The CBI must understand trains and bogies if it aims to crack the Vyapam scam

out today, this story which looks at how exam rigging was done in madhya pradesh’s #vyapam scam.

As the number of gangs grew, the market evolved further. First, students began shopping for lowest prices between gangs. This gave rise to a set of disputes which, by 2009, had resulted in the gangs dividing up Madhya Pradesh among themselves in order to avoid competition. Take Sagar. According to Rai, he started in Bhind but was forced to leave by another person in the same business called Deepak Yadav. It is after this dispute that Sagar based himself in Indore. Another doctor, called Tarang Sharma, added Saklecha, operated out of Bhopal.

vyapam continued for long. why did checks and balances not kick in? who is responsible? all questions that the CBI needs to answer.

Vyapam’s hidden costs: Broken dreams and a health system staffed by dodgy doctors

In 2009, Poonam Sharma finished school and turned her thoughts to medical school.
The daughter of a junior police officer, Sharma left home in Shivpuri, in the northern reaches of Madhya Pradesh, for Gwalior, home to coaching centres that promise to help candidates crack all kinds of entrance exams. She enrolled for a year-long coaching programme and began studying for the medical college entry tests in earnest.
It was an intense, immersive time. “I studied for 14 hours every day,” said Sharma, who was 19 at the time. “I would stay up studying till 2 every night.”
However, it soon became clear that something was wrong. “Some students were very sure they would make it,” Sharma said. “They said they had paid money: Rs 12 lakhs if they were in the general category and Rs 3 lakh-Rs 4 lakhs if Scheduled Caste or Scheduled Tribe.” On the morning of the exam, around 4am or 5am, she said, a white van picked up these students and took them to the exam centre. “We later learnt that they had been given the question papers to read,” she said.

A report from Madhya Pradesh about its highly egregious #Vyapam scam.

when claims of indian exceptionalism run into bhopal gas survivors

in a month, it will be 27 years since the gas leaked out of that tank in union carbide’s bhopal plant. it is an event which has never quite lost its ability to shock people — the scale of the disaster; the state’s brutal abandonment of the gas affected; the subsequent discovery that households living near the plant’s toxic dumps and drinking the groundwater there were reporting severe abnormalities in new borns and high incidences of cancer; rapidly followed by the bhopal administration siting — wait for it — the new agricultural grain mandi about 500 metres away from these erstwhile evaporation ponds where carbide used to dump its slurry and, for good measure, allowing new houses to come up in the area; the hospital erected to take care of the gas victims slowly turning them all away and treating the city’s affluent instead… i could go on.

three days ago, my edit page editor, tk arun, and i found something new to be horrified by. new documents have been unearthed which reveal that…

Weeks after the tragic Bhopal gas leak in December 1984, the Indian government mutely accepted a settlement offered by Union Carbide Corporation (UCC). Among other things, UCC’s offer outlined the quantum of compensation to be paid out to victims and how injuries were to be categorised and compensated. In exchange , it wanted “extinguishment” of all claims against UCC, its Indian subsidary, Union Carbide India Limited, and its staff.

and, wouldn’t you know it, the government agreed. hook, line and sinker. take a look at this story. it briefly explains what the proposal was, why it was flawed. and yet, the bureaucrats and the rajiv gandhi government accepted the whole thing. no application of thought. even though the scale of the accident (india’s first industrial accident which involved communities living around the plant and not just the workers) far outstripped provisions in existing laws.

and you know the worse bit? it has been said that nothing challenges the idea of india as much as the bhopal gas tragedy. not really. there are a thousand unfolding/unfolded bhopals in this country. plant after plant under-represents the risks they expose local populations to. poverty forces people to live close to these. others, to work in them. their pollution leaches, usually untreated, into rivers and the earth. and the safety mechanisms rarely work.

these are not generalised rants. a friend, who did his phd on the nuke plant at kudankulam, told me once that the plant had told locals about low noise levels. not about the threat of radiation. as for the other assertions. poverty pushes people to live in cheaper, if higher risk, areas — slums along the riverside, next to drains. as for the pollution, i am reminded of a trip as a freelancer to orissa. plants were dumping waste into the hirakud dam’s reservoir! incredible, that. because those waters are then used for irrigation. in the same trip, i also heard about how plants would switch off their smoke/pollution capturing systems to save on bijli (electricity).

and 27 years after bhopal, while we have better laws, we continue to be crap at enforcing them.

not a country given to learning from its much-feted past, india.

ps – also see this story written last year after the court awarded two year jail terms, a mere 26 years after the event, to some of the staff and senior managers in UCC’s Indian ops.

Union Carbide. Reflections

this is the first of three opinionated stories i wrote for et’s 50th anniversary. i cannot find the links to these on the website, and so am pasting the raw text itself.

Blackened and twisted from the heat of the reaction, tank 610 lies on its side. Twenty-six years ago, on the night of 2nd-3rd December, it is from this tank in Union Carbide’s Bhopal factor that Methyl Isocyanate leaked out and spread, cloudlike, across a large part of the city. It was the world’s worst industrial disaster. Official numbers estimate that almost 4,000 people died that night. Tens of thousands were permanently disabled.

It’s an event that exposes a strange paradox about the Indian state. Think about it. On one hand, in the years after the leak, India made radical changes to her environmental law. Till the leak, industrial risk was understood as something confined to the factory. It was not till Bhopal that the definition of the community at risk widened and brought the community living around the project into the calculus of industrial risk.

The legislative response was the Environmental (Protection) Act (1986). It authorizes the central government to protect and improve environmental quality, to control and reduce pollution from all sources, and to prohibit or restrict the setting and/or operation of any industrial facility on environmental grounds. Today, it is an umbrella Act from which myriad other environmental laws, like the Environmental Impact Assessment notification, etc, derive their authority.

Another response came from the Supreme Court where, while ruling on a subsequent Oleum Gas leak in Delhi, Justice PN Bhagwati added the principle of Absolute Liability to India’s legal liability regime. Says environmental lawyer Videh Upadhyay, “When the Indian government tried to hold Union Carbide responsible for the disaster, the best legal principle available to it was the strict liability principle. Derived from British Common Law, this says any industry engaged in hazardous activity is liable for adverse consequences even if the industry/enterprise is not directly responsible for them. However, mitigating conditions could be factored in, like acts of god, acts of strangers, etc.”

While ruling on the Oleum case, Justice Bhagwati did away with the exemptions. His order said: “Where an enterprise is engaged in a hazardous or inherently dangerous activity and harm results to anyone on account of an accident in the operation of such hazardous or inherently dangerous activity resulting, for example, in escape of toxic gas, the enterprise is strictly and absolutely liable to compensate all those who are affected by the accident and such liability is not subject to any of the exceptions which operate vis-à-vis the tortious principle of strict liability.”

This landmark legal principle, says Upadhyay, was developed in the backdrop of Bhopal. Joining other environmental principles like Polluter Pays and the Precautionary Principle, it has been used extensively since then.

It shows the caring side of the Indian state. But, look at how the victims have been treated, and you see something strikingly different.

In all these years, regardless of the party in power, the victims’ struggle for compensation and treatment has continued. A combination of disinterested gas relief hospitals and almost non-existent medical research into the effects of the gas leak on humans has resulted in the gas victims getting little more than palliative treatment for their medical problems. The symptoms get treated but little else more. Poor attempts at social and economic rehabilitation have resulted in them sinking deep into poverty.

Saddest of all, the number of victims has been swelled by a second generation of victims. Some are children born to badly-affected survivors are blind, lame, with limbs twisted or missing, deaf and mute, brain-damaged, with hare-lips, cleft palates, webbed fingers, cerebral palsy or tumours where there should be eyes. Others are those who unknowingly bought land abutting the ponds outside the plant where Carbide used to dump its chemical slurry. This water-affected population, reports Sambhavna Clinic, a charity set up to help gas victims, is showing an incidence of birth defects that is ten times the national average.

A strange paradox, indeed.

Union Carbide Followup. Three

In June this year, responding to the public outcry over the weak judgments handed out by a Bhopal sessions court, the Indian government unveiled a new relief package for the survivors of the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. With the 26th anniversary of the leak around the corner, the Economic Times travelled to Bhopal to take stock of progress.

What follows is an excerpt from an interview with S.R. Mohanty, secretary (health), government of Madhya Pradesh, who is also in charge of the Bhopal Gas Tragedy Relief and Rehabilitation Department.

Q But what happens to the people with “temporary disability”? Jabbar Khan, the Bhopal Gas activist, has been compiling a list of people, who while classed as temporarily disabled, are now suffering from cancer and renal failure and the like…

A That is a major problem. The 5,21,000 people who had been listed as suffering from minor injuries were not considered by the GoM. They did not want to reopen the question of recategorisation. On the whole, there are two issues on the compensation front. One, even as the number of cases rose far beyond initial estimates, the compensation amount stayed the same. The result, people got a fifth of what they should have. Second, the categorisation (into major and minor disabilities) itself has become untenable. As the years go by, people who had a minor wheezing problem now have collapsed lungs.

Read the whole interview here.

A tragedy that looks like it will never end

eleven days earlier, a Bhopal sessions court had handed down measly sentences to seven people accused in the bhopal gas leak. in the resulting cries for revenge and demands for the extradition of warren andersen, a big point was ignored. the tragedy at bhopal did not just occur 25 years ago, it continues to unfold.

Widespread environmental contamination in and around the Union Carbide plant still poisons people. A combination of disinterested gas relief hospitals and almost non-existent medical research into the effects of the gas leak on humans has resulted in the gas victims getting little more than palliative treatment for their medical problems. The symptoms get treated but little else more. Poor attempts at social and economic rehabilitation of the gas victims have resulted in them sinking into poverty.

a field report from the city.


(am writing this post in 2014 but retrospectively dating it back to dec 28, 2009. this, as things stand, is the very first set of stories i wrote for the economic times — they appeared three days before i joined the paper. the paper was bringing out an year end issue, and i wrote about some of the farmers i knew at tihi.)

story one: on radheyshyam chowdhury. story two: on jagdish maharaj.

very crappy stuff, this.

More observations from Tihi et al

a small update from me. when the previous post was written, i was in the middle of the itc project — living in two villages, studying the impact this agribusiness was having on village india. that project is over now. i am back in starvation gully looking for a job. needless to say, the village stint was magnificient. cannot tell you how much i learnt. (note to regular readers. yes, all three of you. give me a shout whenever you are in delhi. we will get a beer. i will get my laptop along and show you the village snaps, tell you about the people i met, the friends i made, the new confusions in my brain…).

in the meantime, i thought i would paste some of my village notes on the blog. take a look. this is a fairly random list of jottings. but might make for an interesting read.


a pastiche of memories

a government intervention to empower lower classes – rotating the post of village headman among marginalised communities, women and then the general category – had fallen to the law of unintended consequences. the first reservation sarpanch was meant to be an adivasi (tribal). in tihi, consensus was that he had been “guided” by moolchand seth (mukesh sen).

reconstructing how the elections worked, however, throws up more nuanced conclusions. the adivasi who stood for elections was the brother of narmada prasad, the village chowkidar. i suspect it is partly because as chowkidar, narmada prasad gets to know the government’s policies and plans for the village before any one else. and, as a govt servant, he has developed the ability to spot the advantages lying within these more than the others. on hearing about the new law, he got his brother to nominate himself. and, since there were no caps on gender, nominated his wife as well. both of them stood from the congress (narmada prasad is a ‘congressi’).

and then, another women from the adivasi basti, kamla bi, nominated herselves as well. or, as is more likely, got nominated as well. around this time, narmada prasad withdrew his wife’s application. “a woman can barely sit with the menfolk and talk about what the village wants anyway.” (narmada prasad) with that, the elections became a contest between a woman and a man. and the village, predictably, voted for the man.

by the time the next elections, this time for a woman sarpanch, came around, the village bjp unit had gotten its act together. the bjp elders met leeladhar chowdhury, told him that he must contest, and so, he nominated his wife (leeladhar chowdhury). similarly, moolchand seth nominated his wife. the former won. since then, she has not been seen in public. it is the sarpanchpati who takes all the decisions. it is a shame. life is tough for the womenfolk of the village. girls get married at 15. despite the existence of a water tank, there are no pipes to bring that water to the homes. and now, despite having a woman sarpanch, nothing had changed for them. a real shame. because the village will get another woman sarpanch only another 20 years later


there is the complicated arithmetic that precedes sowing. and i cannot do better that quote david mosse on this question. “every season presents a complex scenario in which households have to feed themselves and earn income, meet fodder needs and maintain the fertility of the soil. they have to judge the likelihood of rain, the availability of credit, the capital of social obligations yielding labour and support on which they can draw, and in the light of this choose the combination of crops to grow and how to fertilise the soil. each field involves a complex ecological and social reckoning not easily put into words.” (from cultivating development)


if you have read my previous post on tihi, you will know that the village was facing a huge water crisis. in tubewell capitalism, navroz dubash talks about a gujarati village that evolved its own groundwater market. in this village, large farmers jointly invested in diesel pumps, and began using this infrastructure to partly irrigate their own fields, and partly to supply water to smaller farmers in return for a part of their yield. it was not an egalitarian system. for one, the partnerships were always between dominant caste farmers. they could bring cash and land to the table. the lowers could not.

for the same reason, the lower castes could not float a similar partnership of their own. and so, a new dependancy got created. imagine the consequences. if there is a water shortage, the partnering farmers might have to choose among customers – which might be along caste lines, or along crop lines (the more valuable one gets the water). not supplying water to the lower castes can eventually force them to sell land and become labour, or migrate. reading about it. i could not help wondering how the water situation in tihi would evolve. the cost of accessing groundwater is certainly climbing steeply. (dubash, navroz k. tubewell capitalism: groundwater development and agrarian change in gujarat. 2002. oxford university press).


one evening in january, shortly after moving into the village, i walked down the new highway looking for schoolteacher amrit lal patel amongst his fields. i could not find him, but was hailed by four men sitting on the two metre high, twenty metre wide and kilometres-long waste of compacted soil that was the bombay-agra highway taking shape. it is an evening i can call up in my mind without much trouble. those were early days in research mode. and this interloper in the village was a subject of some curiosity and anxiety. why was i in tihi? what would i tell the company? how would the company make use of all this information? at my end, i was slowly coming to grips with the realities of agriculture in tihi.

that evening, i asked rayees, chintaman chowdhury, ashok bairagi and ashok maheshwari about soya. how much money did someone with, say, five acres make on the oilseed? and now, sitting in this delhi room, far away from tihi, i look at my notes and again feel like i am lightyears away – in terms of kilometres, in terms of human development indices. five acres will yield 20-25 sacks of soya. five acres need 2 bags of seeds (rs 3,000), 3 bags of fertilizer (rs 1,500), pesticide (rs 1,500), labour for weeding (rs 1,500), labour for sowing (rs 1,500), labour for harvesting (rs 2,000), labour for threshing, at rs 50 per bag (rs 1,000). add all that up and you get rs 12,000. at rs 1500 for every sack and 25 sacks, the farmer will make rs 37,500. take out the costs. and you are left with 25,000. or, rs 5,000 per acre.

let us problematise this further. one. tihi is a two crop village. no more than 10-15% farmers plant a third crop. and that too, given the acute shortage of water by then, on a few bighas. two. most farmers plant wheat as their second crop. its yields range between 18-20 sacks per acre. each sack fetches between rs 1,100-1,200. that, in a best case scenario, is gross income per acre of rs 24,000. costs range between rs 12,000-14,000. so, say, a net income of rs 12,000 per acre. add earnings from soya to this, and you have farmers making rs 17,000 per acre per year. three, in tihi, 25 farmers have less than one acre. 75 farmers have between 1-2 acres. another 180 have between 2-5 acres. 20 have between 5-7 acres. just 5-7 farmers have over 7 acres of land. it doesn’t paint a very affluent picture. and four. all that is without factoring risk in.

marginal existence appeared to be the objective reality at tihi. take prakash ‘dewana’ chowdhury (he acquired that nickname because he used to dance like amitabh bachchan in that film. looking at his tired, lined face now, it was hard to imagine anything of the kind). one of the smaller farmers in tihi, dewana has three bighas. three bighas spread over six parts of the village. imagining what that means for him in terms of irrigation was daunting. given that electricity is released to farmers at night, he spends his nights walking from one field to the next, checking if they are being watered properly.

for all that work, his annual income from agriculture works out to rs 60,000. now, every month, he spends rs 400 on gas. 4,800. 300 on electricity. 3,600. 2,000 on hh goods. 24,000. then, there are annual expenses. pump maintenance is 10,000. agri-inputs cost about 10,000. the electricity bill is 3,500 for the one season in which he uses his pump. 4,800 + 3,600 + 24,000 + 10,000 + 10,000 + 3,500. 55,700. that left him with rs 4,300 for the year.

to make his ends meet, he supplements agricultural income by working at pithampur between april and october (till the soya harvest comes in). he makes rs 90 a day, readying bus chassis so that bodies can be bolted onto them. he was working very hard, pulling rs 1,500 in overtime every month, and so making rs 4,200 a month for 6 months in a year. that is another rs 25,200 a year for him. or rs 29,000 for the year.

or take lakshminarayan sharma at deokhajuri. i met him one evening when i was sitting in the village’s chowdhury mohalla. near where we sat, a bore was being drilled, a handpump was being engaged by women and kids, another couple of farmers sitting outside the house across the courtyard, some more people walking up the path to the square. pastoral idyllicism. and i was there, listening to the elders’ stories of the village in ye olde days. which is when sharmaji joined us. a sharecropper, that evening, he spoke about the economics of his agriculture, but left some questions unanswered. and so, some days later, i went over in the morning and buttonholed him.

he takes 10 bigha of land on rent. the rates are rs 3,000 for gehri (land where water will stands). and rs 3,350/3,500 for padua (where it doesn’t). his costs? say, rs 33,000 for land. tilling the land with rented tractors, at the rate of rs 1,000 for every tilling (rs 3000). seeds (rs 5,000). fertilizers (rs 2,000). weedicides and pesticides (rs 2,000). harvesting with manual labour (rs 3,500). all that works out to a total cost of rs 15,500.

and now, look at the yield side. soya yields in deokhajuri were ranging between 1.5-3 quintals per bigha. a smaller farmer, he was unable to invest as much as his larger counterparts, and so his yield was closer to 2 quintals per bigha. about 20 sacks. which nets him about rs 25,000. after settling his dues, he is left with rs 10,000 as net income post kharif. which brings us to crop two. tilling, thrice (rs 3,000). seeds (rs 5,500). fertiliser (rs 2,500). harvesting (rs 3,000). total costs, rs 14,000. he will get eight sacks of wheat off every bigha of land. so, 80 sacks. which, he said, works to about rs 80,000. from here, he will take out the cost of the field. so, that is rs 33,000. followed by the rs 14,000 incurred as expenditure for the rabi. not to mention the cost of transporting his harvest to the mandi. rs 2,000. which leaves him with rs 31,000. that and the 10,000 left over from soya are his earnings for the year. rs 41,000.

observations. by this calculation, a farmer with his own 10 bighas would make one lakh a year. at deokhajuri, 10-12 farmers had between 50-60 bighas. another 50 had between 30-50 bighas. thirty farmers had between 20-30 bighas. over 200 had between 10-20 bighas. and, finally, about 25-30 farmers had less than ten bighas. on the whole, the village appeared to be more affluent than tihi. but, even here, there are problems. the soil at deokhajuri gets water-logged, turns swampy all too easily. most years, both crops do not work out. if it rains too well, the fields get waterlogged and the soya rots in the fields. if it doesn’t rain well, the dam doesn’t fill and the rabi crop parches in the field. that is the reason why landholdings in this region are larger than at tihi. tihi gets two crops a year off its land. deokhajuri, depending on the rains, can all too easily slump to just one crop in the year. rs 41,000 was something of a best case scenario for sharmaji.

at tihi, i would stand on the rooftop of the house where i stayed and survey the houses clustering tightly all around. 300-odd families. about 25-30 houses made entirely of cement. the rest? the usual amalgam of brick walls and asbestos roofs. of the pucca houses, some belonged to the large farmers. the rest belonged to either those who had diversified beyond agriculture (teaching, transport…) or had no land to begin with (like the barber family i stayed with). the rest, all people with land, are leading lives of quiet poverty.

this poverty is qualitatively new. while the jajmani system denied people opportunity, it also protected them from vulnerability. today, even as farmers enjoy far greater freedom than before, the commercialisation of the agrarian economy has seen traditional cohesiveness erode. at tihi, as that dependency of the lower castes upon the higher castes reduced, the latter narrowed their zone of concern as well. it is now limited only to those dependent on them. maybe just their family. maybe just the clan.


reflections on cohesiveness. in a paper called “the closed community and its friends”, pitt-rivers discusses the mechanisms that governed this traditional cohesiveness of communities. he starts by making a distinction between open and closed societies, and proceeds to identify the factors affecting the degree of closure or openness in a peasant community. he finds “two parametric conditions to be necessary for the continued existence of a largely closed community. one, members must have habitual personal contact, which implies living in the same place. and two, members must share a homogeneity of culture and values. given these two conditions, the other repeatedly noted characteristics of the closed peasant community would seem to follow: the emphasis on strict cultural conformity as an absolute prerequisite to community acceptance: the intense degree of ingroup solidarity and identification vis:a:vis the others, the marked tendency towards egalitarianism, particularly on the ideological level, but to some degree on the socio-economic as well… in his paper, set in europe, he sees most of this changing now. formerly closed peasant communities are “opening up,” owing to improved transport, communications, and the like, with the result that allegiances are coming to be defined not only not only, or even mainly, in terms of local attachment, but occupationally, politically, religiously or whatever. the distinctiveness and homogeneity of the culture of the closed community is engulfed by generalised homogeneity of the national culture, and the “we-villagers-against-the-world’ pattern of social solidarity dissolves into local factionalism: traditionalists against modernists, agriculturalists against non-agriculturalists, young against old.”


one of my strongest memories from this period is an evening spent at the fields of amrit lal patel. it was april. i would soon be leaving the village. and this would be the last of several chats we had had at patel sir’s fields in the evening, sitting on the furrows, first eating roasted grams and then, when the gram harvest ended and the potato season began, potatoes roasted in small fires originally lit to stay warm. that evening, we were sitting under the tree that stands to the west of his fields, our feet dangling over the water channel, chatting about tihi, its urbanisation, my ruralification. at some point during that conversation, i forget precisely when, he said, “yeh ek achcha gaon huva karta tha.” i don’t know how to convey what i felt at that moment. ‘shocking’, ‘sad’ and ‘poignant’, all sound too literary, too fake. but, imagine, the schoolteacher was one of the few farmers hellbent on not selling his land. and now, he was referring to the village in the past tense!


how do people survive if agri incomes will be so low? create jobs in industry, the answer goes. tihi does have a lot of people like dewana working in the local industrial cluster of pithampur. but the jobs here were grim. reminded me of upton sinclair’s the jungle. about five years ago, to clamp down on unions, industry here switched to contract labour. since then, the resulting structure of employment has lacked any social security, offered hardly any long term prospects, and like most unprotected industrial jobs, affected the health of the workers.

one day, while travelling from indore to tihi, i found myself sitting next to a labour supervisor at pithampur. am reproducing my notes from that conversation. read it. it will help understand what a depeasantised life can be like. he works in a company that makes inspection equipment for maruti udyog. equipment that goes to the company’s service stations and such. before coming out here about ten years ago, he used to work on the family farm near jabalpur. six brothers. seven acres. seems he had asked his brother for travelling money. got rebuffed. and that is when he decided to leave farming and come over to pithampur. he is on a good wicket at the cluster. like most people who began working here ten or so years ago, he was hired by the company. said he was quite happy with the move. the salary has increased. gets benefits et al.

his job involves supervising the contract labour that works in his company. his company hires about 400-500 workers on contract. all of them come from one contractor who has 1,000-1,200 people on his rolls. half of them work at pithampur. the other half at dewas. the company pays these guys @ rs 135 a day. of which the contractor pays them rs 120, and keeps the rs 15. that is rs 15,000-18,000 a day!

of the contract labour in his company, about 150 are below 20/22 years. another 200/250 will be between 22-30 years. another 40/50 are over thirty. no one over 40 is employed in the factory. wages fall as years mount. one starts working at rs 4,000. and the contract to work with the company gets renewed every six or so months. this is to ensure that the worker has no legal claim on the company. they work for some years, then get replaced by someone younger, and so join the pools of the slightly older, all milling around for a jobs in a town that wants young bodies. and so, the next job they get will be at a slightly lower pay. say, rs 3,500 or so. it is a vicious process. what happens is that youngsters work for a couple of years, figure they are doing well, get married (around 20 or 22, if tihi is anything to go by), have a couple of kids and, just around the time they are thinking of putting the kids in school, they hit 28 or so, and get progressively bumped down the salary ladder.

it is not hard to imagine the prospect of bribery here. desperate men bribing the contractor’s men to get onto a list of workers identified for a company.

the lives of the migrant labour are not easy either. companies routinely charge rs 800 or so for the boarding/food they provide. either that, or most of these guys take a sharing room in the cluster. that way, they can save on travel money. the downside of that is health. like all industrial towns, pithampur is badly polluted. the gentleman i was talking to had lived in pithampur. that took a toll on his health. he developed breathing trouble. initially, he would flee to his village every six months for a break. he doesn’t do that any longer. instead, he has taken a house in bhesalai (a village about 10 km off pithampur) and commutes every day. don’t think the migrant workers, trying to send some money home, see that as an option.”


among the youth in the village where i lived, pithampur has created a call-centre like dynamic. kids in the school look at their seniors working at pithampur, their faded jeans and jackets, their mobile phones, and want to be like them. they were looking down on agriculture, unable to accept the hard work it demanded, the meagre earnings it yielded. the cluster, on the other hand, offered a steady income; better yet, a steady income that was higher than what their fathers made and seemed good enough to afford the good things in life; and all this after working just eight hours a day. (amrit lal patel).

three out of four kids, i would be told by one of the older students in the schook, do not want to be in agri. the elders were less thrilled with pithampur. and it showed in how they insisted on regarding themselves despite their partially depeasantised lives. villagers, at least those with a little bit of land, insisted on thinking of themselves are primarily farmers. industry work was seen as something that they did only on a parttime basis. who wants to be known as a mazdoor? sharif mohammed would ask me.


one weekend, i tagged along with a dear friend to attend a gram sabha. she was working with an ngo specialising on natural resource management in a tribal district of madhya pradesh. in this gram sabha, she hoped to convince the villagers to let her ngo partner wth them. this was under the aegis of the national rural employment guarentee scheme. it is being used by villagers, by ngos like the one my friend works for, to build ponds, rainwater hervesting structures et al in villages.

a few observations were made during the four hours that the sabha lasted. it began slow. initially, there were 10 men. and four old women who seemed to just sit in. they made no contribution. slept thru the bit. or looked bored. that was the first thought. had the gram sabha been considered important, wouldn’t everyone have turned up on time, instead of straggling in slowly? later, another explanation would emerge.

i found the notion of a gram sabhas itself to be very intriguing. the idea is that it will be a purely village level body. it will create proposals and put them up to the panchayat which will then deliberate on these. not just let the panchayat decide policies and so on. this is a problematic idea. the fact that all you need is a quorum in a gram sabha to pass a plan means that the system can be manipulated. what if the dominant caste troops in, creates a quorum and passes a plan which suggests that a pond be built in a location favourable to them? and then puts it upto the panchayat?

the panches, then, will have to adjudicate. if they are the elite as well, or beholden to them, the plan will go thru. that is one unresolved question for me. the other thing is the samitis. the idea here seems that every village will create these specialised samitis. with stakeholders getting together to model the village’s development strategy. these will then be put up before the gram sabha, which will then approve and put up to the panchayat. and you know. i still do not get it. the panchayat is democratically elected. why would it not take these decisions directly? maybe there is some justification when the panchayat is overseeing more than one village. but what about the other cases? what value does the gram sabha add?

anyway, process stuff. my friend introduced her ngo at the sabha. saying that it could help the villagers with good agri practices, better crop varieties, gobar gas, smokeless chulhas, irrigation and so on. right at the beginning of the process, sahu, the most voluble of the villagers, and the one who seemed to be speaking for the rest, had suggested that one intervention could be the village checkdam.

built on the course of a stream, it was leaching water, proving useless to the villagers. previous attempts to fix this dam, while costing rs 11 lakh, had not delivered. and this needed to be fixed. that said, this dam is situated to one side of the village fields. later enquiry would suggest that most villagers did not have their fields in this part of the village, but further upstream. that a chkdam built there would be more beneficial. and that mr sahu was one of the villagers, one of 10-15 farmers who has his fields near the current site. this was evident from the map. but the suggestion was initially accepted prima facie.

look at the forces and compulsions at work here. an ngo trying to sell itself to the villagers. for it needs their approval before it can come in and work. all sorts of organisational and personal imperatives hinge on getting that approval. that might mean that the ngo will be willing to work with anyone who can get it that permission. even the local elite. and, if there was indeed elite capture on water, that might explain why the rest of the villagers were sitting quiet. or were insisting that the intervention needed in this village practising rainfed agriculture was not a pond, but tarring the local dirt track. was that because they felt any intervention on water runs the risk of only benefitting a few. and so, are trying to suggest stuff which will necessarily benefit the whole village. a sort of weapons of the weak moment here.

but, on the whole, there was a fairly good interaction. at least sahu and a couple others and the ngo team were talking like equals. that changed once the state government-dfid bureaucrats dropped in to attend the gram sabha as well. they came in late. became aggressive when the delay was mentioned. began lecturing the villagers on their need to have an agenda for the meeting. on how they should stop relying on the govt for everything. that the villagers should plant palas on the bunds between their fields. on how they should create a central pool of cash, rs 10 or so per family, and lend that out to whoever needs cash. that will reduce dependance on the moneylenders and so on.

coming from a development practitioner, that is a shocking view of village life! who sees a village as a unified entity? also, what makes these guys come down to the village and so freely dole out ignorant homilies and recipes on how to improve the village? and all this from a team so ignorant they had to ask the villagers about the population of that hamlet. what is the pathology of all this? why are the govt guys getting away with all this preaching? why are they preaching anyway? how do they view the villagers in this part of the country? like idiot children? it would be fascinating to sit with the government guys and try and understand their view of their job. what it is that they think they do? and why they think that the current mode of working is the way to do it? also, if it is a job that they enjoy? cannot be easy, having to move around in the hinterland. is that something which fills them with resentment? for his part, sahu is being very polite, qualifying his comments self deprecatingly now, not wanting to upset the boffins. a diff dynamic from what he had with the ngo-folks.

the whole thing made one feel very hopeless about development. look at the actors. the govt, the ngos and now, the corporate sector, each primarily accountable internally. not to the community they claim to be serving. instead, one could go so far so as to say that they might be regarding the local community as the entity that stymies the efforts of the govt, the ngos and the corporates to improve their lot. can development work like this?


the next day, i had a chat with dinesh barmaiya, who runs a handicrafts shop outside kanha tiger reserve. among the things he mentioned was the annual calendar of the baigas. it begins with mahua collection three months before the rains. that lasts for a month. this is followed by tendu collection for two months. the money is good here. one person can collect 5,000 leaves if working all day. this will fetch them about a hundred or two hundred rupees. that lasts for two months.

and then, when the rains come, all that stops. and they switch to agri. that goes on for four months. what they grow are coarse cereals. a function of the bad soil here. very rocky. and so, no soya or anything. no one has tried it. don’t think it can work on such soil. outputs are low. i forget the number but recall them saying that there is very little to take to the market. that said, there is some surplus which is kept home and liquidated as and when needed. even so, the surplus is rarely great. especially since they also have to keep some home for special functions and so on.

and then, at the end of the agri cycle, the villagers seem to leave their homes in large numbers, as many as 75 or every hundred, and leave for mazdoori somewhere. a few lucky ones get work close to their village. the rest migrate to nearby towns and so on. a lot seem to go towards the mining belt.

a development chronology of tihi

since the 12th of january, i have been living in tihi, a village of 300-odd households in the central indian state of madhya pradesh (more specifically, in malwa). six years ago, itc-ibd, an indian agribusiness, set up an ict kiosk in the house of one of the larger farmers in this village, began using that to transmit market (and itc-ibd) prices into the village, began competing with traditional agri-produce buying structures. the task at hand is to gauge the impact that the kiosk has had – economic, social…

needless to say, that is not what this post is about — it will take me ages to figure out the impact, and the factors explaining that. instead, this latest sporadic offering to the blogging gods will focus on the agrarian history of tihi. it is the incidental outcome of some time I spent chatting with village elders, trying to understand what this hamlet was like in the days gone by. later, during a trip to delhi, i corroborated what they told me about crop prices and wage levels, famines and epidemics, forests and water levels, with the old district gazetteers.

note: the data derived from the gazetteers is marked with a ‘D’. the rest comes from the interviews with the elders.

note: you will have to excuse the sheer randomness of the first three entries. while putting this chronology together, i was mainly interested in developments that appeared to impact agriculture in this region.

0900. rajputs enter and found new principalities in malwa and nimar. till now, malwa inhabited by tribals — bhils, gonds and korkus (D)

1690. the maratha invasion. they replace the mughal empire. (D)

1766. malhar rao dies. by now, his holkar dynasty controls the malwa tablelands. (D)

1811. under the usual succession squabbles and misgovernance, holkar empire begins to fall apart. attacks on malwa villages – sometimes from neighbouring rajput and bhil kingdoms, sometimes by holkar nobility looking for extra cash, villages themselves attack neighbouring villages…(D)

1818. the treaty of mandsaur. indore state becomes – what is the word – a british protectorate? (D)

1877-1878. distress years (D)

1886-87. famine (D)

1891. price of jowar. 28 seers for a rupee (D) (one seer = 933.10 grams).

1895. 29 inches of rain instead of the usual 39.5 (D)

1896. 26 inches of rain (D)

1897. 30 inches of rain. (D)

1898. 39 inches of rain. (D)

1899. 10 inches of rain. (D)

1899. management of the state moves from the holkars to the british resident. the land revenue system stays much the same as what the marathas used — in terms of soil classification, in terms of levies… (if you are interested in this sort of thing, google ‘peasants and imperial rule’ by neil charlesworth. am reading this right now. and might read andre wink’s ‘land and sovereignity in india: agrarian society and politics during the eighteenth century maratha svarajya’, after the charlesworth. suggestions on other books to read on this issue of agriculture during colonial and precolonial times will be gratefully received. one good thing about living in a village is the sheer amount of reading time one gets.)

1899-1900. the great famine. population in the district comes down from 1,099,990 (1891) to 850,690 (1901). given the very poor rain, both rabi and kharif crop fail that year. prices rise 100-300% over the average in the preceding five years. only 37% of land revenue is realised that year. (D)

1901. price of jowar. 17 seers for a rupee. between now and 1918, prices more or less kept rising. (D)

1903. plague (this might not have afflicted the whole district at the same time. cycling, instead, though different parts of the district over the next few years) (D)

1904. plague (D)

1905. plague (D)

1905. plague. frost kills most of poppy, wheat and gram. (D)

1906. plague. prices rise. (D)

1906-07. agricultural wages rise 25%. (D)

1907-1908. famine. around this period, jowar prices partly rose due to export of the grain to other places where crops had failed. (D)

1908. this is the year when the gazetteer was released. at this time, indore was the largest town in the district with a popn of 86,686. population of the seven next biggest towns in the district ranged between 8,273 and 4,639. of the 3,379 towns and villages in the district, 3,114 have a population below 500. every household, on an average, 47 members. the district is predominantly hindu (79%), bhil (11%) and muslim (8%). among these, the bhils are mostly found in the southern reaches of the district. agriculture is the largest source of employment (142,705). the state employs 24,698 people. personal service employs another 25,516. general labour accounts for 107,559. and those without any occupation (mendicants et al) number 20,428. within agriculture, 96,959 were tenant cultivators, 42,613 worked as field labour, 1,168 were landlords. (D)

more on agriculture. it cost anywhere between rs 300-500 to dig a well. it cost between rs 4-7 to irrigate one bigha (about half an acre) of land. cost of agri-labour? 3 anna and five paisa a day (men) and 2 anna and three paisa a day (women). this was up 50 percent from 20 years ago. in part due to the famines which created a labour shortfall. i should also add that 16 annas constitute one rupee, 100 paisas make for one rupee. a woman or boy who sat in the field to chase away birds and deers that came to graze on the crop would be paid rs 4-5 a month. that said, wages in kind were common in the villages. the 1908 gazetteer mentions weeding. this called for 8/10 people per bigha, who might be paid in kind — 2.5 seers of jowar for a day’s work. similarly, carpenters might be paid 20-50 seers of maize or jowar for every plough. that would be given to them after the kharif harvest. they might similarly get a part of the rabi crop. potters and barbers were paid similarly, though at lower rates.

other numbers. one cultivator with two bullocks could farm 25 bigha/12 acre of kharif. or 16-20 bigha/10 acre of rabi. The average landlord farmed 85 acres. the average cultivator held 12 acres. i am not very clear about the taxation system so far. here is what I aggregated from the gazetteers re the taxes levied. road cess (3 pies/rupees), sardeshmukhi (7% of assessed yield), jasti kharch (rs 2 per plough of land). then, there were other cesses — for weighing, ground rent, cesses on specific castes like balais and chamars. two things, now. one, this is the new system that the british brought in to replace the old ijaradar system. which is described as very exploitative by the gazette. and two, from what the village elders tell me, the lagaeen was so high the villagers were left with nothing once they paid their taxes.

i am yet to understand why a farmer with 12 acres could be left so destitute. the steady switching between famines and epidemics would have forced the cultivators into hugely indebted existences. but i still need to figure out the economics of agriculture in this period.

1908. about 80-90 years ago, the kaali bukhar came, said the village elder who lives near the shiv temple. so many died that it was hard to find enough people to cremate the dead. the gazetteers refer to virulent plague and famine in 1909. the same?

1911-1921. the decade would see poor rains. outbreaks of plague, cholera and influenza (D)

1912-13. prices rose. (D)

1913-1914. agricultural wages now stand at 4 anna, 9 paisa (D) 1917. plague. (D)

1918. influenza. 18.5 inches of rains (D)

1918-1919. influenza. (D)

1919. agricultural wages. 8 anna, 9 paisa. (D)

1920. agricultural wages. 8 anna, 9 paisa. (D)

1920. poor rain. impact shows in prices. wheat 6.5 seers/rupee. rice 3.5 seers/rupee. gram 6 seers/rupee. jowar. 11 seers/rupee (D)

1921. influenza. wheat 6.25 seers/rupee. rice 3.5 seers/rupee. gram 7 seers/rupee. jowar. 9 seers/rupee. (D)

1921-1931. a good set of years for mhow tehsil (which is where tihi falls). normal, natural growth. that said, prices stayed high for the first five years in this period as the abnormal conditions created by WW1 took time to vanish. (D)

1925. low rain. prices of wheat, jowar and gram rise (D)

1928. land rate. 6 bighas for rs 100.

1931-41. another good decade for mhow tehsil. prices come down, partly due to an expansion in farming area. in 1931, wheat 12.5 seers/rupee. rice 6 seers/rupee. gram 12.5 seers/rupee. jowar 24 seers/rupee. by 1941, however, wheat 10.25 seers/rupee. rice 5.5 seers/rupee. gram 14.5 seers/rupee. and jowar 18 seers/rupee. this seems to link to world war two. 1939 prices had been lower than 1931 prices. wheat 13.25 seers/rupee. rice 8.25 seers/rupee. gram 15 seers/rupee. jowar 19.75 seers/rupee (D)

1938-39… agricultural wages. ploughing: 3 annas, 0 paisa (men); sowing: 2 annas, 11 paisa (men); 2 annas, 5 paisa (women). weeding: 2 annas, 2 paisa (men), 2 annas, 1 paisa (women). harvesting: 3 annas, 4 paisa (men); 3 annas, 2 paisa (women).

1941-1951. between the bengal famine and the second world war, malwa stays under strain. the government enters procurement and distribution, makes it mandatory for farmers to sell only to it. cracks down on hoarding. the gazetteer says that, on the whole, prices did not go as ballistic as they had during the first world war. but they seem to have.

1941-1951. at tihi, lagaan is now rs 2 for every bigha, and the villagers are unable to pay even that. labour is 25p/man/day. one of the elders I spoke to got married back then after taking a Rs 60 loan, and it takes him two years to clear that. i ask why incomes were so low, why people with land had to do wage work, and am told they would plant jowar and cash crops during the rains. if it rained too heavily, the whole crop would be lost. they would plant wheat in the post-rain months, but that was risky too. by the end of the wheat cycle, water would be low. and there was no telling what the yield could be. as low as one sack per bigha.

1942. Wheat 9.5 seers/rupee. Jowar 15.25 seers/rupee. Rice 4.75 seers/rupee. Gram 12.25 seers/rupee. (D)

1943. Wheat 5 seers/rupee. Jowar 7.25 seers/rupee. Rice 2.25 seers/rupee. Gram 5.25 seers/rupee (D)

1944. Wheat 4.25 seers/rupee. Jowar 5.75 seers/rupee. Rice 1.25 seers/rupee. Gram 4.75 seers/rupee (D)

1944. very heavy rain in mhow tehsil. 159% of the usual amount. (D)

1945. Wheat 4.25 seers/rupee. Jowar 5.75 seers/rupee. Rice 1.25 seers/rupee. Gram 5.75 seers/rupee (D)

1947. independence.

1947. village school opens. wage labour climbs to 50p a day for a man. 25p for a woman

1948. starvation deaths in the village.

1949-50. agricultural wages. ploughing: 15 annas, 7 paisa (men). sowing: 12 annas, 7 paisa (men), 10 annas, 6 paisa (women); weeding: 8 annas, 6 paisa (men), 8 annas, 6 paisa (women); harvesting: 15 annas, 6 paisa (men), 15 annas, 1 paisa (women) (D)

1951. Wheat 0.39 seers/rupee. Jowar 0.24 seers/rupee. Rice 0.88 seers/rupee (D)

1955. Wheat 0.36 seers/rupee. Jowar 0.17 seers/rupee. Rice 0.55 seers/rupee (D)

1956. population indices. birthrate: 32.83, death rate: 12.52;

1961, birth rate: 15.68, death rate: 3.27, infant mortality: 20.47:

1966, birth rate: 22.81, death rate: 8.86, infant mortality: 114.01;

1969, birth rate: 25.58, death rate: 9.75, infant mortality: 96.02 (D)

1940-1960. the village population actually falls during this period due to disease. but, by and large, hovers around 500 people.

1960. plague

1961. birth rate: 15.68, death rate: 3.27, infant mortality: 20.47 (D)

1963-1964. between 1950-51 and now, the double cropped area in mhow tehsil doubles. am not sure why. at the same time, the area under jowar falls from 2 lakh hectares in 1950-51 to 0.7 lakh hectares in 63-64. wheat and tuar were coming in. this decline in sowing area is also attributed to excessive rain at the time of sowing. (D)

1963-64. cost of digging a well. rs 3-4,000 (D)

1966. birth rate: 22.81, death rate: 8.86, infant mortality: 114.01 (D)

1963-68. agricultural wage rates in the village. estimates range between Rs 1.50-2 a day

1968. cost of digging a well. rs 5,000

1969. birth rate: 25.58, death rate: 9.75, infant mortality: 96.02 (D)

1970. the population begins to finally grow.

1970. milk finally climbs to rs 1 a litre. had been as low as 16 litres to a rupee in the pre-independence times.

Around 1971. electrification and the green revolution enter tihi. till then, the village had been growing jowar and malwi ghehu (a local wheat variety). the first during rains. the other after that. and some cash crops like chillis, cotton and sugarcane.

Around 1971. with electricity, groundwater pumps come in. so far, this region has seen dryland agriculture, practised mainly during and just after the rains. partly due to lack of public investment in irrigation. but now, thanks to the pumps, dependance on the raingods falls. farming becomes a year-long activity. not much change, though, in affluence levels

1971-84. after bank nationalisation, bank credit becomes easier for the farmers. which they use to dig wells, install pumps, etc. productivity rises. whole village benefits.

Around 1980. between 1960-80, the state had been one of the worst performers in terms of agricultural growth. things change now. it seems that even the green revolution crops came into villages in a big way from 80s onwards. soya comes in. initially, its first few crops bomb in the market, and have to be used as cattle feed. in the next ten years, however, things will change. this is the period, amrit lal patel, school teacher in the village, tells me, when the differences between big and small farmers, in terms of affluence, begins to show.

1983. the first tarred road connecting tihi and the world outside comes up (in this case, to mhow). before it came up, most people were dependant on the work they got within the village itself. and so, the dependance on the higher castes.

around 1984: soya market takes off

1986. cost of digging a well: rs 14,000

1988. one of the major streams flowing through the village’s fields, perennial till now, begins drying up sooner and sooner. this is partly the consequence of some of the farmers sticking water pumps in the field, and using that to irrigate fields.

1988. to bring development to a backward zone, the MP government announces that an industrial township will be set up at pithampur. the tribals living there are kicked out. industry is given incentives. the impact pithampur has on tihi, a mere five kilometres away, is inestimable. it begins by offering rs 7 a day as wage labour. at this time, the village is offering rs five. wage labourers turn towards industry. landed elite in the village respond by moving wages up to rs 10.

around this time, another momentous transition is underway. the lower castes begin leaving their traditional, caste-defined occupations for agriculture. they encroach forest land (which accounts, at that time, for 25 percent of village land) and begin farming there. i am told this is due to better medical facilities. death rate fell. infant mortality, so high at one time that no more than 1 or 2 kids out of a brood of 12 would survive, reduces. as families swell, traditional occupation, built around patronage and great dependance on the elite, can no longer support the lower castes’ families. (note: after the pumps came in, the jajmani system would have begun ending as well. the larger farmers would have had more cash than before, and, ergo, reduced appetite for what the cobbler and the nai and the darzi made. these groups would have had to diversify. Interesting link, eh. This connection between groundwater and caste-defined livelihoods)

around 1988… the bania families start leaving tihi to go live in indore…

after 1990… banks begin withdrawing from rural credit…

1993. adivasis and dalits get 30X30 ft plots to build houses on village commons. around the same time, power cuts begin.

1998. a road between pithampur and indore comes up. indore is now an hour away by bus. pithampur is even closer.

1998. a decline in the annual rainfall that the village gets is palpable. also, post panchayati-raj, political parties get more interested in wooing farmers. the bjp, which has hitherto focused on traders, moves in. one of the local big farmers, the father of the itc sanchalak, is already working for the congress.

around 2002. the government gives a part of the village commons away to the lower castes. some of them take to agriculture. the higher castes in the village bristle, encroach remaining forest/common land. this creates a problem. with the commons gone, grazing grounds in the village reduce drastically. number of households keeping cattle crashes from 225 or thereabouts to 20. only farmers so large they can afford to leave land fallow for cattle can now afford cattle.

2002. echoupal, as the ICT kiosk is better known, enters the village

2003. electricity subsidy removed

2003. water level is now down to 300ft.

2003-04. english medium schools in mhow begin sending a bus to pick up kids from tihi. interest in english education is picking up. till then, all kids went to the village school, which teaches english only from the sixth grade.

2005. the village splits between the congress and the bjp. i hear several explanations for this break – a fight over a local temple pandit, a fight over whether a local community called gusai should be boycotted or not. this is not, however, a caste divide. the dominant caste in the village, khati, is present in both the political camps. Affluence, however, might be a contributing factor. the richest farmer in the village, the seniormost congress functionary in the village, is adding land, beginning to diversify beyond agriculture, and becoming very rich indeed

2006. the village learns that a proposed national highway, a four-laner connecting bombay and agra, will brush by tihi. so close that it will cut the village off from its fields lying to the northwest. the government buys land from the farmers at the rate of rs 1.2 lakh a bigha.

2008. by now, pithampur is offering rs 120 a day for contract work. and rs 60-70 for daily work. with the landed elite at tihi offering rs 50-60, they cannot get people to work in their fields. labour now goes to pithampur. at harvest time, big farmers are forced to get labour from nimar and jhabua. seen like that, pithampur’s impact on the village has been huge. in the old days, the lower castes would come asking for work, asking for surplus food. a dependance that helped support the caste system. but now, the lowers have shrugged that dependance off. some of this change shows up in statements by the elite that the village is not united any longer. or that the notion of being respectful to elders is (maryada) is gone now. which is bollocks.

that said, untouchability is not completely dead. the dalits can now drink from the same wells as the others. but. still. cannot. get. into. temples. fucking amazing. this change in the caste dynamic is the first of three social changes i have spotted so far in the village. the other two are the political split, and rising inequality.

there are other changes. the benefits from the green revolution are winding down. the economics of agriculture are back under strain. i do some ballpark calculations with a farmer and end up with the dismal conclusion that a farmer growing soya on one acre will make no more than rs 4,000 at the end of a 4 month growing cycle. that is rs 1,000 a month! and, mind you, soya is planted during the rains. succeeding crops call for larger electricity bills as the farmers pull water up from lower and lower. indeed, water can now only be found below 400ft in most parts of the village. some parts have gone as low as 700 ft.

there are other environmental clouds on the horizon. as the local forests thinned and vanished, rainfall continues to decrease. pollution from pithampur has reached groundwater in nearby villages. time might be running out for tihi as well.

the last big change comes due to the proposed highway. tihi is admirably sited. an hour away from indore, 20 or so minutes away from pithampur, a national highway and a proposed railway track coming up right next to it. land prices soar. a bigha of land now commands rs 20-25 lakh. some small farmers do the smart thing. sell their plots here. and buy larger plots elsewhere. others do the more predictable thing. sell the land. buy a car. buy bikes. lead the good life. among the village kids, there is growing disinterest about a life in agriculture. three out of four, i am told, want to avoid agri. it is pithampur, with its 8-10 hours of work, its rs 2,400-3,000 every month, that attracts them.