The Hindu Business Line : Independence from…?

Call it poetic justice or just desserts. On the 60th anniversary of India’s independence, the millions of Indians who continue to languish below the poverty line, struggling for two meals a day and some form of employment that can keep body and soul together, might have no tears to shed about the dark clouds looming over the ruling political class of the day — the Congress and its allies in the UPA government.

With the Left parties upping the ante over the Indo-US civil nuclear deal and responding to the Prime Minister, Dr Manmohan Singh’s challenge to withdraw support if they dare, and the CPI-M General Secretary, Mr Prakash Karat, saying that it is not the Left’s job to save the government, turbulent times were expected.

There was interesting conjecture on the final outcome of this tough posturing. Would the Left really bite? But it appears that the whole affair might fizzle out following the breakfast meeting Mr Karat had with Dr Singh on Tuesday.

Apparently, Mr Karat has now taken the stand that though it will still oppose the nuclear deal, the Left will stop short of bringing down the UPA government.

A pragmatic decision, given that any such move by the comrades might only help usher a BJP-led government back into power, something they would be loathe to see.

And their numbers — just over 60 MPs in the Lok Sabha and sizable clout only in the two States of West Bengal and Kerala — confines them to the role of kingmaker and never king. And that too when the electorate failed to vote overwhelmingly in favour of a single party — the story of the last few General Elections.

As the political parties continue to play the high-stakes power game, this should be a good enough occasion to take a hard look at the condition of India’s teeming masses, whom Independence has failed to liberate.

India story

All of us are justifiably proud of the India story. The widely travelled among us have watched with pride different countries and different people looking at India and Indians with a hitherto unknown respect and admiration. And many of us engage foreign audiences with stories of how Indian cities have changed – the glittering malls, the world-class restaurants, the gleaming cars on our roads and the crowds of passengers who fill up every possible seat on our proliferating airlines.

But we cannot escape pointed questions about the other half — or three-quarters? — which barely manages a square meal a day, and tackle them with truth that is either whitewashed or a half-truth. But the stark reality that faces us — be it in the crisis-ridden farm sector or the stories of housemaids in the shining metros, who are steeped in debt and getting into a deeper mess borrowing money at a totally unsustainable 40-80 per cent interest. The wages we pay them and the PDS grains the State gives them, are completely inadequate in the face of a single crisis or even a marriage celebration.

Homilies on how they should not live beyond their means don’t help, and you soon realise that a wage hike or infusion of funds to get them out of the debt trap doesn’t help either. They only borrow more the next time — at a higher interest rate.

An image from Orissa

But the picture in rural India is grimmer. One image that haunts the mind’s eye is that of the 65-year old tribal woman, Almey Majhi, at Bilamala Village, in the Kashipur block of Orissa. Perhaps the poorest region in India, there were several starvation deaths in a cluster of villages here in 2001. Visiting the village soon after the deaths had been reported, one had traced Almey, who had lost her husband Sadho, two sons and a daughter-in-law. The dead had consumed a watery gruel of millets, eaten with infected and fungus-ridden mango kernels.

As reported in these columns after a revisit to Almey’s home last year, she and daughter-in-law Sulmey Majhi survived. Sulmey was ill for some time but recovered mercifully despite the atrocious healthcare facilities here. “The three men and one woman had struggled for life even as they were shunted from the ill-equipped primary health centre at nearby Tikiri, Kashipur and then Rayagada. As happens often in famine situations, the women must have consumed a lesser quantity of the gruel.” Sulmey’s three daughters — the youngest barely six months — also escaped the poisonous meal, and along with it death, because she was on mother’s milk.

It had not been difficult to find Almey in 2006. Her home was well-known for the devastation it suffered five years earlier. I found Almey squatting in her hut, skinning the tamarind which would be pounded and stored for the rainy season when work is scarce and so is food. It was shocking to find that even as the economy was booming, money pouring into the capital markets and elsewhere, nothing had changed in this poor and backward village during five long years.

Thanks to some work Almey had found in the excavation of a pond in a nearby area, her house had a “bounty” of 9 kg of rice. The “compensation” she had received for the death of her four dear ones was a mere Rs 20,000 (“I was promised Rs 10,000 per person, but finally got only Rs 5,000 per head”, she said and one didn’t require rocket science to figure out where the other half had gone). And even the amount received was instantly consumed in the funeral and feeding of the entire village.

The rice would be consumed in a couple of weeks, after which the family would have to fall back upon watery gruel of millets, the tamarind she was pounding and tamarind leaves. The tribals in this region enjoy sour mango or tamarind, and dry and store the mango kernel, to be consumed more as a pickle than as staple food. But when there are no foodgrains in a home, and hunger stalks its inhabitants, naturally anything will be consumed... mango kernel, tamarind seeds, bamboo shoots, even wild-grass.

Returning to Almey, this is what one had written in Business Line last year. “Five tough years have gone by, but Almey looks no different from the image captured on my camera five years ago. Of course, there are no tears now; but the expression in the eyes hasn’t changed... it is grim, sorrowful, and, worst of all, reflects a sense of hopelessness.

She recognises me, but without any joy, and acknowledges our 2001 meeting with just a half-smile, continuing to shell the pile of tamarind before her. Sulmey has gone to work in a nearby field and will bring home Rs 20 (as the daily wage!); two of her daughters are in the house, hovering around the grandmother.

“I show her a copy of the Business Line article carrying her picture, but it doesn’t even bring a smile; her blank expression says it all... how is a media report going to change her life?”

Independence from what?

Maybe I’ll return to Orissa again next year, two years later… to document once again that nothing has changed in Almey’s life. But how will that really help her? Will she ever see “independence” in terms of food, shelter and economic security? Will her family ever become “independent” to choose a particular kind of school/college for its children, or doctor/hospital for their health care needs?

Somebody once told me in an interview: “The thing about India is that it shows you the face that you want to see.” True. But it is important for all of us to keep searching for all its faces, and not pick on the most beautiful or glowing profile.

We certainly have a lot to be proud of… leadership in education, science and technology, health-care, the services sector and business leadership. But above all, we can be justifiably proud of the educated Indian middle-class, which has proved that ancestral wealth and lineage are not always necessary to succeed in life. We have millions of young Indians, particularly in the IT/ITES sector, who have created wealth out of their own talent and hard work.

But what is worrying is that the cream at the top layer is getting thicker, and the wealth, and along with it the shining confidence that the nation is generating, hides a darker reality.

Once again, the Kashipur villages come to mind. Here, the constant complaint of the villagers was that they were not getting their BPL ration cards, something that would entitle them to a monthly 16 kg of rice at Rs 4.75 a kg. One noted that the BPL card was a proud label here, just as our caste or communal status is when it comes to getting coveted college seats or jobs.

One also realised that it is this card that offers them at least some food security. Small wonder that when one interviewed agricultural scientist Dr M.S. Swaminathan on the eve of the 60th year of independence, for the fist time in decades one saw him anguished and sad. Sad that 60 years after Independence India has the largest number of hungry in the world, anguished at the continuing farmers’ suicides and frustrated that it is no longer possible to speedily translate policy and ideas into action as it was a few decades ago.

Response may be sent to rasheeda@thehindu.co.in

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