Farming in Gujarat: A proud woman’s job

Far away from the structured polish typical in India’s cities, Gujarat’s hinterlands at first appear not too different from their counterparts in the rest of the country. As the city ebbs away, and we drive to the edges of Gujarat, immaculate roads give way to their lesser versions, tall glass-fronted buildings yield to haphazard village mandis, construction grey submits to to curated green.

In the Khedbrahma region, along the arid borders of Gujarat and Rajasthan, this curated green is dotted with fluffy white of cotton plants in full bloom. It is late October — the flowering season for cotton — a labour intensive time when the male and female flowers have to be manually pollinated. A red, nondescript, rectangular sticker sits on the stem right below the bud, marking each successful pollination. In a few months’ time, these plants will yield high quality seeds which will then be sold to traders in Ahmedabad, bringing in the much-needed money for the next cropping season.

Naturally, Munni, or Munni Behan (as she likes being addressed), is visibly irritated at having to abandon field work to indulge us in repetitive polite conversation. It’s post her lunch break and we have arrived almost an hour later than we were supposed to. Our local liaison From Tata Trusts, Sujit, explains the reason for our delay and requests her to stay back for a bit. Though I can’t make out much of the dialectical Gujarati that is being exchanged, I can tell from his tone that he is speaking to her as an equal. Her husband Kantibhai, who was earlier tasked with fetching her from the field, has been listlessly pacing by the edge of the fields all along. He seconds Sujit’s request, placating Munni’s annoyed glances with an offer to tend to the work himself, though technically it was now his break hour.

Munni nods, gestures to the husband, and pulls the edge of her green ghunghat inwards to protect her neck from the scalding sun as she turns to face us. A group of us — a handful of journalists and our liaisons from the local NGO, Viksat — are standing sheltered in the only patch of shade in her cotton seed plot — a rectangular roof like structure made entirely of solar panels. The solar panels are the only bit of technology visible in the otherwise arid landscape. They power the nearby motor that pumps water from the recently constructed well. The well supplies water for the drip irrigation system that lines the field. “The water supply has been crucial this season, since it has been particularly dry this time around”, Munni starts with some reticence. In the distance, blasts from the granite quarry pepper the otherwise parched soundscape.

Though she is reluctant to talk initially, she soon warms up to us. She, along with her self-help group, Anjali, have been instrumental in setting up the irrigation facility which is the lifeline of her cotton seed plot. Anjali consists of 13 members who have contributed 2 lakh labour hours for the construction of the well. Along with Tata Trust’s support, local NGOs Viksat and Collectives for Integrated Livelihood Initiatives (CInI), paid for the pipeline supply. “Government subsidies in the region were available earlier,” she adds with a hint of the old annoyance, “though they could be availed only if you at least had a hectare of land; post GST these are no longer applicable.”

In a country where women farmers are mostly passive agricultural labourers with limited say in the functioning of the farms, I am pleasantly surprised by the extent of her knowledge and the obvious pride in her voice for her work. Kantibhai, her husband, who is only customarily present during our initial exchange, adds a word here and there to supplement what Munni is saying. He does not seem to want to continuously take over her conversation with his interjections. He is happy to let her take the lead, as is also reflected in the name of the field — Munnibehan-Kantibhai fields. This one-fourth acre seed plot is likely to earn her close to Rs 45,000 this season.

Munni’s ghunghat is deceptive, an empty custom followed by a strong woman who poses seamlessly for our cameras. Her deep brown skin is taut against her small bony frame. Her stern face breaks into an inadvertent smile as she tells us that over the last three years, she has managed to save close to fifty thousand rupees — money that she wants to invest in her older daughter’s education who wants to study computer science in the city.

Empowering women farmers in Gujarat

Munni and 11 other women of Rattanpur village in the Khedbrahma region have, over the last three years, organised themselves into a self-help group, Anjali. Anjali is one of the 476 self-help groups (SHG) in the area, led solely by women, which function both as representative and organisational bodies that are wholly responsible for all the agricultural produce in the area. Draped in a vivacious green that is the identifier of their unit, the women regularly meet to share best practices and take agricultural decisions.

Over the last three years, these 476 SHGs have engaged women farmers from over 3,875 households in the Khedbrahma and Poshina talukas. Most of these households are tribal households with less than 1.5 acres in land holdings. Organising themselves into cohesive units has allowed them economies of scale and has eventually destabilised the market dynamics where the middlemen are in power. Decisions on everything from the nature of crops to pricing decisions are made by the SHGs. Decisions that cannot be resolved at an SHG level are taken up by the Village Organisation (VO) which comprises of representatives from each SHG operational in the area.

The VOs, 28 of which are operational in Gujarat, have been crucial in securing financing. They act as points of interaction for banks and other financial institutions, and have so far assisted 91 SHGs access revolving funds from the government. These VOs culminate into apex bodies such as the Farmer Producer Company (FPC) that forms the necessary market linkages. Each consortium is run and led by the women farmers.

Currently, there are two FPCs operational in Gujarat and these have been crucial in standardising agricultural inputs available to the farmers in the area. This process has gradually weeded out middlemen and other non-licensed sellers, creating a self-sustaining model where the FPC both sells agricultural raw materials and buys back the produce. With an all women board, the FPCs have now begun to influence the market rates for crops, ensuring fair price for farmers.

This structured operation is a part of sustainable livelihood model that is enabled by Tata Trusts through intensive knowledge transfer. Their current programme, the Lakhpati Kisan, trains these women. Aimed at tribal families with an annual income less than Rs 35,000, the programme trains and educates women farmers with an objective to elevate their annual income to Rs 1.2 lakh.

The women farmers are coached on all aspects of agricultural practices — from soil quality to irrigation methodologies to crop rotation to seed treatment. This knowledge empowers these women to independently make decisions and subsequently implement them. Guided by a community model wherein women remain in charge, the objective is to make these units self-sustainable, with minimum outside interference.

In a state where more than 65% of the agricultural labour is done by women, this programme is creating an ecosystem where women are finally the decision makers. 

Tata Trust recently enrolled a new partner, Points for People which is a crowdsourced donation platform that enables individuals to donate loyalty points to a social cause. This has contributed substantially to the Lakhpati Kisan programme. Their target is to engage and empower as many as 6000 households in Gujarat by 2020.

Financial independence: Crucial to equality

A recent study “Farmers of Future: Challenges of Feminization of Agriculture in India” reports that the Indian agricultural sector is undergoing feminisation, whereby women are taking up a larger share of the farm work. This report, however, suggests that this feminisation has no causal relationship with wider indicators of women’s social and/or economic empowerment. This is because this labour does not replace traditionally feminine responsibilities in the household; instead, it adds to them.

Even though, as the study proposes, the gendered power structures, both at home and in farm, have barely budged,  financial independence has bolstered these women’s confidence and sense of self-worth. While Munni’s days have become significantly longer, the chores having intensified ever since she has taken up greater ownership of the field, she does not seem to mind it one bit. “This is what I know to do well and love doing. And anyway, it is so much better than being bound by household chores all day. At least, I now have some money in my hand.”

We catch the tail end of the VO meeting that has 13 women all dressed in the same green sari as Munni. The women are sitting around in a circle, wielding pens and notebooks. Rekha, who is also a board member of their Farmer Producer Company, is recounting the minutes. In the two-hour long meeting, decisions about planting winter crops due to be planted in a month’s time have been made, service charges that are to be levied have been discussed, recover of VO loans has been talked about, and internal loans have been disbursed. Rekha, who is easily the leader of the group, tells us that they have  also decided to approach the apex body, the FPC, for goat breeding licences.

“An allied source of income will be very helpful,” Balli Behan, sitting beside Rekha, pipes in. “The independent access to money gives us bargaining power at home,” she explains. Apart from being the breadwinner in her family, Balli is also the Internet Sathi of the area — a programme, which in collaboration with Google India, aims to digitise rural areas. Balli is regularly tasked with training and surveying the households in the surrounding villages. Although her husband initially objected to the idea of her travelling around, he now does not say much.

Another farmer, Asha, one of the few women attending the meeting with a young child, is encouraged by the conversation. She had walked off as we entered to attend a phone call, but soon joins the group. She too wants to diversify and wants to open a tailoring shop in the village. “I like tailoring, and there are none in the village anyway.”

Literacy rate in the area is at a mere 37%, but the farmers unanimously agree that the training has been immensely helpful. “The traders can no longer fool us with ad hoc weights, illicit pricing, etc. We know how to deal with them,” Balli spiritedly adds. Her ghunghat has slid off amidst all her animated gesturing, though she barely takes notice. She does not take to being cheated very lightly. “I have confronted the district collector in the past about these issues, I will again if I need to,” she adds with visible conviction.

Balli’s words take me back to this book I was reading on my way to Gujarat in which renowned Polish theatre director Zofia Kalinska tells her actor that to speak up did not mean to be loud, but to feel entitled to voice a wish. A few decades later and thousands of miles away, these women were the last people whom I expected to embody that ideal.

The urban buzz of feminism hasn’t reached them. Despite that, when I ask if they think they should have equal rights, Asha vociferously demands that if they do all the work, why should they not have the rights?

“It’s a battle, everyday, but at least if we can take care of our own needs, we don’t have to depend on others to get our fair share. That’s a start, no?” I can’t help but agree.

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Aishwarya Guha is a freelance journalist.