Social Work

Lessons from Rural India: Lighting up 100 mighty flames

transforming india — A few of my 100 mighty flames

Imagine a world where you don’t have a voice to make your opinions heard, you are a labor, albeit an unpaid one, you are considered to be stupid or let’s use a less harsh term, “not smart enough”, you take care of an entire family yet are denied basic dignities of life i.e. a toilet.

Sounds like a scary place right?

Sadly, a majority of women in rural India are leading this exact same life. Now, you might think I am generalizing or I am painting a stark picture. After all, every now and then don’t we see videos of brilliant women who are winning accolades? Don’t we read about villages being declared open defecation free?

There are little rays of hope that shine every now and then. You would be surprised to know that not very far from Mumbai there are villages where women did not have toilets till 2014. Many of them still don’t.

And what about their voice? Are they being heard? Are they considered to be a valued member in their family beyond the work that they do?

Being a city girl, I never gave any of these things a single thought. My life priorities revolved around shopping, reading and making money. My life goal was to become a famous writer and live on a hill station like Ruskin Bond. I wanted to travel the world and stay in the most luxurious places. I had ‘normal’ dreams; luxury roti, luxury kapda and a luxury makaan.

It is strange how small, inconsequential events have a deep impact on your life and they derail the most carefully laid out plans. The year was 2010 and the place was Sophia College at Grant Road. A friend had dragged me to attend a lecture by Aruna Roy. I was prepared to be bored and I had made plans to sneak off in the interval, too.

A few minutes into the lecture I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe the reality she was presenting to me. Surely, it couldn’t be true. I mean we were a developing country with a great GDP growth rate. People were flourishing, everybody had a cell phone and the malls had such clean washrooms.

It was one of the strangest experiences in my life and it made me stay up all night looking up on things, reading articles and watching documentaries. This first flame was lit by Aruna Roy who did not even know me and yet she had the most profound impact in my life.

‘Everybody loves a good drought’ by P. Sainath and India Untouched, a documentary on untouchability made me weep.

I, too, wanted to light as many flames as I could. Two years later, armed with a degree in Rural Development, I set out to light a few flames.

I have done many things in the past years as a rural development professional. In my three years of working in the development sector, I have learned about building toilets, installing Water ATM’s and working with rural schools.

However, one of the best things that I have learned and have had the privileged to do was to meet so many inspiring women, men and children who are fighting every day to ensure a better future. It is these people who help me keep my flame alive.

A few flames have been lit by me, too. I can tell you about a 50-year-old entrepreneur who invested in a paper plate making business without even knowing the basics, I can tell you about a little girl who dreams of serving her community by being a doctor and I can tell you about the thousands of people who continue to toil and work towards a dream of transforming India into a developed nation.

Not everything is rosy; working in the rural sector has its own challenges. A few of my flames flickered away without any fight. A few of them gave up midway. But there were a few who stayed put and shined brightly. They inspired a few others and started lighting their own 100 flames. I hope that the ones that burn brightly, keep shining and the ones that are flickering get the strength to carry on the good work they are doing.

Working in the development sector is tough and I give up every single day. What gets me through my day is the smile on faces of women when they get a toilet, seeing a classroom full of children studying and of course a cup of chai and Parle G biscuit offered by tai in a village in the middle of nowhere who proclaims that I work too hard and eat very little.

Everybody has a Mumbai story

“Hamare mehman, Mumbai ke naojawan aa rahe hai” (Our guests, the youngsters from Mumbai are arriving) a man shrilly announced using a loudspeaker. Yes, we had arrived. The four of us, students of social work from Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Tuljapur, had come to Navalgaon, Khurkheda in Gadchoroli district of Maharashtra. Considered to be one of the most backward districts in the state with a heavy Naxal presence, it was not the safest place to go for your fieldwork. Surprisingly, none of us felt the threat of any looming danger.

Out of the four, two of us were from Mumbai, a fact that excited a lot of people and something that helped us get access to a lot of homes.

There are hundreds of questions, beliefs and stories that people have about the city I was born in but a few obviously stand out. I would like to share those with you today.

“You can be who you like if you are from Mumbai”

“If you are from Mumbai, you have access to the best. The best schools, the best infrastructure and the best of everything. Even beggars in Mumbai know to speak English”, said my watchman, a young man who had recently shifted to the city in search for a job. “I came to Mumbai, got down at Bandra, was fooled by an auto driver, I learnt how to become smart and see where I am today. I have a uniform and a monthly salary. If an uneducated person like me can get a job in weeks then imagine the opportunities you will get if you are from the city itself?”

“Lagta nahi hai aap Mumbai se ho” (You don’t seem like you are from Mumbai)

It was the first week of my Master’s degree and I was still getting used to living in my hostel at TISS Tuljapur, Osmanabad. One of my classmates said you don’t seem like you are from Mumbai. Puzzled, I asked why did he think so.

“Well,” he answered, “you don’t wear shorts, you don’t go out and party, you don’t even eat non-vegetarian food. People from Mumbai are so glamourous, I have seen on T.V.

“Aap Mumbai se ho? Apne Shahrukh ka ghar dekha hai? (You are from Mumbai? Have you seen Shahrukh’s house?)

Anjali, whose birthday is five days after mine, excitedly asked me. I was in a small village in Madhya Pradesh and the minute her mom told her that I am from the Mumbai she came running to meet me. Initially shy; she became a chatterbox once I told her I have passed Shahrukh Khan’s house several times in the last 25 years that I have lived in the city. You should have seen her face all lit up in excitement as she asked the other Bollywood stars I have met.

“Apko badi building me darr nahi lagta hai? (Are you not scared of those skyscrapers?)

“I came to Mumbai in the 70’s” said the old man sitting on the charpoy at Pandhrigota, Gadchiroli. “I used to live in Moheem. You know Moheem?”

“Mahim?”

“Yes, yes, Moheem. I stayed there for a few months but those buildings and factories scared me. I was a coward and I came back to my village. If I had stayed back, my son and daughter would be memsahib like you. But I am scared of those tall buildings. Aapko darr nahi lagta?”

“Mumbai me toh sab make up karke ghumte honge na?” (Everybody applies makeup in Mumbai, right?)

“You are too plain”, my Kaki (from the host family) in Penan village would say. “All Mumbai girls apply makeup every day even when they are buying vegetables. I know. I am telling you no. Come let me apply some kajal (kohl) in your eyes at least.”

I can’t help but smile when I hear these stories of aspirations, hope, glamour, Bollywood and even defeat when it comes to Mumbai. You don’t call her the city of dreams for nothing now, do you?

8 questions you should NEVER ask a Social Worker

Hey guys,

I was surprised to know this week on how little I have shared about my professional life on Munni of all Trades, save for a few mentions here and there about the crazy amount of travelling that I have to do. Today, I thought I should rant a little little and tell you the 8 insane questions that people keep asking me about my work life.

But before I do so, let me tell you what exactly I do?

My specialization is Rural Development and I have worked on several interventions related to livelihoods, sanitation, education and women empowerment. I have been a part of the development sector for the past 2 years and it has been an enriching experience. Of course, it comes with its own set of frustrations but I think that is true, for anywhere you work.

Social work diaries, social worker in India — At a village in Jawahar in Maharashtra

Let me get on with my ranting 😉

So, the first thing that people ask me by default is:

1. Do you get paid for your work?

Yes, I do. This is my full time job; I work out of an office, I have official targets, key performance indicators, an HR breathing down my neck and appraisals just like you. I have a Masters degree in Rural Development from TISS Tuljapur, too which means I am well qualified, too. Therefore, I do get paid.

2. But then if you get paid how is that social work?

I guess back in those days (and I mean decades ago) there were committed men and women believed in a cause and worked on it dedicatedly without any need for compensation. Even today, there are men and women who work for little to no salary. However, social work has become a highly professional field. We don’t do random interventions, we conduct need assessments, we consult with the communities that we are working with and then take decisions. There are specialized programs and degrees that people opt for to learn about the new systems and protocols. We work to empower people but we have our own houses to run, too, right? We get paid fairly well and we work hard for it.

3. So you basically carry out morchas (rallies)?

Conducting a group activity with Self Help Groups at Jawahar

Again no! There are, of course, people who carry out rallies for the causes they support and are successful in bringing people together. But, not everybody who works for non-profits conduct morchas. We work out of our offices just like you.

4. So you are one of those jhola carrying feminists?

Hey, say anything about me, don’t say anything about my jhola!

Honestly, the jhola thing is a stereotype but it is true for me. Think practically, would you carry your favourite handbag when you are squished with 5 other people in a shared auto travelling to a remote village? The jhola can be washed, you don’t burst into tears if it gets scratched or torn and it can carry everything a fancy hand bag can, at a fraction of the price.

So yes, I have a jhola and yes, I am a feminist. I think everybody in the world should be a feminist but I won’t impose my views on you. We are supposed to be non-judgmental and accepting 😉

5. Oh cool, I have old clothes can I donate them to you?

Arghhhhhhhhhh no! No, no no! And no once more!

There are amazing organizations out there who collect clothes and other items to distribute to those who are in need of it. But NOT every organization is in need of old clothes. We all work on different specialized interventions.

A better question is do you know any organizations that can put pre-loved clothes to use?

Or I want to volunteer. How can I help you?

6. But you apply lipstick, blog and wear western clothes na?

Yes, being in the rural development sector does not mean that I don’t have other interests. I love lipsticks and I am proud of the huge collection I own. Munni of all Trades is an extension of myself and I enjoy writing and interacting with people online. I love dressing up and I am equally comfortable in a pretty kurta as I am in Tshirts and jeans.

7. So you, like, go to the villages? (in sotto voce) Is it safe?

I work in the rural development sector. I cannot do that by staying in Mumbai now, can I?

And honestly I feel safer in the villages than in the city. The people are loving and caring. Once one of them realized that I don’t drink tea. The next time I visited, they made sure to buy Nescafe sachets just for me. I am dropped back to the nearest railway station, asked to visit more often, lovingly told that I should wear earrings because it will make me look prettier and overfed with food wherever I go. I am the happiest when I am travelling and meeting the people I work for and with.

8. But you could have done anything else? Why social work?

I could ask you that, too. Why have you chosen XYZ profession? None of us actually end up doing what we dream to become right? In my childhood, like any other 90’s kids, medicine or engineering were the only two options for me. In 2000’s came in MBA and suddenly it was not so embarrassing to take up commerce, too. But social work as a professional Masters course? Everybody thought it was a waste of time and money.

I had people who supported me and to them I am eternally grateful. I am working in a sector that I love and the biggest perk?

Social worker india, Social work in India — Currently working some of the remote villages of Maharashtra

Social worker India, TISS Social worker — Returning after a hard day’s work

The view is not that bad, is it? 🙂

Untouchability in the Heart of India

*Names are changed to protect identities

Goat in a sweater — One of my favourite photographs taken at Hoshangabad, a goat with a sweater!

One month, one entire month, I was told I could spend in Madhya Pradesh. Yes, ‘Hindustan ka Dil dekho’ Madhya Pradesh. Yes, the multiple tourism awards winning state of India. Sadly, also one of the states in India where untouchability is not uncommon.

My teammates and I arrived at Sohagpur in Hoshangabad district and travelled to Pipariya block, our home for the next 30 days. The objective was simple; live with a Dalit family and observe the various forms of untouchability present in villages. Talk to people but don’t impose your opinions. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? You will find out soon enough.

My teammate, Ekta and I were to stay in Taronkala, our base village and travel to other villages in the area. We were to stay with one of the “better off” Dalit families. Why were they considered to be better off? Well, they owned a toilet and by a toilet, I mean a latrine with 2 feet high walls and the rest which was covered with old saris.

When we sat for dinner, our host family was very nervous about the food they had served us. The villagers had taunted them that they wouldn’t be able to take good care of us and provide us with the “standards” we were used to in the cities. We tried our best to assuage them but they still seemed worried throughout the meal.

Umariya on foot

On the next day, we walked around the Dalit basti to introduce ourselves to the families, all of whom who insisted on serving us a cup of tea. Soon it was time for us to leave for our next village. Feeling a little nauseous, with a queasy stomach (after having had 7 cups of tea and eaten amla ka halwa, the day before) I left for Umariya on foot.

Unfortunately, my stomach had decided to act up and I could barely walk 1.5 km. to reach the village. I vomited in the first house we entered for our interview. Embarrassed, I offered to clean up but the Kaki would hear nothing of it. She pulled out a charpoy, got me a blanket and tucked me into bed. She then proceeded to clean the mess and then went to the neighbour’s house to get some lemons. After giving me a glass of nimbu paani, she sat down to answer the questions.

Even though there was nobody at home, she left it open to accompany us to a few families that resided in the outskirts of the village. “I have nothing worthy of stealing”, she said with a laugh.

We met families who had been allotted pattas (small pieces of land) by the government for their houses. These pattas were in the middle of the area where the higher castes resided and these families were forbidden to construct their houses there. They started living in the outskirts of the village where there was no road connectivity. If they had to enter the village, they had to walk through the fields (which they were forbidden to do so) and because of this; they were effectively cut off from the government schemes. They did not know when the Gram Sabha was held, they didn’t know who their Sarpanch was neither did they know about any events in the village. They lived in complete isolation, only because of their Dalit status and they seemed to be so used to it that it hardly affected them nowadays.

Anganwadis of Bamori

Bamori was a small village with only one family, which was divided into four households residing there. Their houses were right next to each other and were located towards the end of the village. The common problem that the children themselves told us was the fact that when they went to the Anganwadi, once a month to collect the food packets, they were mistreated by the Anganwadi worker. Food packets were given from a distance and many a time, even that was not provided claiming that they got over.

Being Fair and Lovely?

One evening, while sitting on the verandah of our house, a few children came to us and we started talking to them. They were telling us about their favourite actors and actresses and one of them mentioned that he loves Katrina Kaif. When we asked him why this is so, he mentioned that she was fair, fairer than most Indian actresses. I then asked him, what about Deepika Padukone, you don’t like her?

“Par woh toh kali hain” (But she is dark skinned)

At this point of time, a Kaki interrupted and asked him, “Would you prefer a dark skinned girl or a fair girl for your marriage?”

He said, “Fair-skinned girl”

She then asked him, “What if you don’t find one?”

“Then I will marry the other one but I will send her to work”

“What will you do with the fair skinned one?”

“I will make her stay at home and buy bangles for her from Bhopal”

At this point of time, Kaki started laughing and saying that nowadays the children are too smart for their own good.

A boy, who could not be older than 6 to 7 years had such strong beliefs about beauty. Television, his only access to media, had started affecting his mind and moulding his thoughts.

Is Caste really that deep-rooted?

Our findings published in one of the newspapers

After a few days of our stay at Taronkala, we decided to speak to different people in Taronkala about their different perceptions on caste.

A 16-year-old girl from an OBC family said, “The Dalit children often kill small birds and eat them raw.” Her mother agreed and said, “They also carry dead animals from our houses, skin them for leather and eat the leftover meat. They are unclean and live in dirty surroundings”

Another lady told us that even though their standards of cleanliness has improved, the elders in the family did not want them to go anywhere near the Dalits and they could not defy them.

A young boy believed that his caste was the purest and the best and all others were below him. On asking him why he thought he simply said that, “His father had told him and his father could not lie” In spite of his strong belief he played with children of the lower caste because they let him become the captain while playing cricket and let him bat first. He was the only person who had a plastic bat and a rubber ball in the group and all other boys tried to win his favours.

Dalit’s perspectives on Caste

We also spoke to a few Dalit families about untouchability. Most of them seemed to be defending the practice. One lady was asked her opinion on making the lower castes sit outside during marriages and asking them to pick up their own plates. She replied, “During marriage, there is not enough space for everybody to sit in the main hall. Someone has to sit outside. As for picking our own plates, I believe that ‘aram haram hain’. There is no shame in doing our own work. We asked her counter question, why did the higher caste people get their plates picked up their servants to which she replied, “If the servants are not given work, they tend to become lazy. That is why; they take their employer’s plates”.

A Dalit who believed in equality, could not see discrimination against her or maybe she simply chose to ignore it because she did not look upon it as discrimination. If yes, then what was untouchability in her eyes I wondered?

Caste in the city?

Rajesh Patil (55), from Bamori said, “While I was working in Mumbai, I never came to know anybody’s caste and therefore I did not mind eating with them. In my village, I know each and every person. Even if I want to eat at a Dalit’s house, I cannot because other families in the village will start practising untouchability against me”.

Priya, a 15-year-old student from Bamori revealed, “While in school, I play and interact with girls from all castes but after I return home, my mom ensures that I take a bath before entering the house. I do not believe in untouchability, my family does.”

Marriage and funerals

When I asked the person’s brother whether he goes to marriages or funerals of people from the lower caste, he said yes but he did not eat there. On asking him the reason, he said, “If a higher caste person goes to the wedding of a lower caste, the food he eats has to be prepared by a Brahmin. Most of the families cannot afford this and that is why; even though we go and wish the couple and take presents, we don’t eat there.

But is everything so bad at Taronkala and other villages?

Not at all. During our month long stay, we were introduced, ‘Bachon ki pehel’ (Children’s Initiative) a newspaper completely run by children and awarded by the then President of India, Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam.

The child reporters of ‘Bachon ki pehel’ were confident, inquisitive and did not shy away from strangers. Instead, they asked them questions, proudly show their newspaper and invite them to sit for a cup of tea. Most importantly, one of the vows they have to take when they become journalists with the newspaper is that they will not practice untouchability.

I hope this seed planted in their mind at this young age blossoms into a casteless, equitable society.

Please note: All instances cited in this blog post are true and this post is an extract of my fieldwork diaries and field report while working with Dalit Sangh in Madhya Pradesh. If you wish to support them, do check their work here

Goodbye Sohagpur from Lalit, Khushboo and Ekta

When I inaugurated a toilet at Gadchiroli, Maharashtra

“But where am I going to shit?” was the first question that popped into my head when I saw my name on the list next to the district of Gadchiroli. Yup, I was a student of rural development who had never seen the village a fact that never seemed amuse my classmates. I had left the big bad city to enjoy the idyllic student life in Tuljapur doing a Masters in Social Work. One thing that I failed to factor in was the mandatory fieldwork we had to undergo at the end of every semester.

With dread filling my heart, I returned to my room to start packing my bags like a maniac. We were due to leave for Khurkheda, Gadchiroli in the next two days and all I obsessed about was toilets.

“What if I had my periods? How would I manage?”, asked city girl in me.

“There are millions of women across the globe who suffer from the safety issue month after month.”, admonished the reluctant social worker in me.

“I can’t go for Open Defecation. I can’t I can’t I can’t”, I chanted to myself. I will not eat much if required but I won’t go for it” said the scared little girl in me.

“You can always dig a small hole and ask somebody to stand guard if you are so afraid”, said the social worker me.

And it was with crappy thoughts (literally) that I boarded the bus that would take me to my destination.

Navargaon was the first village that I had ever visited in my life and the minute I entered the sheev (boundary) I was enchanted. The amateur photographer in me squealed in delight whenever I saw a young calf running by and the social worker in me shyly said namaste to the people who would inquisitively look at us. We did a shevarpheri (transect walk) of the village to understand the geography of the village and at the same to time to get acquainted with people whose kindness we would depend upon for the next 5 days.

After a tiring albeit an enjoyable day, we went to the house of one of the sarpanch’s relatives to retire for the night. I had been careful to not drink much water nor consume too many liquids but in spite of all these precautions, my bladder was bursting. I took one of my friends aside and explained to her that I urgently needed to go and she, in turn, uttered a flurry of sentences in Marathi to our hostess who then took her out with me.

The moon was beautiful and bright, the air was crisp and somewhere an owl hooted. But all I could think of was, “Where is the toilet?”. I was led to a rather large tree and my hostess stood in front of it and told me that I could relieve myself behind it. I quickly went, completed my business and returned red-faced to the house vowing to eat as little as possible.

By the end of day 3, I was tired and my stomach was in pain. I decided not to give in. The next morning, my situation was so obvious that Ganga, all of 8 years, asked her aji, “yeh didi jati kyun nahi hai?” (why doesn’t this girl relive herself?)

I snapped at everybody for the next couple of hours and was in a foul mood until the little one, Ganga tugged my hand and dragged me to her school.

She took me in front of a small room and had a big grin on her face. The other pupils gathered, too and started clapping happily looking at me. I must have stood there looking like a fool for the next few minutes when a female teacher decided to come and tell me, “A few women in the village noticed your discomfort and pressurized their husbands to construct the toilet for the school in record time. It is yours to inaugurate” she said pointing to a latrine with makeshift tin walls.

I don’t have a high and mighty statement to make. I don’t want to gush about how kind the people of Navargaon were. All I want to say that this was a truly remarkable and unexpected journey that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

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