Kanku Bai
In Seva Mandir's Aroma Mission, Kanku Bai, and her husband Amba Lal ji, were amongst the first to sign up to try something new.
They are farmers, with their farm providing their primary source of livelihood for the last few decades. Amba Lal ji finished 5th class while Kanku Bai is illiterate; however, there is nothing they don't know about the land and how to bring life out of it.
Neither of them have ever heard of lemongrass before but as soon as they heard new crops were coming to their village, they reached out, curious to see what it was. I went to their home with a sample (a sad, old, dried-out piece of lemongrass) but that was enough to pique their interest.
It's hard to describe Kanku ji and her husband: their warmth, their humility, their humor, their human decency, and their kindness. Their house is filled with mirth as they, their children, their children's spouses, and their grandchildren all huddle together for dinner. Their grandson Yashu proudly shows me their pet turtle that they brought home after finding it on their farm (I name the "Bhindi Lal" after lady's finger, his favorite vegetable he munches on).
In fact, during Ganapathi celebrations in September, Kanku ji unexpectedly looked at me (after force-feeding me my second dinner of the day) and said, "We are becoming so close. What will happen to me when you leave?" She said it in the most casual and joking manner but something about that statement hit me so deeply that I went home and cried myself to sleep that night, legitimately unable to face the fact that if I leave Khatamla, I may not see her again for a long time, if ever. That statement almost single-handedly made me extend my stay in Rajasthan for longer, beyond my fellowship.
Amba Lal ji, Kanku ji’s husband
Possibly the sweetest and most humble man I have ever met.
Anyways, enough about me. Back to Kanku Bai.
She's damn funny. When I first told her about lemongrass and how oil can be distilled from a grass, she told me point-blank, "If you don't distill oil from that grass, I'll distill oil from you and sell that." She's still got that childlike curiosity. She takes my phone (she doesn't own a smartphone) and plays around with the camera, taking selfies. She asks me to teach her how to drive a scooty.
One time, I wouldn't drink her chai so she made her son Prem (who is around 6 feet tall) and her grandson Yashu stand by the kitchen door to make sure I couldn't escape until after I finished it.
So when the distillation unit finished construction mid-January and we needed someone's lemongrass for a trial demonstration run, I felt most comfortable reaching out to her and her family. As I explained my request that they cut their lemongrass prematurely, losing potential income, Amba Lal ji cut me off before I could finish my sentence, saying "No, no, 'others will receive an income and I won't' - don't think like this. We'll do everything we can to support you. Money will come after."
A long time ago, a friend and I discussed the meaning of the word "faith" and its unconditional nature: in God, in friends and family, the universe, ourselves, whatever it may be. I've also been listening to the Sundarakanda in Telugu quite a bit recently and every verse with Sita's dialogue states, "She says to Hanuman, with total faith." So something about that word has continued to follow me the last few years and in that moment, when Amba Lal ji looked at me and said those words, I understood what "faith" meant. I almost cried in his arms right there and then.
Anyways. Enough of my emotions. Back to Kanku ji.
Kanku ji was busy the day we had to cut the lemongrass oil and distill it (she had just come back from a month-and-a-half temple tour and was receiving guests in her home who were eager to see her after so long) so Amba Lal ji, their sons visiting from Mumbai, and Prem came along to check out the demonstration (but he ended up doing most of the work). I watched like a proud teacher as Amba Lal ji himself explained to his visiting sons and villagers what lemongrass is, what the benefits are, and what the expected profits can be.
So many thoughts and emotions on that first day of distillation: pure exhaustion from working day and night on the installation of the distillation unit, hunger from not eating properly during work, and absolute joy at seeing all of my hard, thankless work from the last year-and-a-half physically materialize into drops of gold.
I digress again. Back to Kanku ji.
Kanku ji’s warmth and wit, her tenaciousness, and her adventurous spirit exemplifies the women farmers in Khatamla who are part of the Aroma Mission. Kanku ji is a part of the Khatamla Women’s Cluster, a group of Women’s Self-Help Groups started by Seva Mandir, to further financial literacy and resources amongst rural women.
But truth be told, Kanku ji is a natural and instinctive entrepreneur. Every time we meet, she is eager to hear about new ideas to experiment on her farm, how she can increase production of her crops, how much she’s able to earn from each idea, and anything else I can share. She brainstorms and gives us input that we can use to scale others’ farms. In fact, Kanku ji has taught me much more than I could ever hope to train her on.
There is so much I could tell you: why I decided to stay after my fellowship, why I feel so committed to this project and this village, why I'm so passionate about doing what I'm doing. And I will get to all of this over the next few posts. But, in summary, most of it points back to Kanku ji.
