I am a social researcher and I have been travelling to the tribal belts of Odisha, as part of my work since last couple of months. This has given me a fair insight into the lives and livelihood dynamics of tribal farmers in this state.
During this journey, one of the issues that captured my research attention was the striking absence of the youth population from tribal farmlands. It has caused a potential scarcity of effective labour force adversely impacting the agriculture sector. This section of the village is said to have migrated to far off cities in search of better livelihood options.
Poverty is cited to be the most common cause of this migration. Upon probing, the village elders would depressingly blame increasingly scanty rain fall (caused by climate change) and lack of irrigation facilities for this paradigm shift. ‘Who would want their children to be farmers anyways’ , would be the heart wrenchingly convincing response and I would not dare to probe further.
The outbreak of the global pandemic has affected India deeply and it has resulted in a massive shift in social order and perception. As the country, unprepared for such a calamity, is facing challenges in providing health care facilities to the affected lot, the states are, though reluctantly, welcoming back the migrants to their respective homes. And the news magazines and channels are flooded with headlines drenched with sweat and blood of migrant workers walking back home. Deeply disturbed by the plight of these migrants, I decided to process and document the reverse migration cycle of migrant labourers from Odisha after they reach back home. And in the process, I wrote this poem. Well, researchers do not make good poets. But we are living in unusual time and as a researcher, I find myself unusually moved.
I left home when
I was growing up.
I left home when
The shrinking space I called home
Did not have enough leg space to
Accommodate my expanding energy.
The hearth did not have enough firewood
To cook me a hearty meal a day.
And the roof leaked on a rainy day,
And, refused to keep me dry.
I left that ever shrinking space I called home
When there was one more addition to my already expanding sibling list
And my mother’s love was not enough
To hold my hunger any more.
I left home
Because I realized I did not matter.
But I left home holding on to a hue of hope they called dream
That resembled bread, shelter, and, may be, a little more…
And, my expanding legs fueled with youthful energy
Walked me to the city to search something more.
And the city kept its promise
Of helping me realize my dream for more.
It provided me bread, shelter, and yes, a little surplus
To send back to that ever shrinking space I called home.
I toiled day and night
So that the city can prosper.
Built home for others, and constructed roads and railway tracks
To make their journey easier.
My muscles pained, my bones ached, and my heart grappled for comfort
And, I found solace in alcohol and drugs.
Looking at the blurry starry night trying to find my home
curled up in the dirt space they called slum.
And I fell in love with the neighbourhood girl, and the story unfolded thus.
the space shrank, for the expanding home.
But I worked harder, to sustain the favour.
And the city prospered, consuming my labour.
Then a pandemic broke
And the city is on its toe.
It needs to be cleansed
So that the show must go on.
And I left my city
Because I realized I did not matter.
My legs grapple for energy
As the journey backward is sure to be tough
With a tentative hope
The shrinking space will welcome me back home
The houses I once built
Have closed their doors
The roads and tracks are deserted,
As the journey is fruitful no more.
Somewhere between the city and my home
I saw unnamed shadows struggling with thirst and hunger
There are random corpses who could not keep up with their hope
Journey back home seems even so longer!
The fear is crippling the
Journey, if at all I overcome.
Will I matter,
Once I reach back home?
Narayani Rajashree Kanungo is a Post Doctoral Fellow at the Nabakrushna Choudhary Centre for Development Studies(NCDS),Odisha.
