5 people who brought cheer in 2025

The Migration Story reporters recall inspirational encounters with people they met on the field

(L to R) Yashoda Dhurway, Shubham Sabar, Pari Sahu, Hema Negi, Savitha

HEMA NEGI’S LEADERSHIP

Hema Negi’s tall, lithe figure contained an economy of movement and expression that is suitable for the rank she held. Yet, I was struck by how soft-spoken Hema actually was when I met her while working on a story on all-Mahila panchayats in Uttarakhand. One of the youngest panchayat sarpanch in Kumaon, elected at just 22 years of age in 2019 from Pachisi Gram Panchayat in Almora district, how could this young, shy girl exact compliance and cooperation from an entire panchayat – which for years had been led by men?

Yet command she did – with clarity and confidence Hema earned the respect of her entire village. Hema, now 28, laid the rules down clearly. One of the first issues she tackled after becoming sarpanch was raising awareness about domestic violence, intervening when necessary. She told me that she would not only counsel the women, but more importantly the men, talking to them about the evils of alcoholism and domestic violence. She proudly told me that there were barely any domestic violence instances in her panchayat now.

Since its introduction of 50 % reservation for women in local bodies in 2009, Uttarkhand holds the distinction of having one of the highest rates of women representatives in the panchayat system in India. The high out-migration of nearly all able-bodied men from the state, leaving villages to go to other countries and cities looking for jobs, gave an unexpected boost to the state government’s vision of increasing women’s participation in local governance.

In the initial years, husbands would put forward the names of their wives, and often serve as ``panchayat patis’’, the women sarpanch being reduced to leaders only in name. But with persistent efforts and awareness raised by non-profits working in the state, over the years women have not only come forward to stand in elections but actively take on the role of elected representatives.

With time, the women standing for panchayat elections grew younger, more ambitious and educated. Hema belonged to this new crop of women leaders.

A women’s rights activist in Uttarkhand told me that the women panchayats differed vastly from those led by men, in so much as they focused largely on social problems in their panchayats in addition to infrastructure development – which had been the sole concern of the men.

I found this to hold true for Hema. She convinced her father to donate a portion of their land to build an Anganwadi, recognising the need for nutrition and early childhood development among children. She arranged disaster management and training sessions in her village, which sits atop a steep densely forested mountain in the ecologically sensitive Kumaon hills. She also worked closely with the Van Panchayat, and the all-women’s panchayat that she led would not only patrol the mountains preventing logging, but would actively plant trees annually.

By the time I met Hema, who was winding up her 5-year term as gram panchayat head. She had progressively gained in confidence and was rushing off to give an interview to the local media in Almora. Interviews had become a regular part of her duties, she told me, and she would do them often.

In the coming panchayat elections, many young women like Hema are planning to contest. While Hema had contested from a reserved seat, many plan to contest even from seats that have not been reserved for women. Hema was no longer an outlier – her example was paving the way to become a norm.

In migration-prone Uttarakhand, a fresh crop of women leaders 

Published on: 10/01/25

- Esha Roy

SAVITHA’S FOOD BASKET

I had eaten at the neighbourhood Basaveshwara Khanavali many times before, but this visit led me to Savitha, an intra-state migrant from Bidar district in Karnataka. Inside the oddly shaped kitchen, it was hard to miss her for she sported a warm, sprightly smile. While the men moved briskly between customers and cauldrons, Savitha sat quietly by the stove in a corner, flattening jowar rotis with her bare hands and flipping them onto the stove with remarkable speed and precision.

Savitha is among the countless migrants from north Karnataka who run community kitchens known as khanavalis across Bengaluru. Born out of migration, drought, and displacement, these kitchens offer more than just food, they preserve memory, identity, and the taste of home for thousands who moved from districts like Bidar, Kalaburagi, and Dharwad.

Little did I expect that for Savitha, making jowar rotis in a distant city was not merely about work and wages, but an act of nostalgia, service, and quiet belonging. “People from our region do not get homely meals in big cities like Bengaluru. As a result, I am happy to cook with fresh ingredients and I feel thrilled when customers come back and appreciate our food”.

Years of conversations with migrant workers across India have made me realise that migration means different things to different people. And I am only glad to have met Savitha not just as another customer, but as a curious listener, trying to understand how food, movement, and memory intertwine in the lives of those who cook far from home. “Once I grow old, I want to return to my village,” Savitha said while we were wrapping up, her hands lightly flipping jowar rotis for the lunchtime crowd. “That is where my home and land are.” Bengaluru’s Khanavalis: Where Migration, Memory and Meals Come Together

Published on: 23/07/25

- Amoolya Rajappa

YASHODA DHURWEY'S RESOLVE TO ARREST MIGRATION

Clad in a printed off-white saree, its pleats tucked firmly at her waist, a gamcha wrapped around her torso and simple slippers on her feet, Yashoda Dhurwey (28) was searching for a wood log in the forest when I first met her. She wanted to demonstrate for me how she and other fellow members of her village uproot a fully grown lantana bush, from its root, navigating through its thorny thick bush. 

A fifteen-minute walk from that spot to her home cuts across farmland that tells its own story. Today, the fields are being ploughed by cattle, her husband and father-in-law guiding the plough. But Yashoda remembers a time when this land did not belong to them at all. “Lantana had taken over everything,” she says. The invasive shrub had swallowed their fields, leaving the family with barely three cultivable acres out of the ten they owned. With no option left, her husband and brother-in-law migrated to Nagpur and Pune, working at construction sites to keep the household afloat.

The turning point came when Yashoda, along with other villagers, began to reclaim their land. Together, they cleared the lantana and reclaimed the land. Slowly, farming returned. Millets came first, kodo and kutki, bringing food security and income. Last year alone, the family sold millets worth  Rs 50,000. Alongside this, they cultivated wheat and flaxseed, earning close to Rs 2 lakh annually from their own fields.

Only 28, and the youngest daughter-in-law in the family, Yashoda speaks with clarity about her resolve. In my reporting over the years, I have witnessed how women find it difficult to share their point of view or put forth their perspective as men dominate the spaces. Yashoda stood out for me because she was unafraid of any societal judgments of attending meetings, taking part in decision making for the village and also working towards common goals. As we were a little late during the interview, I was worried that the women I was interviewing might have to go back home and also prepare dinner and might be a bit exhausted with the interview and showing me around. To which she said, "Like my husband works, I work too. And if the both of us work outside our homes, both of us should share the load at home as well. If I don't have time to cook or get late. He has to manage and we are very clear about that."  ‘We don’t feel the need to migrate’: A village tackles an invasive species, helps people stay home

Published on : 15/12/25

-Aishwarya Mohanty

PARI SAHU’S FARM REVOLUTION

Farmer Pari Sahu stood among a group of men, holding her mobile phone, occasionally attempting to speak as the men of Bhagatpur village in Odisha explained how their once bone-dry farms were now lush with produce, thanks to the community wells they have dug as part of a watershed project undertaken in the village.

It was a day later, when I revisited Sahu, this time early in the morning, when she was alone on her farm, that I learnt what she was going to say, which I reported in this story.

Sahu was a young girl when she got married into this village. Her father had a well at home, which meant she never had to step out to fetch water to drink, cook or bathe. It wasn’t so in Bhagatpur, which was reeling from a water crisis: women spent hours fetching water, and village farms were wilting.

Sahu too had to take on the water duties, unaware, of course, that a few years later her farm would be lush, and that she would make 5,000 rupees a month from the sale of farm-fresh vegetables to supplement the household income, which was primarily dependent on her migrant husband’s earnings.

Involving women was important in the watershed project, campaigners said, given that “water is women’s business”. They trek miles every day to fetch water, carrying heavy containers and pots on their way back. 

They also viewed gains from the project differently, some like Sahu leveraging the freedom from fetching water to forge new careers.

While the men spoke of better yields on their farms, traders coming in from Bhubaneswar to buy the produce, and their savings and investments—financial and in the education of their children, Sahu spoke of the new role she had carved for herself. Using the time she would spend on fetching water, she now is part of a state-project on natural farming project which requires her to explain to farmers to step away from chemical pesticides and fertilizers. She earns an honorarium for her service, which along with her income from the farm has made her financially independent. But her biggest win? “My children are eating healthy.”

Watershed move: When a village shares a vital resource

Published on: 25/04/25

-Roli Srivastava

SHUBHAM SABAR, THE MIGRANT WHO CRACKED NEET

I first spoke to Shubham Sabar, the 19-year-old migrant worker who cracked the National Eligibility cum Entrance Test (NEET), on the phone. NEET is one of India’s  toughest medical entrance examinations for undergraduate medical and dental admissions.

My conversation with him already gave me an insight into the person I was going to meet —a 19-year-old, hopeful, and dreaming of becoming ‘something’. He wanted to share details of where he studied and how he prepared for this important exam.

When I visited him at his home in Khordha district in Odisha, I only had to take his name for people to point me in the right direction. I walked through forests along a narrow road leading to his home. People even offered to take us there, reflecting the popularity he had already gained. But it was after I reached his home, I realised the distance he had travelled. His house was at the end of the village. I realised that he was truly marginalised in every sense—from living on the periphery of the village, to being a migrant worker, and now a medical student.

He had struggled for everything, even for pens and notebooks. “I would think twice before making any demand of my parents,” he told me when I interviewed him for this story. He was encouraged by his teachers to prepare for the exam.

He was aware of his success but was humble at the same time. Born in a tribal community to farm labourer parents, he just wanted to work for his community. I have met several Adivasi students who work hard with determination towards their goals, but Shubham is an achiever and will show path to others like him. He is also very committed to serving his village and community. He is truly a son of the soil.

I still stay in touch with him. I saw his last WhatsApp status update: he was posing in front of the mirror in a new shirt. I felt he had moved beyond his migrant worker identity, ready to join the Maharaja Krishna Chandra Gajapati Medical College in Berhampur - about 150 kms from his village. From Migrant Labourer to Medical Student: The Journey of a Tribal Boy from Odisha

Published on: 17/10/25

-Rakhi Ghosh