Anthill Of Hope

The deep-seated cynicism in a journalist's mind, which often gets gloriously defined as healthy skepticism, never perceives anything as simple andbeautiful. When I visited this place less than two years ago, I was awestruck,but was afraid to admit it. When I visited it again last weekend, quiteunconsciously, my mind started looking for a news 'peg' to celebrate it, all thetime feeling anxious that it may offer none. True, it didn't offer any, but whatbigger reason and 'peg' does one need to write about yarns of hope innot-so-shining rural India?

In the serene environment of the Western Ghats, the quiet and unassumingdynamism of this place is only comparable to an 'anthill'. I am referring ofcourse to Charaka, a women's co-operative society in Bhimanakone village inSagar taluk of Shimoga district in Karnataka. Charaka produces naturally dyedcotton handloom garments, which are sold under the 'Desi' brandname across thestate. The co-operative employs nearly 200 women and has a decent turnover of acrore of rupees. If one were to combine the turnover of 'Desi' stores then theturnover is 20 million rupees. The projections are that they are growing at afabulous rate of 30 per cent a year. Each woman employed at Charaka takes homean average of Rs. 3000 a month. The value of this money that a woman earns withclean technology and clean air here is much higher than what her counterpart inthe city earns at an export-oriented garment factory. (Garment factories,incidentally, are said to be bigger employers than the IT industry in Bangalore).

Charaka is not just metaphorically an 'anthill', a metaphor that visiting Hindinovelist Geetanjalisri assigned to the place, but it quite literally appears tobe so. If you look up from the road below, it is a red-soil hillock that isaesthetically terraced to house the different units of garment production. Thepetite women, working industriously like ants, talk sharp; their faces arebright and their bodies toned by the rigours of walking at least 12 km a daybetween their homes and the 'anthill.'

Charaka is a self-sufficient co-operative in the sense that once the raw-yarn ispurchased, everything else happens in-house. The yarn is coloured with naturaldyes at a separate unit. Local knowledge goes into producing blues, browns,blacks, greens, reds and yellows. Then, it is woven into long lengths of clothwith the help of sixty plus looms that women have installed at their homesaround the 'anthill'. These women are independent of the 200 employees mentionedabove. They are part of the Charaka community, but are self-employed. Theweaving techniques are taught and patterns decided locally. There is also ablock-printing unit. The garment designing and tailoring units are housed on the'anthill.' There is also a tapestry unit that makes 'rajois' (blankets). Thereis another bag-making unit and also one that uses the local 'hase' folk paintingto produce curious stationary. The paintings that varyingly have a mandala andstereogram-effect is also tried out on glass, but the locals paint them on theirwalls. Not to forget at the 'anthill' is the prayer hall; the banyan treeplatform for cultural performances; library and a canteen that serves localdelicacies. To market the stuff produced here, there are the 'Desi' retailunits. In all, they produce about 159 products.

During my first visit to Charaka, I had stayed at the house of a girl calledVeena, who belongs to the toddy-tapping community. She was one of those who hadset up a loom in her house and had just then started counting her hundreds andwas depositing it with her grandmother. She was very shy and spoke just a coupleof sentences during my two-day stay at her place. The silences of my designatedhost were filled up by her talkative uncles and aunts. I got to taste thetangiest pickles and wild chicken masalas at this quiet girl's place. Thisadventurous rural homestay programme had pushed me to unlearn a lot of my urbangraces. 

But this time around, the moment I landed at Charaka, Veena spoke nineteen to adozen. She made splendid conversation unmindful of the world. Her confidence wasmore than evident. One of the first questions she asked me was if my cell numberhad changed. She herself carried a mobile phone. She had apparently tried mynumber a few times. She told me about a cousin who had moved to Bangalore. Herattire was no longer that of a village-lass; there was the sparkle of a girl whofrequents the town fair. The ear-rings were a giveaway. She had a bank accountnow and had learnt to ride a bicycle. Since I could not escape her persistence,I visited her home and found that things in some ways now revolved around her.The uncles and aunts were there, but they seemed to respect her space and allowher some domination. Economic independence has clearly done wonders and made mewonder what's next for her.

At a time when government policy is focused on urban renewal and villages are stripped of their socio-cultural references to be spoken off as rural markets, Charaka is a strange success story. In fact, the idealisitic-perfection of the place is scary at times. It hopes to reverse the migration of both men and money from villages to cities. Renowned theatre person Prasanna, who is the brain-behind this entire effort says: "The village sells its labour and does not get a remunerative return, which it did when there was the system of barter. Money flows out of the village and not into it. This process has to be reversed first." Prasanna, a former IITian, does understand the process of reversal well. Three decades ago, he quit technology to take up theatre and now, in the last 13 years, he has shunned the city to set up a women's co-operative.

There is one question that seems to haunt Prasanna at this point of time. Nowthat the women earn a decent livelihood, how does one get them to remain loyalto the idea of a self-sustained village community? In Prasanna's own words:"With the economic stream steady, how does one get them to earnsocio-cultural revenue?" Somewhere inside him, perhaps there is a fear thatBheemanakone village and Charaka would become a museum of rural utopia. Whatwould he do if the girls set their sights at the city with their newly earnedconfidence? What if all their money goes to buying jewellery? What if theyaspire to ride pillion on bikes? What if they want to change their cellphonemodels frequently? What if their good looks attract a software engineer inBangalore? How long can a Prasanna hold a Veena back in the village?