The invisible women in the sea of migrant labourers

The word ‘migrant’ in the time of coronavirus lockdown conjures up images of tired, desolate men walking hundreds of kilometres trying to evade hunger and misery. However, women migrants who are either on their own or with their families, remain largely invisible as they quietly brave the transient times in the face of the pandemic.

For 45-year-old Sita, the journey from Kathmandu to Chennai a few years ago meant leaving her two children behind and settling for a life of a housemaid. What Sita earns helps add to her husband’s income that the couple saves to send home. The fact that Sita recently had a surgery for her kidney stones and is battling weight issues and diabetes adds to the burden of her daily existence.

Still, life wasn’t as bad, she says. That was until the lockdown happened.

As India went into a lockdown in the last week of March, her employers asked her to not come for work. “The area where I live — closer to the houses I work — has been severely affected by the virus. But a few weeks ago, I received a call from one of my employers. I thought they had called to pay me my salary for the 20-odd days I worked in March. But when I reached there, my madam asked me to wash a huge pile of clothes instead.”

Sita, who earns ₹5,000 per month working in two households, says she has not received even a portion of her salary for the last two months. Even though her husband, who works in a factory, has been getting ₹10,000 per month after deductions (since the factory was shut), they are worried about not having enough money to send home.

“My son is studying in college while my daughter is in class 10. Every three months, we send ₹20,000 to them. In the past two months, we have spent most of the money saved (at least ₹15,000 on rent, food and other provisions).”

Attack on human dignity

While Sita increasingly feels pushed to the edge, 37-year-old Maha lived under ‘lockdown’ for 10 years confined in a rice mill in Andhra Pradesh’s Chittoor. She recently returned to her native village, Vedal in Tamil Nadu’s Kancheepuram.

Born into a family of daily wage earners, life went from bad to worse after marriage. She and her husband, along with their four children, fell into the trap of bonded labour after being duped by a man promising them better-paying jobs and a decent life.

“He [the mill owner] used to pay us an advance of ₹1,000 in installments of ₹100 and ₹150 over days. He would use the filthiest language for me and my children whenever we asked for money. With three girls and a boy, I was scared for our safety inside the mill.”

Maha and her family, she says, were forced to live in isolation inside the mill much before the coronavirus lockdown. But after the lockdown, their struggles increased — the usually frugal meals turned into near-empty plates. “Mostly, we wouldn’t get vegetables or rice from the market — an outing that we were permitted to have under the strict surveillance of the owner. I ate very little due to this and now, after being rescued, I am unable to have an appetite for a good meal,” she says.

Maha couldn’t hold back her tears as she recollected the day her daughter got her first period. “My elder daughter who got her periods during the lockdown was helpless and scared. We couldn’t even get her a piece of cloth to make a pad.”

Maha’s family and seven others were rescued from the mill in March. But because of the lockdown, they had to stay at a college in Chittoor. “While it felt much better to be out of the mill, I could barely sleep at night. District officials visited and assured us of all help and food. But during power cuts at night, I would hug my children close to me. In the darkness, you never knew who was next to them.”

Angry, tired and desolate, Maha has decided never to step out of her village ever again.

Women more vulnerable

With risks of sexual exploitation, violence and trafficking, the United Nations too has begun to see migration through the eyes of women. Women are more prone to health problems as they move around and continue to bear children while migrating. Sita and Maha’s cases are testimonies to these observations.

The United Nations also says that 50% of migrants are women and they are also increasingly migrating alone as the heads of families.

Pramila, a resident of Jorhat in Assam, arrived in Chennai a couple of weeks before the lockdown was announced in March. Initially lodged at a working women’s hostel, Pramila now finds herself at a temporary shelter arranged by the Greater Chennai Corporation in Guru Nanak College.

A class 9 dropout, Pramila is not someone who gives up easily. “I came here looking for a better life. I have three siblings back home and I am the eldest among them. I had not even started looking for a job when the lockdown was announced.” After running out of hope and money, now she desperately wants to go home.

Monica is among the 100-odd women, including Pramila, who have been waiting at the Nanak College shelter to return to their homes in Assam. Monica came to Chennai to find a job and put her 10-year-old son in a school. “I am a divorcee and wanted to start life afresh here. I was staying at an acquaintance’s place until May first week. But decided to move out because the family’s attitude towards me changed. I seemed like a  burden to them. I understand a woman on her own is a burden to everyone.”

But Monica hopes to come back once the COVID-19 outbreak ends. “I want to come back and try my luck again. I can’t forget how warm-hearted strangers became my friends during these difficult times.”

If Monica found solace and help in strangers, old neighbours turned into strangers for many others.

Shut out thy neighbours

For Rita, Chennai has been her second home ever since she came here from Darbhanga in Bihar, a decade ago. But since COVID-19 outbreak — with no job, out of reach of food and the mounting amount of rent to be paid from savings — she has been having doubts about the city.

Employed as a house help, she has been living with her husband, who works as a cook, and two children. “Even the aid that came our way in the form of kits by some NGOs were denied to us. They refused to recognise our needs as we didn’t have ration cards. None of my neighbours helped me during this time. I thought they were like my family and I reached out to them for vegetables and a bowl of rice for my children. They flatly refused.”

Despite all the trials, Rita says she won’t leave Chennai. “We can only hope for things to get back to normal soon,” she says, adding that while she hopes to visit her family in Bihar in a few months’ time, she would come back.

“In Darbhanga, we have no work and odd jobs won’t fetch us half the amount we earn here.”

(This is part of a series on Migrant Workers)