Welcome to India (2012) s01e02 Episode Script
Episode 2
planet supports seven billion of us BABY CRIES .
.
and counting? Learning to survive in a crowded world is our biggest challenge.
But there's one corner where we're already well on our way to adapting HE SHOUTS IN BENGALI Welcome to India.
Over one in six in the world live here.
And do you know what? We are thriving on it.
We're resourceful Steve Jobs.
We're ambitious.
We're the ultimate pragmatists.
And do you know one of our most basic ideas? SHE LAUGHS Take that thing you call "waste".
Around here, it's one of our top opportunities.
So, if you think you're doing well with your recycling, come and take a look over here.
We'll let you in on how we, with so little, can do so much.
This programme contains some strong language.
TRAIN HORN BLARES MUSIC: "Coppelia Valse" by Leo Delibes Let me introduce you to one of our millions of backstreet entrepreneurs.
Johora lives and works on a railway embankment on the outskirts of Kolkata.
Johora has built her home, and a thriving business, from sorting this stuff - what you'd call "waste".
She started out as a rag picker here 23 years ago, when she married her husband, Hanan.
Three years ago, Johora took a punt and started specialising in plastic bottles.
HORN BEEPS She bought her eldest son, Nawab, a rickshaw to collect them.
As head of "acquisitions", he's built up a network of suppliers who collect bottles from local rubbish tips, shops and restaurants.
MUSIC: "Jaan" by Jassi Sidhu It is a highly-competitive market, with demand for bottles consistently outstripping local supply.
HE LAUGHS Back at base, Johora and four employees strip off the labels and sort the bottles by colour.
They're sold on by weight.
And Johora has a little trick to make sure she gets the best price.
SHE LAUGHS The bottles are crammed into huge balls weighing up to 100 kilos.
Each of these fetches around 50 Pounds when sold on to the next link in the recycling chain.
Johora relies on this income to support her seven children, pay her four full-time employees 2 Pounds a day, AND make her a profit.
The opportunism of our backstreet entrepreneurs means we recycle over 60% of our plastic bottles.
Now, that's a stat you in the UK hope to achieve by 2020.
MUSIC: "Dying City" by Johann Johannsson Where YOU see trash, WE see a livelihood and we don't just confine ourselves to the small stuff.
Kanhaialal's one of 6,000 workers in Mumbai who butcher discarded ships from around the worldby hand.
Kanhaialal was 14 when he started working here, 18 years ago.
He's worked his way up to the role of cutter and uses a blowtorch to carve these corroding hulls into manageable chunks.
This will supply India's construction boom with cheap, recycled steel.
Today, he's on the team cutting a large bow section off a 12,000-tonne cargo ship, built 32 years ago in Japan.
The team climb on board.
They'll make their incisions from inside the hull.
Every section of this beast must be dismantled .
.
including the oil bunkers, which can contain highly-explosive gases.
Just an hour into the job, a blaze breaks out on the bridge of a neighbouring ship.
They say ship breaking kills around 20 people a year in India and that's the official figures.
But Kanhaialal's got a wife and two kids to feed.
By mid afternoon, the bow section of the ship is ready to come off.
Kanhaialal knows his boss likes to keeps things as "flexible" as possible by hiring short-term, freelance staff.
They've been doing a good job on the Japanese ship, but if there's to be more work, it's vital another vessel arrives in the next few days.
Now, we might be the world's largest ship recycler, but if you think this appetite for the fruits of recycling is a one-way deal, my friend, think again.
Next time you put on your lipstick, or lather up with soap, bear in mind that some of the ingredients may have started life somewhere like this - Mohammed Ashique's fat-processing workshop.
MUSIC: "Otto E Mezzo" by Nino Rota His raw material is prepared by a team of cutters.
It's beef suet, the fat from around the kidneys and loins, which he renders down at high temperature.
Ashique sources his fat from Kolkata's main abattoir, where he barters with the slaughtermen for their daily suet pile.
Yesterday, he bought up over 200 kilos of the fat and must work flat out to process it before it rots in the heat.
His employees seem less concerned.
Once he's pressed them into action, the rendered fat can be ladled into salvaged tin cans, to cool.
And, of course, there's value in the by-products.
It's the solidified oil, or "tallow", that earns Ashique his real income.
It's sold to a local company that turns it into stearic acid, a key ingredient for many soaps and lipsticks the world over.
Ashique's hardly made an impression on his pungent stock when he's interrupted.
A local party representative is taking issue with the sacks of fat.
Ashique seems oblivious to the stench of his workshop.
But at the end of an especially tough day he treats himself to a full pampering at his favourite barbershop.
Fresh-faced and transformed, Ashique heads for home sweet home.
With 30% of us under 15-years-old, and our under fives numbering twice the population of the UK, our kids are one of our most important assets.
At Johora's, while Nawab works full-time collecting bottles, the younger kids are put to good use as a cheap, convenient water supply.
This evening, they're off to the standpipe a couple of hundred metres up the road.
After her 14-hour day sorting bottles, Johora's struggling to get dinner ready for her large family.
But there's a knock at the door.
A local mobster has sent round a couple of his henchmen.
They're keen to get hold of her husband.
The 2,000-rupee payment might "protect" the business, but Johora's spending is already maxed out.
She pays 4,000 rupees, or 50 Pounds, a month to send her two daughters to a religious boarding school and term starts tomorrow.
Good night.
BOTH: Good night! While the children finally get to sleep, Johora and Hanan are up, worrying about the gangsters.
Whether we like it or not, there IS a system around here.
It's this which allows business to prosper.
And the mob are an integral part of it.
Take Coco here - a mobster who's semi-retired but, in his day, was as big a fish as they come.
We make a demand.
A demand - cash demand, that if you're going to do this, you have to look after us.
Then we take care of you.
It's like "protection money", you call it.
Because they are under our guidance and our protection.
So we're basically providing them social service.
Is it? Right! HE LAUGHS If he doesn't pay up, then we know what to do to him, or how to settle him, after that.
That's the important thing.
The mob's enterprise extends well beyond social welfare.
They've also branched out into utilities.
No-one wants to live in darkness.
This guy, he supplies electricity He tabs the government's line, and he takes about 100 for fan, 50 for light .
.
another hundred for TV.
At least 200, 300 apiece one room.
So it's more than 300, 400 a house.
If he's got 600 houses, my God! A few cops will come, they take a little money.
Corporation guy may come.
They take some money and they carry on.
They don't care a hoot about what you are doing.
As long as my hands are greased, my palms are greased, I don't care what you are doing.
It's like that.
Johora's bottles are ready for delivery and, with the gangsters on her back, she needs the income more than ever.
All she requires is a man with a van.
As ever, she keeps it in the family by using her son-in-law .
.
but reliability isn't one of his strong points.
HORN BEEPS Johora's come a long way since she started working for Hanan as a young girl of 12.
He was married with two kids but it wasn't long before he succumbed to her adolescent charms.
Johora's son-in-law, Tinku, finally turns up, hours late.
But he's not fussed.
He holds the key contacts Johora needs.
When Johora began specialising in plastic bottles, she quickly married one of her daughters to Tinku, craftily bagging both his van and his bottle industry connections.
But working with your mother-in-law isn't always easy.
Tinku's certainly useful, for now.
But Johora has an idea for tackling her new cash flow demands that he may not be so happy about.
Kanhaialal, the shipbreaker, has been given a rare afternoon off.
His job may be dangerous, but the extra pay for such work provides a better life for his family.
He spends almost half his income on renting a family apartment, here in the suburbs of Mumbai.
Half of what is left of his earnings are spent on sending his three daughters to school.
But it not's just Kanhaialal's pay that worries Radha.
Kanhaialal's dangerous job is a calculated gamble against his daughters' future.
PHONE RINGS It's Kanhaialal's boss with the call that every employee dreads.
The job that Kanhaialal's been doing for the last three months is no longer his.
It's true, we Indians don't have any of your unemployment benefits, but search the city, and you'll find there is always work available .
.
if you want it badly enough.
The conditions at Ashique's fat- rendering factory are getting worse.
With over 100 kilos of fat still to process, his stock's in danger of rotting.
And today of all days, there's no sign of his workers.
MUSIC: "Summertime" by George Gershwin Ashique is resorting to rounding them up himself.
Ashique faces competition in recruiting staff from other "fragrant operations", such as the one using the cramped space of his workshop's veranda.
Cow's intestine from the abattoir is given a thorough cleaning, before being carefully inflated.
Once dried, it may well be headed your way via the international sausage casing market.
One of our best customers are the Germans, who import 2,000 tonnes of our animal guts and bladders a year.
Ashique's day is going from bad to worse.
Not only is he short-staffed but the rows of cow's intestine is limiting space to deal with his fat mountain.
By mid morning, a new kind of opportunist has moved in.
It's the local heavies asking Ashiq to clean up or move out.
When you're working off the books, there's no point turning to the official legal system for help in disputes.
Instead, most turn to these guys, the local political bosses.
We might be out of sight of tax collectors and the law, but there are still some things we have to play along with, if we want to get ahead.
Johora's still feeling the pressure of the increased monthly protection payments a fortnight on.
It's time to deploy her new idea.
She's used her brother-in-law's bank account to take out a big loan.
A VERY big loan.
She's bought herself a van.
But her purchase is already creating issues.
Her son-in-law, Tinku, who has always provided her transport, now stands to lose out.
Despite Tinku's protests, the new van is modified and is now ready for service.
Johora can't resist a celebratory lap.
She's even bought a new dress for the occasion.
HORN BEEPS A stop at the local shrine ensures spiritual support for the venture - a kind of "holy vehicle warranty plan".
It's 4AM, and Johora's wasting no time putting her plan into action.
The more she can squeeze on, the bigger her profits.
But before that, she wants to ensure first impressions count.
Johora and Hanan are no longer simply bottle sorters, they're wholesalers in their own right.
SHE LAUGHS But their promotion brings a new pressure.
They must shift their bottles for at least 42 rupees a kilo to cover the loan for the van.
The trouble is, we've become so efficient at recycling plastic bottles in India that there aren't always enough to go round.
So we've started importing from overseas and a shipment earlier this week has depressed prices.
Leaving Hanan to close the deal, Johora sneaks off to do some industrial espionage.
So far, so familiar, but a piece of machinery catches her eye.
The flakes spat out by this shredder fetch 45 rupees a kilo, seven more than the current rate for bottles.
It's sold on to manufacturers of polysynthetic fibre, who in turn supply the world with everything from polar fleeces to stuffing for your sofa cushions.
While Hanan is being knocked down even further, Johora has snuck a glimpse of the future.
Their first direct deal is done and the price is still better than they would have got through their son-in-law.
Johora's got to play the long game if she wants to grow her enterprise into the business of her dreams.
But for now, at least, the protection gangsters can be paid off.
Down at Darukhana shipyard, it's Kanhaialal's second day without any work.
Early next morning, Kanhaialal goes to meet his fellow ship breakers before they start work.
The good news is there's rumour of a new arrival in the yards.
It's a promising lead but Kanhaialal's late for today's round of hiring.
Kanhaialal has only one chance to secure the job his family needs.
But his new boss is notoriously difficult to please.
The news is good.
And the payment is just the start of it.
Guaranteed wages for three whole months.
It's as good as Kanhaialal could dare hope for.
His home and daughter's education are safefor now.
MUSIC: "Jan Pechachan Ho" by Mohammed Rafi CAR HORNS BEEP You can probably tell, we're a pragmatic lot.
Making money is our top priority.
But it doesn't mean we don't know how to have fun.
Next week is the Islamic festival of Eid-al-Adha.
For Kolkata's large Muslim population, it's time to push the boat out.
Every family that can will spend a small fortune on a sacrificial animal.
For a few short days, one of these is every kid's must-have accessory .
.
and you think Christmas is expensive! Business is booming with Johora's new van, and she's made her youngest son, Naushad, a promise.
This year, if he behaves, the family cow will be his to look after.
Hanan has decided to head for an out-of-town mega market.
It's got the best seasonal deals to suit every pocket, from scrawny yearlings to the fully grown and carefully groomed.
Hanan's teaching Naushad how to cut a deal, and traders don't come any sharper than these wily cattle hustlers.
Nothing seems to be up to Naushad's mark, and the choice is dwindling fast.
Naushad spots the cow of his dreams.
The biggest item of festival shopping is in the bag.
MUSIC: "Mera Naam Chin Chin Chu" by Geeta Dutt Naushad can't wait to show off his new toy with a spin round the block.
And he's not the only one.
If you really want to impress the neighbours, there's nothing like rolling up with a brand-new camel.
Johora's two daughters are back from their religious boarding school for the festival.
They've been away for two whole months.
Even Ashique's taking time out from his fat rendering to be with his family.
Top on both his daughter and his wife's list is some make-up.
These are the very products that may contain his fat.
The tally is mounting fast.
MUSIC: "Photo Rakh Ke" by Bups Saggu It's the morning of the festival.
Johora must feed the entire extended family for the biggest gathering of the year.
The business is going well and the gangsters are off her back.
But there's one remaining problem - the rift over the new van with her son-in-law, Tinku.
Today is her opportunity to resolve it.
At the heart of the family's festival is Naushad's new companion.
But the slaughter of his cow is the day's central moment.
It marks Prophet Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his son as proof of his devotion to God.
The sight of all this fresh meat is reminds the men of the house that they are able to cook, after all.
Shabnam is married to Tinku, Johora's estranged business partner.
The feast is ready and there's still no sign of Tinku and Shabnam.
Keen not to let the whole day be spoilt, Johora dishes up.
But Johora's festival isn't complete.
At last, the family's together for the final celebrations.
There's nothing like the promise of a new baby to patch up family relations.
Tinku's so happy he even offers to buy a round of ice creams.
The festival's been a huge success.
The family's back together and have held a feast to be proud of.
And looking ahead, there are big plans for the business.
Things for Johora and family are certainly looking up.
HE LAUGHS MUSIC: "Streets Of Calcutta" by Ananda Shankar
.
and counting? Learning to survive in a crowded world is our biggest challenge.
But there's one corner where we're already well on our way to adapting HE SHOUTS IN BENGALI Welcome to India.
Over one in six in the world live here.
And do you know what? We are thriving on it.
We're resourceful Steve Jobs.
We're ambitious.
We're the ultimate pragmatists.
And do you know one of our most basic ideas? SHE LAUGHS Take that thing you call "waste".
Around here, it's one of our top opportunities.
So, if you think you're doing well with your recycling, come and take a look over here.
We'll let you in on how we, with so little, can do so much.
This programme contains some strong language.
TRAIN HORN BLARES MUSIC: "Coppelia Valse" by Leo Delibes Let me introduce you to one of our millions of backstreet entrepreneurs.
Johora lives and works on a railway embankment on the outskirts of Kolkata.
Johora has built her home, and a thriving business, from sorting this stuff - what you'd call "waste".
She started out as a rag picker here 23 years ago, when she married her husband, Hanan.
Three years ago, Johora took a punt and started specialising in plastic bottles.
HORN BEEPS She bought her eldest son, Nawab, a rickshaw to collect them.
As head of "acquisitions", he's built up a network of suppliers who collect bottles from local rubbish tips, shops and restaurants.
MUSIC: "Jaan" by Jassi Sidhu It is a highly-competitive market, with demand for bottles consistently outstripping local supply.
HE LAUGHS Back at base, Johora and four employees strip off the labels and sort the bottles by colour.
They're sold on by weight.
And Johora has a little trick to make sure she gets the best price.
SHE LAUGHS The bottles are crammed into huge balls weighing up to 100 kilos.
Each of these fetches around 50 Pounds when sold on to the next link in the recycling chain.
Johora relies on this income to support her seven children, pay her four full-time employees 2 Pounds a day, AND make her a profit.
The opportunism of our backstreet entrepreneurs means we recycle over 60% of our plastic bottles.
Now, that's a stat you in the UK hope to achieve by 2020.
MUSIC: "Dying City" by Johann Johannsson Where YOU see trash, WE see a livelihood and we don't just confine ourselves to the small stuff.
Kanhaialal's one of 6,000 workers in Mumbai who butcher discarded ships from around the worldby hand.
Kanhaialal was 14 when he started working here, 18 years ago.
He's worked his way up to the role of cutter and uses a blowtorch to carve these corroding hulls into manageable chunks.
This will supply India's construction boom with cheap, recycled steel.
Today, he's on the team cutting a large bow section off a 12,000-tonne cargo ship, built 32 years ago in Japan.
The team climb on board.
They'll make their incisions from inside the hull.
Every section of this beast must be dismantled .
.
including the oil bunkers, which can contain highly-explosive gases.
Just an hour into the job, a blaze breaks out on the bridge of a neighbouring ship.
They say ship breaking kills around 20 people a year in India and that's the official figures.
But Kanhaialal's got a wife and two kids to feed.
By mid afternoon, the bow section of the ship is ready to come off.
Kanhaialal knows his boss likes to keeps things as "flexible" as possible by hiring short-term, freelance staff.
They've been doing a good job on the Japanese ship, but if there's to be more work, it's vital another vessel arrives in the next few days.
Now, we might be the world's largest ship recycler, but if you think this appetite for the fruits of recycling is a one-way deal, my friend, think again.
Next time you put on your lipstick, or lather up with soap, bear in mind that some of the ingredients may have started life somewhere like this - Mohammed Ashique's fat-processing workshop.
MUSIC: "Otto E Mezzo" by Nino Rota His raw material is prepared by a team of cutters.
It's beef suet, the fat from around the kidneys and loins, which he renders down at high temperature.
Ashique sources his fat from Kolkata's main abattoir, where he barters with the slaughtermen for their daily suet pile.
Yesterday, he bought up over 200 kilos of the fat and must work flat out to process it before it rots in the heat.
His employees seem less concerned.
Once he's pressed them into action, the rendered fat can be ladled into salvaged tin cans, to cool.
And, of course, there's value in the by-products.
It's the solidified oil, or "tallow", that earns Ashique his real income.
It's sold to a local company that turns it into stearic acid, a key ingredient for many soaps and lipsticks the world over.
Ashique's hardly made an impression on his pungent stock when he's interrupted.
A local party representative is taking issue with the sacks of fat.
Ashique seems oblivious to the stench of his workshop.
But at the end of an especially tough day he treats himself to a full pampering at his favourite barbershop.
Fresh-faced and transformed, Ashique heads for home sweet home.
With 30% of us under 15-years-old, and our under fives numbering twice the population of the UK, our kids are one of our most important assets.
At Johora's, while Nawab works full-time collecting bottles, the younger kids are put to good use as a cheap, convenient water supply.
This evening, they're off to the standpipe a couple of hundred metres up the road.
After her 14-hour day sorting bottles, Johora's struggling to get dinner ready for her large family.
But there's a knock at the door.
A local mobster has sent round a couple of his henchmen.
They're keen to get hold of her husband.
The 2,000-rupee payment might "protect" the business, but Johora's spending is already maxed out.
She pays 4,000 rupees, or 50 Pounds, a month to send her two daughters to a religious boarding school and term starts tomorrow.
Good night.
BOTH: Good night! While the children finally get to sleep, Johora and Hanan are up, worrying about the gangsters.
Whether we like it or not, there IS a system around here.
It's this which allows business to prosper.
And the mob are an integral part of it.
Take Coco here - a mobster who's semi-retired but, in his day, was as big a fish as they come.
We make a demand.
A demand - cash demand, that if you're going to do this, you have to look after us.
Then we take care of you.
It's like "protection money", you call it.
Because they are under our guidance and our protection.
So we're basically providing them social service.
Is it? Right! HE LAUGHS If he doesn't pay up, then we know what to do to him, or how to settle him, after that.
That's the important thing.
The mob's enterprise extends well beyond social welfare.
They've also branched out into utilities.
No-one wants to live in darkness.
This guy, he supplies electricity He tabs the government's line, and he takes about 100 for fan, 50 for light .
.
another hundred for TV.
At least 200, 300 apiece one room.
So it's more than 300, 400 a house.
If he's got 600 houses, my God! A few cops will come, they take a little money.
Corporation guy may come.
They take some money and they carry on.
They don't care a hoot about what you are doing.
As long as my hands are greased, my palms are greased, I don't care what you are doing.
It's like that.
Johora's bottles are ready for delivery and, with the gangsters on her back, she needs the income more than ever.
All she requires is a man with a van.
As ever, she keeps it in the family by using her son-in-law .
.
but reliability isn't one of his strong points.
HORN BEEPS Johora's come a long way since she started working for Hanan as a young girl of 12.
He was married with two kids but it wasn't long before he succumbed to her adolescent charms.
Johora's son-in-law, Tinku, finally turns up, hours late.
But he's not fussed.
He holds the key contacts Johora needs.
When Johora began specialising in plastic bottles, she quickly married one of her daughters to Tinku, craftily bagging both his van and his bottle industry connections.
But working with your mother-in-law isn't always easy.
Tinku's certainly useful, for now.
But Johora has an idea for tackling her new cash flow demands that he may not be so happy about.
Kanhaialal, the shipbreaker, has been given a rare afternoon off.
His job may be dangerous, but the extra pay for such work provides a better life for his family.
He spends almost half his income on renting a family apartment, here in the suburbs of Mumbai.
Half of what is left of his earnings are spent on sending his three daughters to school.
But it not's just Kanhaialal's pay that worries Radha.
Kanhaialal's dangerous job is a calculated gamble against his daughters' future.
PHONE RINGS It's Kanhaialal's boss with the call that every employee dreads.
The job that Kanhaialal's been doing for the last three months is no longer his.
It's true, we Indians don't have any of your unemployment benefits, but search the city, and you'll find there is always work available .
.
if you want it badly enough.
The conditions at Ashique's fat- rendering factory are getting worse.
With over 100 kilos of fat still to process, his stock's in danger of rotting.
And today of all days, there's no sign of his workers.
MUSIC: "Summertime" by George Gershwin Ashique is resorting to rounding them up himself.
Ashique faces competition in recruiting staff from other "fragrant operations", such as the one using the cramped space of his workshop's veranda.
Cow's intestine from the abattoir is given a thorough cleaning, before being carefully inflated.
Once dried, it may well be headed your way via the international sausage casing market.
One of our best customers are the Germans, who import 2,000 tonnes of our animal guts and bladders a year.
Ashique's day is going from bad to worse.
Not only is he short-staffed but the rows of cow's intestine is limiting space to deal with his fat mountain.
By mid morning, a new kind of opportunist has moved in.
It's the local heavies asking Ashiq to clean up or move out.
When you're working off the books, there's no point turning to the official legal system for help in disputes.
Instead, most turn to these guys, the local political bosses.
We might be out of sight of tax collectors and the law, but there are still some things we have to play along with, if we want to get ahead.
Johora's still feeling the pressure of the increased monthly protection payments a fortnight on.
It's time to deploy her new idea.
She's used her brother-in-law's bank account to take out a big loan.
A VERY big loan.
She's bought herself a van.
But her purchase is already creating issues.
Her son-in-law, Tinku, who has always provided her transport, now stands to lose out.
Despite Tinku's protests, the new van is modified and is now ready for service.
Johora can't resist a celebratory lap.
She's even bought a new dress for the occasion.
HORN BEEPS A stop at the local shrine ensures spiritual support for the venture - a kind of "holy vehicle warranty plan".
It's 4AM, and Johora's wasting no time putting her plan into action.
The more she can squeeze on, the bigger her profits.
But before that, she wants to ensure first impressions count.
Johora and Hanan are no longer simply bottle sorters, they're wholesalers in their own right.
SHE LAUGHS But their promotion brings a new pressure.
They must shift their bottles for at least 42 rupees a kilo to cover the loan for the van.
The trouble is, we've become so efficient at recycling plastic bottles in India that there aren't always enough to go round.
So we've started importing from overseas and a shipment earlier this week has depressed prices.
Leaving Hanan to close the deal, Johora sneaks off to do some industrial espionage.
So far, so familiar, but a piece of machinery catches her eye.
The flakes spat out by this shredder fetch 45 rupees a kilo, seven more than the current rate for bottles.
It's sold on to manufacturers of polysynthetic fibre, who in turn supply the world with everything from polar fleeces to stuffing for your sofa cushions.
While Hanan is being knocked down even further, Johora has snuck a glimpse of the future.
Their first direct deal is done and the price is still better than they would have got through their son-in-law.
Johora's got to play the long game if she wants to grow her enterprise into the business of her dreams.
But for now, at least, the protection gangsters can be paid off.
Down at Darukhana shipyard, it's Kanhaialal's second day without any work.
Early next morning, Kanhaialal goes to meet his fellow ship breakers before they start work.
The good news is there's rumour of a new arrival in the yards.
It's a promising lead but Kanhaialal's late for today's round of hiring.
Kanhaialal has only one chance to secure the job his family needs.
But his new boss is notoriously difficult to please.
The news is good.
And the payment is just the start of it.
Guaranteed wages for three whole months.
It's as good as Kanhaialal could dare hope for.
His home and daughter's education are safefor now.
MUSIC: "Jan Pechachan Ho" by Mohammed Rafi CAR HORNS BEEP You can probably tell, we're a pragmatic lot.
Making money is our top priority.
But it doesn't mean we don't know how to have fun.
Next week is the Islamic festival of Eid-al-Adha.
For Kolkata's large Muslim population, it's time to push the boat out.
Every family that can will spend a small fortune on a sacrificial animal.
For a few short days, one of these is every kid's must-have accessory .
.
and you think Christmas is expensive! Business is booming with Johora's new van, and she's made her youngest son, Naushad, a promise.
This year, if he behaves, the family cow will be his to look after.
Hanan has decided to head for an out-of-town mega market.
It's got the best seasonal deals to suit every pocket, from scrawny yearlings to the fully grown and carefully groomed.
Hanan's teaching Naushad how to cut a deal, and traders don't come any sharper than these wily cattle hustlers.
Nothing seems to be up to Naushad's mark, and the choice is dwindling fast.
Naushad spots the cow of his dreams.
The biggest item of festival shopping is in the bag.
MUSIC: "Mera Naam Chin Chin Chu" by Geeta Dutt Naushad can't wait to show off his new toy with a spin round the block.
And he's not the only one.
If you really want to impress the neighbours, there's nothing like rolling up with a brand-new camel.
Johora's two daughters are back from their religious boarding school for the festival.
They've been away for two whole months.
Even Ashique's taking time out from his fat rendering to be with his family.
Top on both his daughter and his wife's list is some make-up.
These are the very products that may contain his fat.
The tally is mounting fast.
MUSIC: "Photo Rakh Ke" by Bups Saggu It's the morning of the festival.
Johora must feed the entire extended family for the biggest gathering of the year.
The business is going well and the gangsters are off her back.
But there's one remaining problem - the rift over the new van with her son-in-law, Tinku.
Today is her opportunity to resolve it.
At the heart of the family's festival is Naushad's new companion.
But the slaughter of his cow is the day's central moment.
It marks Prophet Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his son as proof of his devotion to God.
The sight of all this fresh meat is reminds the men of the house that they are able to cook, after all.
Shabnam is married to Tinku, Johora's estranged business partner.
The feast is ready and there's still no sign of Tinku and Shabnam.
Keen not to let the whole day be spoilt, Johora dishes up.
But Johora's festival isn't complete.
At last, the family's together for the final celebrations.
There's nothing like the promise of a new baby to patch up family relations.
Tinku's so happy he even offers to buy a round of ice creams.
The festival's been a huge success.
The family's back together and have held a feast to be proud of.
And looking ahead, there are big plans for the business.
Things for Johora and family are certainly looking up.
HE LAUGHS MUSIC: "Streets Of Calcutta" by Ananda Shankar