Rural India

My traineeship segment once again took me to the “Godforsaken land”, euphemistically known as rural India in this well known institute of management in western India. Though the stint did not really spring any surprises in terms of the responses we got from the farmers, it forced me to think and think.

India lives in her villages. And to really develop the country, you need to bring development to the last man in the village. Many of my classmates here must have parroted this statement in their bid to gain admission into the institute. And I am sure many of my seniors who are now hot shots in the world of rural development, must have done the same.

But here lies the catch. Its close to 60 years since the country is in the hands of our elected representatives. “Gentlemen”, who are supposed to understand what, is good and what is bad for the country. But, despite their wisdom, it seems they are still to figure the whole thing out.

Otherwise, why will the benefits of any beneficiary scheme, announced with much fanfare, every independence day, fail to reach the people, they are intended to. Either, the villagers lie, or the persons paid their salaries from the taxpayers’ money, are not doing their work. I personally do not see any reason for the first to happen, so it is probably the second one.

But, why? Why do we derive such sadistic pleasure out of the miseries of the fellow human beings? Does not the resurgent India want the Bharat to develop with as much fervour and pace, as is doing? The answer, unfortunately remains a big “no”.

A person who is fortunate enough to send his child to school is unfortunate enough to become ineligible for any benefits from the government because, it is assumed that if he is able to send his child to school, he cannot be poor.

A particular incidence stands out in my memory. A woman who had gone insane after last years’ floods in West Bengal, happened to be in one of the focussed group discussions, which I condected as a part of my project. And all through the meeting, the only thing which she kept on requesting was “that I do something so that they get the compensation announced by the government after the floods”.

I felt disgusted. Not because of her pleas. But because, I felt helpless. Helpless, that I could not do anything. Disgusted because, in this country, even after you have lost everything, you are forced to prove that you have “actually” lost everything. You run from pillar to post, and sure enough fail to prove to prove that you have actually lost everything, get a loan from a money lender and end up actually losing everything.

And this is something which has been happening all around the country for the last 60 years. Villagers still live in the dark. They still have to depend on quacks for getting treatment. And God forbid, if there is a medical emergency, late in the night, before calling the doctor, they are forced to call God because there are no roads to take the patient to the nearest city.

And when they become disgusted and try to make a living in the big cities, the “civil society” jumps at the first available chance to accuse them of “polluting” their peaceful existence. About 40% of the bar dancers and more than 50% of the prostitutes belong to this category. I wonder, which woman relishes her breasts being fondled by 20 different men in 20 days. But then this is what is made out by the numerous protectors of “Indian culture”. As if this is being done by them of their own free will.

It is a matter of shame for the largest democracy in the world. As I type and as you read, someone, somewhere in the remotest corners of the country is dying a death he does not deserve. All because someone somewhere is not doing his work properly.