Ujwal Thakar, our CEO, was forwarded this amazing news story and now we'd like to share it with all of you. The story first appeared in Down to Earth, India’s only science and environment fortnightly. The magazine informs and inspires people about environmental threats facing India and the world.
The article was written by Aparna Pallavi and appeared in March. Here we feature sections of the article.
Living on love and fresh air
A family that has little use for cash
by Aparna Pallavi
The morning I went to meet her Anusuyabai Meshram did something she does not usually do—milk one of her cows. It was a special day: the Meshrams were having guests. “We do not need milk on a daily basis,” she explained cheerfully as she served us tea, “Because we drink our tea black.”
There are many other things that Anusuyabai, 44, and her 47-year-old husband Pandurang Meshram do not need: electricity, piped water, security, a weather-proof house, regular social contact, and for the most part, even money.
For the past eight years, this couple has been living by choice on their seven acre (2.8 hectare) ancestral farm outside village Wasriphode in Maharashra’s Yavatmal district without these facilities. Their joy in living a simple life shows on their faces. “We live like this because we like to,” Pandurang said. “Two years ago our only daughter, Manisha, was married. Now we are free of parental responsibilities,” he added.
Before moving to Wasriphode, Pandurang had worked as a mechanic and driver and also in a fishery for a few years, but the couple was never happy. “We were always anxious about something or the other, especially money and rising prices. Finally we decided to move away here and grow our own food so that we could live without worries,” he said.
Over the past eight years, the Meshrams have evolved a lifestyle that requires minimal money. They plant cotton on three of their seven acres, and food crops—jowar millets, a variety of legumes, vegetables, oilseeds and spices on the rest.
The cotton—an indigenious variety—earns them around Rs 40,000 annually, which is enough to buy wheat, rice, the occasional set of clothing and a few necessities; perform their duties on social occasions like weddings in the family, and save a little.
For transport they have a bicycle, which, they claim is enough, because apart from a monthly pilgrimage to Mahur about 75 km away, they never need to travel more than 25-30 km. They get enough fuelwood from the trees on their land. They harvest food items according to their requirements, leaving the rest on the field for whoever needs them. The couple says that they have never run short of food, and hardly ever harvest more than half of the crops they grow.
“This year we had an excellent okra crop,” Pandurang said, pointing to a plant still standing amid a festoon of dried pods, “Each plant yielded more than 100 pods. I gathered baskets of them and heaped them on the roadside for whoever wanted them.”
Has he never considered selling his excess produce for money? “Yes, but loche wadteel (it will only create complications),” he replied without missing a beat. This sentence appears to be a refrain with the couple. Why don’t they get an electric connection that they can very well afford? Why don’t they add to their income by selling the milk from their nine cows? Why don’t they avail of government subsidies? Why don’t they put their money in a bank? The answer is the same always.
It took some coaxing to get Pandurang to explain the nature of the complications: “See, if we get electricity, we will have to earn extra to pay bills, and will be frustrated over power cuts. If we sell our extra produce, I will have to spend more time in the market than with my land and animals. Subsidy means bribing officials.”
So why do they bother to grow more than they need? “So we have something to give,” he said with touching humility, “Villagers regularly take vegetables and lentils from our farm. Everyone trusts us and we trust everyone.”
Love and trust. That appears to be the dominant philosophy of the couple.
A family that has little use for cash
by Aparna Pallavi
The morning I went to meet her Anusuyabai Meshram did something she does not usually do—milk one of her cows. It was a special day: the Meshrams were having guests. “We do not need milk on a daily basis,” she explained cheerfully as she served us tea, “Because we drink our tea black.”
There are many other things that Anusuyabai, 44, and her 47-year-old husband Pandurang Meshram do not need: electricity, piped water, security, a weather-proof house, regular social contact, and for the most part, even money.
For the past eight years, this couple has been living by choice on their seven acre (2.8 hectare) ancestral farm outside village Wasriphode in Maharashra’s Yavatmal district without these facilities. Their joy in living a simple life shows on their faces. “We live like this because we like to,” Pandurang said. “Two years ago our only daughter, Manisha, was married. Now we are free of parental responsibilities,” he added.
Before moving to Wasriphode, Pandurang had worked as a mechanic and driver and also in a fishery for a few years, but the couple was never happy. “We were always anxious about something or the other, especially money and rising prices. Finally we decided to move away here and grow our own food so that we could live without worries,” he said.
Over the past eight years, the Meshrams have evolved a lifestyle that requires minimal money. They plant cotton on three of their seven acres, and food crops—jowar millets, a variety of legumes, vegetables, oilseeds and spices on the rest.
The cotton—an indigenious variety—earns them around Rs 40,000 annually, which is enough to buy wheat, rice, the occasional set of clothing and a few necessities; perform their duties on social occasions like weddings in the family, and save a little.
For transport they have a bicycle, which, they claim is enough, because apart from a monthly pilgrimage to Mahur about 75 km away, they never need to travel more than 25-30 km. They get enough fuelwood from the trees on their land. They harvest food items according to their requirements, leaving the rest on the field for whoever needs them. The couple says that they have never run short of food, and hardly ever harvest more than half of the crops they grow.
“This year we had an excellent okra crop,” Pandurang said, pointing to a plant still standing amid a festoon of dried pods, “Each plant yielded more than 100 pods. I gathered baskets of them and heaped them on the roadside for whoever wanted them.”
Has he never considered selling his excess produce for money? “Yes, but loche wadteel (it will only create complications),” he replied without missing a beat. This sentence appears to be a refrain with the couple. Why don’t they get an electric connection that they can very well afford? Why don’t they add to their income by selling the milk from their nine cows? Why don’t they avail of government subsidies? Why don’t they put their money in a bank? The answer is the same always.
It took some coaxing to get Pandurang to explain the nature of the complications: “See, if we get electricity, we will have to earn extra to pay bills, and will be frustrated over power cuts. If we sell our extra produce, I will have to spend more time in the market than with my land and animals. Subsidy means bribing officials.”
So why do they bother to grow more than they need? “So we have something to give,” he said with touching humility, “Villagers regularly take vegetables and lentils from our farm. Everyone trusts us and we trust everyone.”
Love and trust. That appears to be the dominant philosophy of the couple.
Here is where you can read the entire article.
this is really an intersting article
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