Half Day in their Lives

Half Day in their Lives

Inspired by Aruna Roy, since the start of my travel fellowship, I have always wanted to experience a day in the life of a daily wage worker. During this journey, most of the patients and people I have met belonged to the so-called “unskilled daily wage workers”. I searched for many opportunities and finally, at Chamdabad, my wish came true. As I was there during the rice transplantation season, I was lucky. I knew I would not exactly get an authentic experience as I went to work in the field of a staff member, where my soon-to-be co-workers knew I was a visiting doctor. The night before, I was equally excited and scared about whether I would be able to stay the whole day with them and do the work properly. Though my grandfathers were farmers, and I have heard stories of how earlier there used to be paddy fields from where rice for the house would be sown and reaped; being brought up in a city, this was finally an opportunity for me to connect to my roots. I set off to the field at 9am the next morning with S bhaiya. My co-workers had already started uprooting the rice saplings and tying them in bundles. I soon greeted them, started imitating them, and asked them if I was doing it right. They giggled and reassured me. I introduced myself and asked them their names. They were taken aback and said, ‘My name is G, and she is C. But no one here knows us by this name. We are known as ‘D ka ma’ and ‘P ki ma’. Only when we return to our parents' house are we called by our first names.” I was curious. “So what if you don’t have children ?” I asked. They replied, “Then we are known as choti bahu and badi bahu.” During the first 30 minutes, I was comfortable. Bare feet in clayey soil felt therapeutic, bending over, uprooting the saplings, there was a rhythm and beat of repetition. But then I started changing my positions; standing, bending over, squatting, bending over, standing. But G&C continued their work, with thrice my speed in the same bend-over position. We soon became acquainted and discussed agriculture in this area, and they were also curious about where I am from, Kerala. We spoke about our families and so on. But they kept addressing me, Madam. I requested that they call me by my name. With much difficulty, they started calling me Aneeta Didi (actually Onita Didi, as they spoke Bengali). They were curious about why I would want to do this for a whole day. They thought I would leave soon after taking a few photos and videos. When I tried to convey my intention, they stared at me and said, “You shouldn’t think so much, agriculture, farming are for poor people and not for you.”- a statement they kept repeating between our conversations. After uprooting enough saplings, we started the transplantation, aka Daan Ropna. I realised uprooting was an easier affair- the distance and number of saplings in each place mattered. Moreover, like earlier, I couldn’t squat as a break from the bend-over position, as knee-deep water was in the paddy field. G&C continued to plant the saplings while I took 5-minute break, but I reminded myself that the other workers will not experience this privilege, so hurry up! I soon joined them at a slower pace. In between, they continued conversing in Khortha, the local language. When I enquired how much one earns a day, they said RS 200. I was shocked. For so much work, with no breaks, only RS 200! Paddy plantation is a work exclusively done by women. The men till the soil with a tractor or bullock (depending on how rich you are), while the women uproot and plant the saplings. It was a time when women came together. Paddy plantation is the only outside work done by most women here. I had no sense of time, disconnected after a long time, and it did feel good. Soon, a boy came running, asking if we were hungry and if his mother should bring the food. Relieved and happy, I started doing it faster, as we would soon have lunch. The hunger I felt when lunch was served, I had never felt so hungry in my life. It made sense why they ate so much rice, as they were equally doing such intensive. We spread our plastic sheets and all of us sat by the side of the field for a scrumptious lunch. The joy I felt when stretching my back and just lying on the grass with the light wind blowing with a peak of sunlight, it was perfect, difficult to describe. We rested for 20 minutes post-lunch and were again back on our feet to continue the work. They tried to send me back home, saying I had done enough, but I pleaded to stay till 4. In the nearby fields, women also bent over, uprooted or planted the saplings. But post-lunch, my body, with bursts of energy, tried my best to continue the work. I pushed myself and paused in between, amazed at the speed and beauty with which G and C worked. When women like them come to OPD, when asked what do you do, they would say nothing, sirf ghar ka kham, they would never say I am a farmer/ I do agriculture. I pushed myself to 4 ‘P ki mummy’ asked if I was ready to go. There was still a small area left to be planted, and soon we had other helpers from the nearby field. Tired and defeated, covered in mud, I nodded yes, feeling ashamed, and I went back, bidding G and C farewell and thanking them. Towards the end of the day, I had become Oneeta for them, and they shouted “Bye-bye Oneeta,” which meant a lot to me. I had just experienced half of a day in their lives, as before coming to the field, they would’ve woken at 5 am, prepared food for the family, and sent their kids to school. Going back, I had the privilege of resting, taking a painkiller for the soreness and going to sleep. But they have to go back, collect firewood, collect water from the handpump (Chapakol), prepare food, and only then can they sleep. They have to wake up the next day to do the same thing. That day, I learnt a lot as a human and a doctor. Something I learnt during my journey, especially during my days at CMSK JCMB, be it OPD/ Labour Room was contextualising and tailoring the prescription accordingly. Often times, these prescriptions wouldn’t be just medicines, but check boxes for counseling, educating and making the patient aware of their diet, exercise and need for rest according to their condition. Knowing their day-to-day activities, the nature of their work, and the food they have would certainly help me as their physician. Moreover, who classified works of laborers and farmers as unskilled ? Who made this classification of skilled and unskilled jobs? Who decided the dignity and respect associated with each of these jobs. I also understood the soreness and hunger they felt, hence to never belittle their pain when they come to me, never to put them on restrictive diets during the plantation season even though the textbook says so for their medical condition. I always tried to see my fellow beings beyond their titles, given to them by their family and community, but that day I had a new found respect for the so called “working-class”, “unskilled” laborers.