On a warm November afternoon…
On a warm November afternoon, I set out on a long pending monitoring visit to rural Alibaug, where empowHER India runs classes in government schools for rural adolescent girls. Majority of these students belong to tribal communities, and it never gets old to experience a world vastly different from my urban upbringing.
As I meandered through the dusty roads, something unexpected stole the spotlight—an imposing 6-foot cobra gracefully crossed the path, bringing traffic to a halt. It was a spectacle, a moment when nature demanded deference, and cars on both sides respectfully waited for the majestic serpent to make its way.
I thought this would be the highlight of my day. But little did I know what a ride I was in for, albeit an emotional one.
Reaching the Ashramshala, a residential school for underprivileged children, was no easy feat. The remote location, coupled with the absence of roads, made a journey that should have taken five minutes from the highway, into to a bone-rattling 20-minute drive. By the time I arrived, I felt every bump and jolt.
As I entered the Ashramshala, I saw that most of the children hadn’t returned from their Diwali holidays. Hallways and classrooms were empty with a few teachers walking around purposefully. I quickly realized there was no class to observe.
Standing in the hallway, contemplating my next move, my attention was drawn to a young woman observing us. She turned out to be Soni, the mother of two girls enrolled in empowHER India’s program. Kruti Ramdas, aged 12, and Aditi Ramdas, aged 9.
Intrigued, I struck up a conversation with Soni. When I asked about her age, her response sent shivers down my spine—she was 25. This meant she was married off at a mere 13 years old, becoming a mother in the same year. Her education, only till third grade, was ended abruptly as she had to care for her younger sister. The weight of this injustice hit me like a brick.
Curiosity led me to ask about her dreams, to which she replied "I was removed from school when I was in grade 3, so how can I answer that question? I don’t know,". The innocence in her response made me pause.
As our conversation unfolded, I discovered that Soni had walked 30 kilometers through the jungle to reach the Ashramshala with her daughters as it was the shortest route. A four-hour trek, undertaken with a simple goal—to ensure her girls received an education.
The urgency in Soni's departure hinted at the challenges she faced. "My friends are waiting for me outside; we have to leave now so that we reach the house before it is dark," she explained.
Soni's journey left an indelible mark on me. Was it resilience or a stark illustration of a life without options? Maybe both? The questions lingered, unanswered and steeped in the complexities of gender, patriarchy, and culture that shape the lives of women like Soni.
One thing became abundantly clear—education was the key. It was Soni's shortcut through the jungle, her determined stride toward a future where her daughters would have options. As I left Alibaug, the image of Soni and her daughters lingered, a poignant reminder of the transformative power of education and the unwavering spirit of those who seek it against all odds.
About the Author
Anamara Baig is the CEO of empowHER India, a Mumbai based organization that works in rural villages to empower adolescent girls through life skills, health education, gender awareness and financial literacy. Anamara has been part of the social impact sector for the last 15 years.
You can learn more about the organization on empowherindia.org.
