Now we can move freely, unencumbered by baggage
In the fractured footpaths of Delhi's open-air markets, a small start-up called CarryMen has turned a mother's frustration into a service — and a mirror. Launched in April 2026 by two mothers who found themselves unable to push a stroller and carry bags at once, the company offers human assistance for less than a dollar an hour, hiring salaried workers to carry, queue, and guide. The venture has surfaced an older, unresolved tension in Indian society: the line between dignified employment and the inherited hierarchies of service, between practical necessity and the comfort of being waited upon.
- A viral moment exposed the raw nerve — AI-generated images of pampered women too refined to carry their own bags flooded social media, turning a modest kiosk into a flashpoint for debates about class, entitlement, and the colonial ghost of the coolie.
- Labor rights activists warn that CarryMen's salaried model, however well-intentioned at launch, is one funding round away from becoming another gig platform where workers lose benefits and protections as the company scales.
- The founders are fighting the framing: they insist their workers are not servants but trained, respected employees, and that their real customers are pregnant women, the elderly, and the disabled navigating streets that were never built for them.
- On the ground, the human reality is quieter — an eighteen-year-old who counts out cash for a man with no arms, a couple nearing sixty who can finally move through a crowded market without pain, a worker who says he feels more respected here than anywhere he has worked before.
- The expansion to Chandni Chowk in July will be the first real test of whether CarryMen's dignity-first model can survive the pressures of growth, or whether India's surplus of cheap labor will eventually reshape it in a more familiar and troubling image.
In the chaotic open-air markets of Delhi, where broken footpaths and overflowing vendors make simple errands an ordeal, two mothers of toddlers found themselves unable to push a stroller and carry shopping bags at the same time. That shared frustration, felt at Lajpat Nagar market in April 2026, became CarryMen — a start-up offering human assistance at rates starting at 79 rupees, less than a dollar for thirty minutes of help.
Founters Ritu Kandari Srivastava and Kanishka Malhotra hired seven workers, put them through intensive training, secured municipal permissions, and opened a kiosk. A CarryMen worker will carry your bags, push your pram, queue at food counters, and navigate the market on your behalf. Within weeks, bookings were climbing to eight or nine on busy weekends.
But the service went viral for reasons beyond its utility. Critics saw in it the ultimate expression of middle-class entitlement — affluent Indians outsourcing physical labor to the poor, reviving the colonial figure of the coolie in modern dress. The founders rejected the framing entirely, arguing that their workers are full-time salaried employees, not forced into anything, and that their core customers are pregnant women, the elderly, and the disabled.
Among the first hired was Anand Kumar, eighteen, who had previously worked in a sari shop and as a delivery rider. He recalls a man with artificial arms who handed him all his cash and asked him to count out the notes. "I was so touched by the trust he reposed in me," he told the BBC. The pay is better than before, he said, and he feels respected. For customers like Jatinder and Anita Sabharwal — both approaching sixty, both carrying heavy bags on a hot afternoon — the service offered something simple: the freedom to move without pain.
The harder question lies ahead. CarryMen plans to expand to Chandni Chowk in July and eventually across Delhi. But labor activists warn that India's start-up landscape is littered with companies that launched with generous wages and good intentions, then shifted to gig models as they scaled, reclassifying workers as independent contractors and watching benefits disappear. Whether CarryMen's salaried structure survives growth — or whether the logic of cheap, abundant labor eventually reasserts itself — remains the unresolved question at the center of a debate that shows no sign of quieting.
In the crowded open-air markets of Delhi, where footpaths are broken and vendors spill onto every available inch of pavement, two mothers had a simple problem: they couldn't push a stroller and carry shopping bags at the same time. That frustration, born in April of this year at Lajpat Nagar market, became CarryMen—a start-up offering to do the carrying for you.
Ritu Kandari Srivastava and Kanishka Malhotra, both mothers of toddlers, launched the service after a night of conversation with their families. The math is straightforward: 79 rupees—less than a dollar—buys thirty minutes of assistance. An hour costs 149 rupees. A CarryMen worker will hold your bags, push your pram, queue at food counters while you sit, carry your umbrella, your water bottle, your portable charger. They'll know the market layout. They'll treat you, as one worker was trained to do, like family. The start-up hired five young men and two women, put them through intensive training, got municipal permissions, and opened a kiosk. Within weeks, the service was generating half a dozen bookings a day, climbing to eight or nine on weekends.
But CarryMen has also ignited a sharp debate about who deserves help and who is being helped. The service went viral on social media, and with it came AI-generated images of manicured women too precious to carry their own purchases. Labour rights activist Akriti Bhatia saw it as the ultimate expression of middle-class entitlement—affluent Indians outsourcing menial work to the poor. Others called the workers glorified coolies, relics of colonial servitude dressed up in modern language. Some went further, invoking slavery. The founders pushed back hard. "There's no slavery," Ritu said. "We are not forcing anyone to work for us. All our workers are full-time salaried employees." She reframed the service not as luxury but as necessity: the market is chaotic, the streets are broken, and the people using CarryMen are pregnant women, mothers with young children, the elderly, the disabled.
Anand Kumar, eighteen years old, was one of the first hired. He had worked as a helper in a sari shop and as a delivery man for app-based services. He remembers his first customer: a pregnant woman. He remembers a man with artificial arms who handed him all his cash and asked him to count out the notes and pay for shopping. "I was so touched by the trust he reposed in me," Anand told the BBC. The pay is better than his previous jobs, he said, and he feels respected. When Jatinder and Anita Sabharwal came to the kiosk one hot afternoon—Jatinder approaching sixty, both carrying heavy bags—Anand guided them to a pharmacy where Anita needed a painkiller. He waited outside with their belongings. When they emerged, he handed her a water bottle so she could take the tablet. "Now we can move freely, unencumbered by baggage," Anita said. The couple saw no contradiction in the service. Those who can carry their bags should. Those who cannot should have the option to pay for help.
The real test lies ahead. CarryMen plans to expand to Chandni Chowk market in July, then gradually across Delhi and beyond. But expansion requires funding, and funding changes everything. Bhatia warned that many start-ups begin with high wages and generous promises, then shift to gig work models as they scale. India's abundance of cheap labour and weak unionisation make it easy for companies to squeeze workers once the initial goodwill fades. CarryMen currently operates with seven full-time salaried staff. The question is whether that model survives growth, or whether the service becomes another platform where workers are classified as independent contractors, benefits evaporate, and the logic of exploitation reasserts itself. For now, the kiosk in Lajpat Nagar is open, the bookings are coming, and the debate continues.
Notable Quotes
There's no slavery. We are not forcing anyone to work for us. All our workers are full-time salaried employees, they are not gig workers.— Ritu Kandari Srivastava, CarryMen co-founder
A lot of gig work and platform work started off with high payouts, with start-ups promising lots of benefits, but then it fizzled out. In India, with such an abundance of cheap labour and a lack of unionisation, companies are able to continue squeezing workers.— Akriti Bhatia, labour rights activist
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What made this idea click in a city of millions? Why now?
Two mothers couldn't manage a pram and shopping bags simultaneously in a market that wasn't designed for either. That's the whole thing. It's not abstract—it's a real friction point in how Delhi's markets actually work.
But the backlash was immediate. Why did people see entitlement rather than convenience?
Because in India, paying someone to do what you could theoretically do yourself reads as a class statement. The AI-generated images of manicured women didn't help. It looked like the ultimate luxury service for people who'd rather not be inconvenienced.
Yet the founders say their customers are pregnant women, elderly people, the disabled. Are those groups actually using the service?
That's what they claim, and the evidence so far supports it. Anand's first customer was pregnant. The Sabharwals were a couple in their late fifties and sixties. But it's early—six weeks in. The real question is who uses it once it scales and the novelty wears off.
Anand seems genuinely satisfied. Is that real, or is he saying what he's supposed to say?
He's comparing it to his previous jobs—sari shop helper, food delivery. The pay is better, the work is more stable, and he's treated with dignity. That matters. Whether that persists when the company grows is the open question.
So the labour activist's warning—that gig work starts generous and then tightens—that's the real story here?
Yes. Right now CarryMen is small enough to be ethical. But if they take venture funding and need to scale fast, the pressure to cut costs becomes enormous. Full-time salaries become contractor fees. Benefits disappear. That's the pattern.
What would you watch for?
How they handle the Chandni Chowk expansion. Do they hire more full-time staff, or do they shift to a gig model? That decision will tell you everything about whether this is actually different or just another platform dressed up in better language.