed. His concerns were more immediate such as how to meet domestic expenses in the face of spiralling prices, recurring health issues and his hand-to-mouth existence. As much as he wished to have a bank account, his desire to use the account to save was outweighed by the demands of his daily hardships. To put it another way, his daily struggles to make ends meet overwhelmed his desire to save in a bank account. 

As I write this post, tomorrow is another day when I am going to meet to take him to the EKO counter to get his account number changed. I am hoping that his desire to use the mobile banking account grows stronger than his never ending problems...