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THE CARE-WOMEN'S FEATURE SERVICE FELLOWSHIPS, 2008(Personal Account)
 | 'It is a swim upstream every day for these women'
By Usha Turaga-Revelli
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April was the cruelest month. Heat, sweat, sultry airlessness days. Mornings evaporating before one completely awoke. And the train to Srikakulam in the extreme north coastal Andhra was steamy and overcrowded. People slept along the aisles, between berths, gulped down gallons of water and bought every snack that was sold on the train. They played cards, chatted, read, laughed, grumbled and, finally, snoozed like exhausted kittens.
Srikakulam district came as a surprise. A pleasant one, if you discount the muggy weather. The road we took was fairly smooth, the rickety government jeep that picked us up notwithstanding. Soon, the mountains loomed large on the horizon and suddenly we were in a green bowl with sunlight glimmering on the rim.
Seetampet, where I went to work on my story on tribal girls getting soft skills training in order to garner jobs in the new economy, is a complete world in itself. The self-reliance of the young people here soon makes itself known, as indeed their quick adaptability and quest for the new. But what struck me most was a strange development dichotomy that a candid official drew my attention to.
The girls and boys, who grew up in tiny villages, have smoothly moved out to take up jobs in the cities. They leave their homes, their parents and the hilly setting behind. But for how long? As parents move to their children's new abodes, a slice of their home goes with them. Then, suddenly, the green bowl is empty.
The rationale behind the jobs training programmes is to prevent young people in the tribal belt from being recruited by extremist groups. But the fall-out has been a lot more positive than the designers of the programme expected. It is doing wonders for individuals and families. But what about the communities? In taking the kids out of the tribal community, aren't we taking the sense of community out of them? What then will become of their lush, lost world? A group whose colours are drawn from the earth and which mingles with the sky… will it have a sky of its own? Individuals thrive but communities evaporate. Does development need a redefinition here?
From Srikakulam to Rajahmundry, where I did my next story, everything changed. The journey itself was uneventful, but it led to yet many more questions. Sex workers sell what is primarily and completely their own property. They struggle in rough woods, unsafe highways, stiflingly hot bunks, tiny 5x5 rooms, in lorry cabins, in musty enclosures built under four-and-a-half feet high platforms. It is a swim upstream every day for these women.
Andhra Pradesh sends hundreds of women every year into the sex industry. In drought-prone districts, young girls get contact numbers in Mumbai and travel with the approval of the family. It's as of they have got a software job. Yet many more are tricked into sex work, powerless to fight the mafia that controls it.
The debate rages on: what is development for these thousands of women? Some say, bring them out and make them roll beedis or stitch blouses for a living. Others say, keep them there, arm them. Who is right and who isn't? Another development dilemma.
It is not just the terrain, the talk, the thoughts and the tastes that change as we travel down Andhra, chasing one story and then another. It's a baffling journey for me as one set of doubts replaces another. The small triumphs gladden the heart, but the big predicaments remain.
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