From Computers to Bullock Carts:
A Woman's Tryst with Rural Poverty
I came to Ranjole because I was fed up with urban environmental and
human pollution and was interested in living and working in
a rural area. My coming here is a personal attempt to work
towards creating an environment of peace, autonomy and
self-sufficiency in a rural community.
I gave up my high tech profession as a computer scientist and got
interested in indigenous appropriate technologies. Organic
farming, various types of assistance to local families in need,
and practical schemes for family sustenance became my immediate
tasks. I initially bought five-and-a-half acres of red soil
land, in August of 1992, upon which I began building two rooms
for myself. I was growing only one crop per year until 1994 when
I was approached by a local woman who desperately needed money
for her dying husband's operation, and I decided to lease six
acres of black soil land from her for Rs 2,000 plus 25 percent of
the produce. In a year's time, she offered to extend the lease
for an additional five years for Rs 4,000, which I agreed to.
In November 1995, I bought another seven acres because I believe
agricultural work is the most viable employment alternative for
villagers. After having purchased buffalos and bulls, the farm
is slowly becoming self-reliant with manuring, ploughing and
transport of agricultural goods being done by my hired workers.
My first major agricultural investment of Rs 45,000 went into
digging a deep well with cement rings to ensure that the walls of
the well didn't collapse and further decrease the water level.
But by 1995, due to constant water depletion, I eventually found
it necessary to spend Rs 70,000 on a 328 foot deep bore-well.
The well only provided a maximum of three yards of water, which
just wasn't sufficient for the irrigation demands of the 200 tree
guava orchard as well as the remaining crops. With the
bore-well, I am now able to produce two yearly crops on the
five-and-a-half acres of red soil land.
In addition to jauwari and cereals, I am now able to grow small
amounts of a traditional variety of sugarcane, as well as
three-fourths of an acre of ginger, one-half of an acre of wheat,
and one-eighth of an acre of cattle fodder on this land. The
remaining land is currently being tilled to sow more cereals,
ginger, sugarcane or potatoes as soon as I get the right seeds.
I am growing these cash crops on a small scale because I need to
compensate for the costs of the bore-well and the cement rings
for the well, and because the jauwari and cereals are being grown
for my own use.
I had three families involved in full-time work on my farm.
Suresh, Shanti, and their two children live inside my boundary
wall with me. The other families live jointly in a tin-roofed
mud house in the village that they built with an advance I gave
them against their salary. Twenty-year-old Neeraj, his wife Prem
and their daughter live in this house along with another couple _
Papu, Seema and their two children.
When I first moved here Neeraj agreed to handle security since
the women were otherwise too scared to stay in such an isolated
area. However, he asked for a year's salary in advance, saying
that he needed it for his marriage. My attempts to dissuade him
from entering into this kind of bondage fell on deaf ears. A
sort of bonded relationship indeed started, and has continued
ever since. Neeraj and Suresh are employed by me on a yearly
basis for Rs 6,000 to 7,000, and the two of them handle most of
the irrigation, ploughing, cattle maintenance, grazing, and
preparing manure.
Though this amount seems low, it is more than they would be able
to get elsewhere. The going yearly rate per person (usually a
man) in this area is Rs 4,000-5,000. In addition to their wages,
I give them all kinds of loans for their personal requirements,
which are many (i.e., newborn child's jhula ceremony which is
considered a must, clothes for marriages, medical emergencies).
They also take vegetables from the farm for daily use. Their
firewood needs are also taken care of, as there are plenty of
fallen trees and kindling on my land that they are free to
collect.
Shanti, Prem and Seema use my well water for washing clothes,
which is convenient for them since there is no tap water in the
village, and water is not always available the year round. The
members of these three families also eat fruits (guavas, mangoes,
berries, custard apples) as and when they are available on the
farm as well as cashew nuts and fresh honey. I try to involve
them in work for all these extra facilities that they get, but
more often than not, they avoid doing it.
Papu assists me in handling the communication with labourers and
shop owners for materials that we require. He and his wife,
Seema, are my closest companions, and it is only with their help
that I have been able to make it through some hard times. It was
Papu who found me unconscious after I fell from a mulberry tree
and broke my pelvic bone. He took me to the neighbouring town
and looked after me for some time, which I am very grateful for
as there are no specialists nearby. Seema looks after the
household and the maintenance and preservation of seeds for the
agricultural work. I've often enjoyed fresh jauwari ki roti and
chili-tomato chutney made from our own produce in their home. I
really appreciate their simple style of living, with minimal
consumption of resources like water, space, energy, etc. It is a
challenge to the urban, resource-intensive lifestyle.
Besides the three families, I give farm work to five to ten
villagers, mostly women, daily. In the beginning when I was
constructing the farm, I employed about 50 villagers, investing
about Rs 4-5 lakh into the rural economy. Women earn Rs 12-20
and men Rs 30-60 per day. The labourers talk in terms of mard ka
kam (man's work) as heavy, physical and skilled work and women's
work as easy, light and unskilled, although spending six hours a
day in a squatting position required for weeding is hardly light
work. A female labourer can get Rs 15 per day (at the most) for
this kind of work.
A Risky Affair
Agricultural work is a very risky affair; the weather plays a big
role. Though my jauwari on black soil has come out well this
year, the heavy winds a few days back spoiled it all. It all
fell to the earth. I had to organise labourers for a quick
harvest. Similarly, last year, due to heavy and untimely rains,
most of the crops were ruined. My neighbour lost his entire
five-acre ginger plantation, and I am fortunate that I didn't
lose my entire crop. I have planted about 800 kg of ginger and
expect satisfactory returns.
The land owners and agricultural workers in this area are having
a very hard time trying to survive on agriculture alone. Many
landlords are selling off their land to 'Andhraites' (as rich
people from Hyderabad or eastern Andhra Pradesh are locally
known) who are buying large pieces of land (100-200 acres) and
planting American cotton on it, or using it for some other
commercial purposes (i.e., pharmaceutical factories, poultry
farms, cash crops like grapes, etc.) Most of the young men of
the locality are looking for jobs in nearby towns and cities in
order to earn the cash required to sustain themselves and their
families. Hence it is hard to find labour for agricultural work.
It is not low wages and high prices alone which make agriculture
unsustainable these days, but has more to do with the careless
way our government treats the agricultural sector. Problems
include the irregular and low supply of electricity by the state
electricity board, the bad condition of the roads and transport
system, and the non-availability of appropriate desi seeds.
Credit for expanding irrigation (such as cheap loans for purchase
of well-motors or construction of water sheds) are practically
non-existent for the small farmers. The agricultural tools are
not standardised and are of poor quality, resulting in multiple
costs.
Big farmers in the area come from a strongly patriarchal and
feudal background. There is a long tradition of keeping bonded
labourers, which is referred to as jeetam in this area. Most of
these landowners' wives work in the family household and are not
allowed to venture out, although sometimes they also work in the
fields. These farmers are mostly uneducated but they take full
advantage of the benefits they can derive from their upper caste
status. For ages, big landlords have been referred to as pedda
manush, meaning big people, as historically they have provided
the poor with food and help in emergency situations. Some of
them are still much more helpful to the poor than the government.
Caste divisions, however, are unfortunately strongly reinforced
by the lower caste communities, who have an extensive caste
hierarchy of their own, including hundreds of sub-castes.
>Pitfalls of Small Loans
Most voluntary agencies give a loan to a poor family and that is
it. They are not confronted with the daily problems of the
recipients of the loan. But since mine is a personal effort, I
could not close my eyes and make believe that once I granted a
loan to someone, there would be no other problems. Because I am
living alongside the rural poor, I come to know about their
day-to-day problems and can understand why most of the loans and
other items given to them through government schemes do not
really solve their problems. Lately I have come to realise that
the poor need to be provided with some surplus above subsistence
so that they can live independently. The loans that they get and
the wages that they earn are simply too low to take care of any
emergencies.
My decisions on who to grant loans to is need-based, and mostly
sustenance-oriented. In some cases I have granted loans against
the wages of some of my employees, but I have found out that once
a loan is given, it is extremely difficult to get it paid back in
work or money, mostly due to the above reasons.
Papu and Seema initially agreed to work for me, provided I gave
them an advance of Rs 9,000 which they used primarily to build a
section on to their mud house. These extra rooms were
constructed with the intention of renting them to students of a
nearby polytechnic. The couple's plan, however, never worked
because the students needed water facilities, a bathroom, etc.
Some of Papu and Seema's relatives moved in as soon as the rooms
were completed and are still there. They get their water daily
from a landlord's well nearby. The loan I gave them was used up
within three months, after which I have been constantly giving
them additional loans for one thing or the other. Besides
cereals, clothes, medicine, watches, a cassette recorder, and
gold earrings (an item greatly desired by rural women) I have
given them money to clear their mortgages, get their cycle back,
and paid for their daughter's sari pehenna (maturing ceremony).
I feel it is hypocritical to expect the poor to be totally
austere when we ourselves are not so.
Since both Papu and Seema are involved in work at my site, I felt
obligated to provide for their sustenance, as well as handle
their children's educational problems. I put their two children
into a government school (after trying a local private school
which was too costly for them and me). But the government school
has insufficient staff and the children are learning nothing but
how to sit still. Materials for playing and developing
creativity are not available. Teachers are not prepared to
change their style. They are only interested in getting secure
government jobs. I try to do different things with the children
_ play, sing, do exercises, and dance as well as teach them a bit
of reading and some general knowledge. Rural children are very
interested in learning. Unfortunately, their 15-year-old son
has dropped out of school because transportation costs too much
and bus passes only cover a certain area. He is now driving one
of the auto rickshaws that I bought for him and wants to stick to
that.
Income Generation: Unviable
It was on the suggestion of Papu that I first bought a buffalo
for his family, thinking that they could earn money this way.
The first one was pregnant and we were told that she would
produce seven litres of milk per day. It was a slight
exaggeration _ she first took another three months to give birth
to a calf, and all that time she gave no milk at all. Later she
gave a maximum of three to four litres a day, which mixed with
some water could be sold in the market at the most for six rupees
per litre. Fodder was both difficult to get and costly, and
that, along with paying someone to graze her came to Rs 15 to 20
daily. Seema was not interested in undertaking the additional
work of removing gobar (manure), milking her and providing
fodder. She didn't like the idea of keeping the buffalo at her
place, since they didn't have a courtyard and thefts are
commonplace at night. So this buffalo, along with another one
which I bought for my own milk requirements, ended up at my
house. I've had to take care of them, but they do provide me
with milk and manure. The cost of buying the two buffalos (Rs
8,000) has been covered in the past one year and nine months
because if I had to buy milk in the village, I would be getting
impure milk for Rs 8-10 per litre. The government dairy shop in
the village buys milk from us (and other villagers) for Rs 5.30
at the most (for pure full cream milk) and sells it for Rs 12-18
per litre in the cities. I have sold milk for some time now and
made approximately Rs 2,000. The fodder and caretaking costs are
balanced out by the consideration that I would have to spend a
substantial amount of time and petrol to get to and from the
village to buy milk.
After the buffalo scheme fell apart, Papu asked me to buy him an
auto-rickshaw, which we estimated would earn him Rs 50-100 per
day. I calculated that his daily earnings would easily cover the
loan as well as provide a small amount of income for his family.
Since a new auto-rickshaw costs Rs 50,000, we instead bought two
old ones for a total of approximately Rs 30,000. The idea, then,
was that the first one would provide sustenance for Papu's
family, and leasing out the second one would pay back the loan.
But both rickshaws needed so many repairs and spare parts that
the returns we expected were not forthcoming. On the contrary,
I've ended up giving him further loans for their maintenance.
For the second auto-rickshaw, a driver had to be located.
Various attempts to hire drivers proved futile. They would
either bring back the auto-rickshaw damaged and ask for money for
repairs, or else they would say that everything they earned had
been spent on fuel and small repairs. Rarely did any of them pay
me back any money.
In addition, the burden of getting the related paperwork done,
including the registration certificate, road tax, insurance,
permit, and fitness test certificate fell on my shoulders. The
villagers are mostly illiterate, so they have to go to
intermediaries to get any official documents prepared. These
intermediaries are themselves semi-literate, but they know very
well how to take advantage of the villagers' illiteracy by
charging them huge sums to get anything done. I didn't want to
encourage this racket and hence had to get everything done
myself. This meant driving 50 kilometers in my petrol jeep to
the next town, Sangareddy, where the regional Road Tax Office
(RTO) is located. The office is full of touts and bureaucrats
who are out to make the process as lengthy and complicated as
they can, in order to induce you to resort to a bribe. Since I
refused to pay any bribes, I had to waste many days there.
I had an unbelievably frustrating experience with the last driver
in trying to get him to pay me my share and return the rickshaw
in its original condition. Though I got a police inspector to
help me, nothing was accomplished. Then, on top of all this, the
young man recently met with an accident driving someone else's
auto-rickshaw and is now dead.
Currently, one of the auto-rickshaws is being put to good use by
Papu and Seema's oldest boy. I've donated it to them with the
mutual understanding that, as a partial compensation, they will
work at my farm. But it is a struggle getting any work done by
them to pay off the rickshaw. They only want to work for cash.
The other auto-rickshaw is still damaged and lying unused.
Organic Farming
Agriculture is what the villagers know best and can deal with on
their own. The only other option that they have is to find work
in neighbouring towns as coolies in construction or other types
of unskilled labour. I believe that farming preserves a person's
self-respect, as well as providing the benefits of food grains,
fruits and vegetables for personal consumption and a non-polluted
work environment.
Recently, I have put a lot of energy into organic farming and we
have begun preparing our own organic manure. On our land,
production at the moment is rather low. The villagers see the
richer landlords using urea and pesticides, and so they keep
saying that if I used the same inputs the returns would be
better, but I haven't agreed to switch.
The farmers using chemical fertilisers do seem to be better off,
but the ecological damage is also obvious. I hope that after the
soil on our farm recovers from the damage chemicals have done to
it over the years, I can prove to the villagers that leaving
nature to itself will ultimately pay off.
With my organic jaggery that I prepared out of a traditional
variety sown on my land, I have encountered additional problems.
I thought of selling it for Rs 15 per kilogram to urban dwellers
because I can assure consumers that it is genuine organic jaggery
containing no chemicals whatsoever. I got orders for 250
kilograms from two women who have a natural food shop and a
health centre in Bombay. They refused to take it because they
were misled by a male acquaintance who told them the transport
costs would be too high and the jaggery wouldn't sell as it is
too dark in colour. I told them that it is black because there
are no chemicals added to alter its colour. Colour racism seems
to exist even for foodstuffs. I started feeling a bit unsure
anyway about supporting the urban elite who can buy the organic
stuff at higher rates. Meanwhile I've dispensed some at the
local markets for around Rs 4-10 per kilogram and some to the
shop/centre at Rs 15 per kilogram. The organic farmers and
organic food buyers need to organise themselves so that the
market is ensured.
Though some farmers in the village have appreciated my organic
methods of farming, I can't expect that they will follow my
methods immediately. They have to live from the land and they
need the cash now. How can they wait for the organic farming
methods to prove themselves if the Green Revolution technologies
have increased yields (even though it has been at the cost of
ecological damage) so much over the years? Only if more of us do
organic farming can it be proven that it makes sense in the long
run. Organic farming is not only farming but an entire
world-view -- a lifestyle in which health, food, and nutrition are
important, not just cash and consumerism.
The Last Instalment
Though life is hard here and the poverty is extreme, the
villagers' simple, self-sufficient lifestyle, their basic
need-based approach, and their humane attitudes provide a number
of positive reasons for me to continue here. I believe that we
urban dwellers have created the most ecological damage,
exploiting both people and raw materials of the agricultural
sector. Therefore it is we who have to undo our actions, change
our lifestyles, move towards rural areas, or at least change our
policies so that living in non-urban areas becomes feasible.
Instead of voluntary agencies getting more and more power and
money, it is each one of us city dwellers who needs to take
action for change. It is my earnest belief that this is the need
of the hour in a developing country like India.
Unfortunately, personal setbacks on the farm continue. Two of my
three workers with families have left. One of my male workers
disappeared without returning the whole sum that he initially
took from me and I'm now dealing with the police in trying to
track him down. My other worker tried to exploit the situation,
so I fired him on my own.
I have found two new families who have taken the place of the
others, and things look fine so far. My most recent income
generation idea seems to be working out well. I've given my
third and most loyal worker (and his family) a big loan to
purchase a pick-up van. The loan is against his salary for the
next two to three years. The transport of both people and
agricultural produce fetches good daily returns to cover the loan
instalments and should easily compensate his salary in two years.
Asha Kachru taught mathematics and computer science in Delhi and
Bonn, Germany. She is now doing organic farming and teaching
rural children.
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