Running the glass bangle industry is full of hazards. Workers are not easily available. The temperature of the glass furances is very high. There is neither sufficient light nor air in the dingy cells. This spoils the health, eye-sight and other parts of the workers’ body. The low-paid workers leave their jobs of suffering a perpetual state of grinding poverty. The owners of industries have to employ the child labour illegally. Such children have no access to education. They are contrained to lose the brightness of their eyes before they become adults. Their industries are nicknamed ‘slaughter-houses or cripplers’. If the industrialists pay higher wages to labourers, their margin of profit will be lessened. As a result, they would be forced to lead a life of misery and deprivation. Above all, there is an intervention of middlemen, moneylenders, politicians and policemen.

Saheb is a rag-picker from Seemapuri whose parents migrated from Bangladesh in the year 1971. The writer encounters him every morning with barefoot in her neighbourhood. He is scrounging for gold in the garbage dumps.

He is unable to go to school because there is none in his neighbourhood. Saheb-e-Alam is his full name though he does not know its exact meaning. It means ‘Lord of the universe.’ It is ironical on his part that a poor fellow roams in the streets picking up the rags.

For the rag-pickers of Seemapuri, Garbage is wrapped in wonder. Sometimes one can find a rupee, more of a silver coin and they always hope to find more. They live in squatters with roofs of tin and tarpaulin. They have no identity except a ration card for voting and buying grain. They are devoid of sewages, drainage and running water. Survival in Seemapuri means rag-picking. At present Saheb is working at some tea stall. The writer sees him with a steel canister. He has lost his carefree look of his early days. He is not happy with his work because he is no longer his own master.

More than 10,000 rag pickers of Seemapuri live as squatters. For them garbage is gold and it is wrapped in wonder. For a child, it is his daily bread. Sometimes, he finds a silver coin in a heap of garbage. He hopes of finding more and more. It is a source of survival and earning of daily bread for the elders.

The houses of the bangle sellers are located in stinking lanes choked with garbage. Their homes are like hovels with crumbling walls, wobbly doors and without windows. They are crowded with families of humans and animals like the ancient days. The impoverished bangle sellers are not in a position to send their sons to school except teaching them the art of bangle making. The workers usually go blind with the dust from polishing the glass of bangles. The bangle makers of Firozabad make beautiful bangles of all colours. They make everyone happy. But they are ill fated to live and die in squalor. Their women have no light in their eyes. They never eat one full meal ever in their life. The hard work breaks their backs. They are ever afraid of the police if they form cooperatives. Those who give cheer to others are lotted to live in gloom.

Anees Jung has a chance to see Mukesh. His home is amidst the dusty streets of Firozabad, a town famous for the bangles. Every other family is Firozabad is engaged in making bangles since generations. His house is like a half-built shack. Its one part is thatched with dead grass. On the fire-wood stove there is a large vessel of sizzling spinach leaves. The bangle sellers are born in poverty, live in poverty and die in poverty. They lead a life of trouble, torture, tension, deprivation and poverty. Both humans and animals live together in small and dingy houses. The family is doomed to remain uneducated and poor. It is grounded under customs. The family struggles under hellish situations for survivals. Food is more important for them than their identity. The hereditaiy traditions condemn the children to a life of continuous exploitation. The future of the children is cripped like the crumbling walls and wobbly doors of their hovels. The whole families are engaged in mind mumbling hardwork which kills all initiative and ability to dream at the cost of their eyes and health.