‘Puncturewalas’ slur shows Muslims as unskilled. No one’s asking the right question though

The debate now circles around whether PM Modi insulted Muslims in his speech, or whether his comments were taken out of context.

PM Modi at a public meeting in Hisar, Haryana. It was here that he allegedly referred to Muslims as puncturewalas | Photo: ANI

This isn’t the first time a speech by Prime Minister Narendra Modi addressing the Muslim community has stirred controversy—and it likely won’t be the last. By now, the pattern is familiar: the remarks are made, dissected in the media, and followed by days of backlash, defence, and noise. Modi’s recent speech has sparked yet another round. This time, the allegation is that he referred to Muslims as ‘puncturewalas’—a term long used as a slur by Right-wing groups to stereotype Muslims as unskilled, illiterate people relegated to menial labour.

In context, the comment came as part of PM Modi’s defence of the Waqf Board amendment, where he said that had Waqf properties been properly utilised, “Muslim youth wouldn’t have had to repair punctured tyres for a livelihood”. The line may have been framed as economic concern, but many heard something else entirely.

Yes, one could argue that the prime minister’s larger point was about missed opportunities. About how Waqf resources, if utilised properly, could have changed lives. The intention truly could have been to highlight how little has reached the Muslim community despite so much being set aside for it. I have also argued previously that the Waqf Board seems to have become a hub of mismanagement and corruption. But how a point is conveyed matters. Especially when you’re speaking to a group that already feels sidelined, already carries the weight of so many labels.

What’s wrong with puncturewala?

The debate now circles around whether Modi insulted Muslims or whether his comments were taken out of context. No one, however, is asking the most basic question: How puncturewala became an insult to begin with. Why do we, as a society, carry so much quiet contempt for those who do hard, physical work—the ones fixing tyres, sweeping roads, carrying loads? We don’t say it out loud, but it shows in the way we speak, in our jokes, in our silences. It’s not just about one speech or one controversy. It’s about the kind of work we’ve decided is worth respecting, and the kind we think is only done by people who have failed elsewhere.

That says more about us than it does about the person turning a wrench by the roadside. Because honestly, any individual or any society that sees puncturewala as an insult is the one that’s failed. A society that sees dignity only in desk jobs or English-speaking professionals has missed the point. And what’s worse is that both sides in this debate—those who use the word to attack, and even those taking offense—end up reinforcing the same idea: that there’s something lesser about labour.

That’s where the real problem lies. We’ve created a society where people who work with their hands to earn an honest living don’t get basic respect, where being human alone doesn’t guarantee dignity. Where respect still depends on the clothes you wear, the job you do, and whether you can speak the language of power.

This mindset has revealed itself before. Remember when Modi was mocked during the elections for being a chaiwala (tea-seller)? As if selling tea was something to be ashamed of. Back then, it was the so-called elite on the other side who made the mistake. The Bharatiya Janata Party flipped the ridicule smartly, turning it into an inspirational story – even a chaiwala can become prime minister. Sounds great, and sure, it worked politically. But even then, a basic point was missed.

The issue was never whether a chaiwala could rise to become someone important. It was this: why must he rise at all to be treated with respect? Why can’t a chaiwala be seen with dignity? Such people are only romanticised after they’ve left their life of hardship behind. And this shows how important it is to build a society where people are valued not in spite of their work but due to it. Where being a chaiwala or a puncturewala doesn’t need defending at all.

Look beyond ‘prestige’

The real reason why a puncturewala or a chaiwala don’t get respect is because their jobs are tied to poverty. Not because the work lacks value, but because we’ve been taught quietly, over time, that dignity comes from status, not effort. A chaiwala in a five-star hotel is taken more seriously than one on a railway platform. A mechanic with a shiny shop gets more respect than someone working out of a small one.

This humiliation, however, isn’t solely tied to poverty. It’s also about the work, the caste that work is associated with, and how far it is from our definition of ‘prestige’—where money matters, but not as much as power or perception. People with status and achievements—even those doing unethical things—are treated with admiration. That says something disturbing about the kind of society we’ve built. We look up to success, even when it’s hollow. And we look past labour, even when it’s honest.

We can’t really call ourselves a successful society until we build a nation where people choose their work based on what gives them meaning, and not on what earns them respect. Until then, no matter how much we achieve, something at the heart of our society will remain unfinished.

Amana Begam Ansari is a columnist, writer, TV news panelist. She runs a weekly YouTube show called ‘India This Week by Amana and Khalid’. She tweets @Amana_Ansari. Views are personal.

(Edited by Zoya Bhatti)