There are two aspects of Monica’s life that strike you immediately, even in a brief interaction. She works very hard, and she is very happy while doing so. This happiness, however, is a recent arrival. Earlier, her life was filled with exhausting drudgery and the constant risk of injury. Development literature often speaks of drudgery, but Monica has lived it in its harshest form. Her story illustrates the stark difference between hard work that brings joy and dignity, and hard work that breeds stress and despair.
Monica lives with her husband and four children in Jhikali village, in Kushalgarh block of Banswara district, Rajasthan. Until a few years ago, their livelihood was so precarious that they migrated almost every year to Surat or Ahmedabad to work on construction sites. A shadow crosses Monica’s face as she recalls those times, her eyes moistening: “Sometimes, even now, when I sit alone, tears start rolling down my eyes remembering those days.” She remembers how, untrained and unprepared, she was forced to carry a dozen bricks at a time on her head while climbing rickety staircases to the second or third floor of buildings under construction.
Relief began to arrive when government and voluntary initiatives converged. A solar pumping set was installed near her home, improving irrigation. The voluntary organization Vaagdhara introduced her to natural farming, which reduced costs and strengthened farm productivity. With another step forward, Vaagdhara provided a converter that allowed her to use the solar pump’s energy to run a flour mill without recurring expenses. Earlier, her family’s attempt to operate a mill had failed because higher power load was unavailable.
The next opportunity came when the government launched a sewing training program. Monica enrolled eagerly, quickly learning the skill and receiving a sewing machine. By combining improved farming, flour milling, and sewing, her family reached a point where they could earn enough to cover essential expenses and send all four children to school, including one to a better, fee-based institution with improved facilities.
The family, once in a fragile mud-and-thatch house, now lives in a sturdier dwelling that provides reliable shelter in all seasons. Monica feels assured that she can meet her family’s needs—food, clothing, shelter, and education—without migrating for uncertain and hazardous work. For the first time in years, she experiences the dignity of secure, self-reliant livelihood.
She still works tirelessly—on the farm, at the sewing machine, at the flour mill, and in the household—but it is work she embraces with a smile. When I met her recently, she was cheerful, talkative, and full of energy. As we prepared to leave, she insisted, “How can you go without tea? And how can you leave without seeing the flour mill at work?” She moved from one task to another with a spring in her step, her words brimming with enthusiasm.
Monica’s journey, from tears of anguish to smiles of security, is not just a personal triumph. It also underlines a larger lesson: the importance of creating diversified, sustainable livelihood opportunities in remote villages. When such opportunities are nurtured, people can lead lives of dignity, free from the despair of migration and exploitative labor.
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The writer is Honorary Convener, Campaign to Save Earth Now. His recent books include Man over Machine, When the Two Streams Met, Earth without Borders and India’s Quest for Sustainable Farming and Healthy Food
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