A few months after taking over in my new post as Vice President of the South Asia region, I spent a few days and nights with Bhavnaben and her young family of salt workers on the edge of the desert in the Little Rann of Kutch in Gujarat, India. Since that time, Bhavnaben has become my touchstone of progress in India’s booming economy, and I return every year to visit them. I go to see first hand the life of India’s poorest citizens, to learn about their hopes and dreams, and to trace the small changes in their lives amidst India’s rising prosperity.

In the four years that I’ve known the family, they have made many efforts to improve their circumstances. When I first met them in 2003, they farmed just one salt pan, barely enough to sustain their family of seven - two sons and three daughters. By the time I returned a year later, they had taken on another pan. They were now producing twice the quantity of salt, and that too of better quality. They should be much better off now, I thought.

But escaping the clutches of poverty is never easy. Little did I realize how vulnerable the poor are to exploitation. Now that the family farmed two pans, the water vendor had doubled his charges! As the sole seller of a vital commodity -albeit of dubious quality - he charged whatever he pleased, in this case based on the number of salt pans they owned, instead of the amount of water they bought! Frustrated that others were benefiting from his hard labor, Mangabhai, Bhavanben’s husband, said he didn’t see any incentive to expand his salt business further.

The cost of diesel - their major expense - had also gone up, while the price of salt had remained the same. In Ahmedabad, the state’s major city, I had heard talk about introducing solar or wind power on the salt flats since both have good potential in the desert. But, I saw no evidence of anything being installed so far.

One encouraging sign was that the family had begun to diversify their sources of income to reduce their dependence on their backbreaking ancestral occupation. They had set up a small shop selling basic supplies to others on the pans. The shop - looked after by the oldest son - also sold flour which they now ground themselves using a new machine. In addition, they had begun to produce industrial salt which fetched a much higher price than the consumption salt they produced earlier. And, the four older children – none of whom went to school when I first met them – were now in school. They had learnt to read the vernacular alphabet and rattled off the names of plants and animals pinned up along the walls of the makeshift tent that served as their classroom. Things were looking up, I thought.

On my third and most recent visit in October 2007, the family had diversified further. They had leased a small piece of land to farm for five years. On this, they had grown the staple food of millet and lentils. This was a wise move as it would reduce their expenses on food and ensure that the family’s granary was full for the coming year.

But, there are many pitfalls in the climb out of poverty. Fourteen year old Chandrika, the eldest daughter, had been pulled out of school so that Bhavnaben could spend more time at work alongside her husband. And the eldest son was needed to man the shop. Although the three younger children were still in school, how much they were actually learning was another question. I strongly suspected that Kumar, the second son, was being taken out to work on the salt pans. All parents dream of giving their children a better future. But poor families’ inability to cope without their children’s labor invariably compromises the one thing that can make a real difference - education. The question continues to nag me: Will Bhavnaben’s children ever be able to avail of the new opportunities provided by India’s booming economy?

Health services also remain a huge problem, causing many poor people to slip back into poverty despite their best efforts. An illness means the loss of precious work days, and a consequent set-back in income. Medical care is not easy to come by, local doctors are not particularly qualified, and it is both expensive and time-consuming to go to the bigger towns for attention.

What, then, can their future hold? When I tried to talk to Mangabhai about his financial planning for the time he can no longer work, he looked at me with glazed eyes. He had absolutely no idea. “The poor don’t have the luxury of looking into the future,” Bhavnaben said to me.

Standing next to Bhavnaben I feel small - her ability to cope under extreme conditions is remarkable. Some of us with far more resources and privileges would not be able to survive the way she does – shouldering equal responsibility alongside her husband in the backbreaking work of the salt farm and still managing to look after every little need of the family with good cheer.

There is also an enormous dignity, both within the family and the community. They display great respect for each other and share what little they have with a disarming openness. Yet, they are subjected to a lot of indignity, mostly by outsiders who look down upon them and treat them as fodder for exploitation.

All in all, I came away feeling that although things were looking better, life was still very tough for Bhavnaben and her family, and progress on the ground was painfully slow. Yet, I am optimistic. Given the right kind of support in terms of health, education, and training for a life outside the grueling salt pans, families like Bhavnaben’s can indeed escape the only life they have ever known - a life of constant deprivation and untold poverty.


(Visits to the villages were organized in collaboration with the Self Employed Women's Association (SEWA)).