Revelations from rural Jharkhand

For an urban youngster, no visit to a village ends without the mind asking questions, making comparisons and wondering what it would be like to be more than just a casual visitor.

Preface: This three-part series chronicles the rural awakening of a Bengaluru student, wherein he talks about what he saw, felt and carried with him back to the city. This final write-up is about the interviews he conducted with women about their reproductive health and family planning, and the thoughts that arose as the sojourn came to an end. 

The easy part of my fieldwork was done. Interacting with school children and finding out about their schools, the food that they are served there and the quality of education, and assessing the difference between private and government schools made me think that maybe my work is not that tough. 

I always had a knack for talking with children. Back at home, my mother, a teacher who took tuition at home, always asked me to interact with the kids and make them study when things got out of hand. I could easily make them read or solve questions by making up a game or letting them compete with each other to see who could finish up the math problems first.

Maybe that’s why the next part of my fieldwork seemed more challenging to me. I had to talk to 20 tribal women, seeking their views on family planning and the use of contraceptives, and getting information about their family size, menstrual cycle and other such personal questions. Who do I ask? Will they even answer these questions? What if they do not understand Hindi? How do I ask the questions in Santhali? 

Also Read | Bengaluru boy’s confessions from Jharkhand village

I was in a muddle-headed state when Dr Didi came to my rescue. That’s how everyone addresses Sita Kisku in the village. She is the jal sahaiya who works under the Swachh Bharat Mission and looks after water management issues like building bathrooms, fixing tubewells, etc. I was sitting outside the library petting a street dog when I saw her walking past. I jumped suddenly, startling the dog which ran away with a disappointed look. 

Dr Didi was going on her usual rounds to the village’s three tolas (localities) – Adel, Chetan, and Manjhi. I explained to her the questions I was supposed to ask the women, translating some English words to Santhali for easier comprehension.  

I found my first interviewee in her. Then I asked her if I could help her in the duties and in that process, interact with the families she was visiting and interview the older women. She agreed and for the next three days, I went with her at 7 am, helping her collect the data and then interviewing the women of the house if possible. 

Also Read | Of ducks, bulls and other lessons from a Santhal village

Every interview was different from the other. Some women had complete knowledge about contraceptives and believed that men should also undergo birth control procedures like vasectomy while some others were not very vocal and only answered me with a yes or a no. They also expressed varied views about the nearest hospital and doctors. 

The most difficult part of the interviews was asking personal questions, besides of course the language barrier that we faced. Dr Didi was there with me in most of the interviews which gave them a sense of security that I was there for a purpose. It would not have been possible without her support.

I talked to women across age groups, literate and illiterate. I walked on railway tracks and highways, pakka roads and dirt paths, and even trekked to a small hill with Dr Didi to interview villagers. I interviewed a woman as she was working in the field and catching hold of a running chicken in between our conversation, and an anganwadi worker while she was teaching in a classroom and grabbing hold of a running child.

It was a humbling experience. I went from waking up at 8 am at my university and taking a hot shower to getting up at 4 am, walking in the darkness for nearly half a kilometre to the nearest bathroom, taking a bath in the cold water of the tube well along with other villagers and then starting my work. By the end of the week, I talked to 20 tribal women and had numerous conversations with the locals which completely shattered my previous perspectives on tribal communities in Jharkhand. 

They are not different from us. But for them, we might be ‘different people.’ We are the urban people who come to these villages for ‘field work’ or ‘social work,’ we speak in some foreign language and carry a smug look, but if we change our perspective and switch the gaze towards us, we are the outsiders. 

I also realised that there is a difference between what some programmes may be trying to achieve and the actual need. I was told by a person who attended the training that the tribals do not care about money. They have enough grain to sustain themselves and their loved ones and see no worth in commercial agriculture. 

I am back on campus, sipping a warm cup of coffee again, and I realise I am also part of the problem. I went there for a week as a guest, interviewed the children and the women, gathered some data, and returned to my comfortable and cosy lifestyle. 

Did I bring any change? Am I even capable of that? Will this just remain as an ‘experience’? From the outside, the ‘tribal lifestyle’ looks exotic and appealing but do we really want to live that life? I went with excitement but came back with guilt. 

The lead image at the top shows the author (extreme left) talking to tribal women with the help of Dr Didi. (Photo courtesy  Kinshuk Ghosh) 

Kinshuk Ghosh is a second-year student at Azim Premji University, Bengaluru, and pursuing Bsc B.Ed in Physics. Over the break after finishing his first semester, he attended a five-day training for Development Corridor Fellow at Jamshedpur conducted by VikasAnvesh Foundation, Pune, on Panchayati Raj, and problems afflicting primary education, public health, etc. He then stayed in Pondehasa village to understand children’s perspectives on the conditions of primary school and women’s childbirth choices.