It’s a misty morning, and there is a spray-like drizzle. Kamalu Veyathullam sits beside a tree, waiting for her comrades-in-arms to begin their day’s work.
Her friends Leela, Radha, Shantha and Mahila can be seen walking from far away along a narrow road. All are armed with raincoats and plastic covers, carrying water and other essentials for the day.
Excited chatter soon fills the air, punctuated by a few leg-pulling jokes that make everyone laugh out loud. Amid the chitter-chatter, they change into their workwear — an old shirt, a lungi, and a headgear fashioned from folded raincoats.
The scene reminds one of frames from a cinema. A paddy field where Malayali women labourers toil for the yield. Quite a rarity these days. “Farming generally is on the decline. And nowadays, everyone is hiring migrant labourers,” says Kamalu as she descends into a slushy field.
In fact, here in the picturesque Karumalloor panchayat, only one farm owner has hired local hands. “Paddy is farmed thrice a year here. We are hired for the ‘njaru nadal’ (sowing seedlings) and harvesting,” says Thankamani.
Swaying to Kamalu’s folk song in the background, the women begin their work. They rhythmically pick and sort the njaru for sowing.
During the monotonous task, these women sing, socialise, share their worries, gossip (of course!), and exchange updates about recent marriages, deaths and other events in the village. It’s a sweet sisterhood.
Leela proudly says the team participated in an event marking Mahatma Ayyankali’s birth anniversary on Thursday. “Radha was a star in kaikottikali,” she laughs.
For a day’s work, which lasts from 8am to 2pm, the women earn Rs350. Besides the farm work, they also rely on MNREGA for employment.
Rajamma, the oldest in the group, says she goes for road work too. The frail woman, who doesn’t know her exact age, adds that she does not have the “privilege to rest” at old age.
Karumalloor panchayat member K M Laiju, who owns the five-acre paddy field, watches on with a smile from the roadside.
He informs that the vast paddy fields in the area have been featured in several films. “Mohanlal-starrer Ividam Swargamanu, Dileep’s Two Countries are examples,” he says. “I have heard that some scenes of Mammootty’s Pramani were also shot here.”
Thankamani shouts from the field that scenes of a teleserial were shot here recently. “We might soon appear on TV,” she laughs.
On his decision to hire a local workforce, Laiju says it’s a personal choice not every farmer can afford to emulate. “I am in agriculture purely out of passion. My primary source of income is an automobile workshop. That’s not the case with most of the others. I always try to hire local help for most of the tasks. I feel it’s money well-spent — giving back to the local ecosystem.”
Shashi K K, a traditional farmer who owns a 3.5-acre field nearby, says not many in the region can do that because of the economic implications. “If I hire only the local workforce, it will take several days to complete several stages of sowing or harvesting. But if I hire migrant labourers, they finish the work at a faster pace — in a couple of days,” he explains.
By 10.30am, breakfast arrives. “It’s appam with egg curry today. Come, have some with us,” insist Kamalu and her friends, gathering under a tree.
Soon, as they sip on steaming tea, it starts to rain. That does not deter the women. They head back to the field. Breaking into a folk song, they once again begin sorting the seedlings.
“Nattucha nerathu nattam thirinju nadakana kandappo,
Ponorum varunnorum nokkanu parakkam porinithupore…”