It was 2005. I was trying to find a new meaning in life after tasting defeat in the UPSC exams. That was when I decided to work for an organization in Uttarakhand.
The organization took quite a long time to consider my application. Finally, after a month of struggle and constant reminders, the Director called me for a meeting. I arrived there shivering on a very rainy and cold July day. I was seated in a small but clean room with a cup of hot tea.
The Director asked me, "What do you want to do?" I replied, "I don't know. But perhaps if you give me a chance, I might understand." I told him I wouldn't waste their resources for long, but I couldn't say exactly what I was capable of. I was just a graduate with a migration certificate from JNU and the mark sheets of the UPSC Mains and Interview as souvenirs. Nothing more.
For some reason, he said, "Okay, stay here for 2-3 days. Observe different types of work, and then we will decide together what to do."
I was given another cup of tea and then asked to accompany a female field worker (whom I shall call 'Didi' from here on) to a nearby village. A women's Self-Help Group (SHG) meeting was scheduled there, and she was to facilitate it. We set off. When we reached, only 2-3 women were there; we had to wait for the others. When the rest arrived, Didi reproached them, "Look at the clock, look how late you are." The women jokingly replied, "We have so much work; what’s the big deal about the clock? It just keeps ticking."
I was enjoying the experience so far. Didi proceeded with the meeting—details of the group’s fund were shared, and progress on the repayment of loans was discussed. While this was ongoing, two more women entered the room. After the usual pleasantries, these women convinced the SHG members to sing a song together. I don't remember the lyrics, but it was very thought-provoking—it made them aware of their social status and was deeply inspiring.
I asked Didi who they were. It turned out they were workers from the Mahila Samakhya program, a government initiative for women's empowerment. I had read about this during my UPSC preparation. Now, I was seeing firsthand what actually happens in that program. I loved everything they said—about atrocities against women, exploitation, and information regarding health and nutrition. This lasted for about half an hour, and then they left.
As our meeting concluded, Didi asked me to share my thoughts on the experience. I felt caught off guard; I thought this might be my "test." I said exactly what I was feeling:
"Didi, thank you all for including me. I liked everything you discussed about the group. But I also found the words of the Mahila Samakhya sisters very touching. You all must think about what they said as well."
I looked at the women, and then at Didi, who was perhaps expecting a different answer from this "young lad."
We started walking back to the office, about 2-3 kilometers away. Didi and I began chatting about random things—her children, her work at the organization, and so on. In the middle of the conversation, I mentioned again how much I liked the Mahila Samakhya discussion.
Perhaps Didi felt it was necessary to "exorcise" this ghost of Mahila Samakhya from my head. She spoke very politely:
"Actually, these people just come to take advantage of us."
I was shocked. I asked, "How?"
She replied, "Look, we have worked so hard to build this group. And they just walk into the meeting without any effort, talk for a bit, and leave. This is our group. It doesn't feel right when just anyone walks into its meeting."
"This is our group."
That sentence has echoed in my mind from that day until now, 20 years later. Even today, organizations are stuck in this same cycle—territorial thinking and a sense of ownership over the regions and groups they have created.
The desire to claim "rights" over the community we work for manifests in almost every social worker, whether good or average. Once an organization works in an area, the entry of another organization feels like a knife to the heart. When the government established the Rural Livelihood Mission and snatched groups away from NGOs in one fell swoop, I can only imagine what thousands of social workers must have felt—those who spent their lives building those groups.
Before I judge my colleagues, I must confess that when I was in Mandla, I too suffered from the "Hum Chuni Digre Neest" sentiment (the idea that 'none exists like us' or 'don't give us knowledge, we are the experts'). For me, the "relationship between society and ecology" was paramount, and the economy came later. I made many rules to work fearlessly on this ideology. My confession doesn't mean those rules were wrong, but they inadvertently turned me into a "frog in a well." I began expecting even the government to understand my perspective, rather than me trying to understand theirs.
Governments will be governments. But even between organizations, the dialogue remains superficial. There are very few spaces where we can talk informally without the fear of being judged. Organizations were founded for a cause, but their underlying structure often stems from corporate or military establishments. Just as other global institutions were built, NGOs too took inspiration—knowingly or unknowingly—from military administration principles.
We have a "mission," an idea that no one has a better livelihood program, better women’s empowerment, or better landscape restoration than ours. In front of a Collector or a government official, we appear to be competing. We live in fear that someone will "steal" our work. Because of this, we behave like crabs in a jar, pulling down anyone who tries to climb up. In the end, no one gets out.
The struggle for survival is so intense that even if we want to, we fail to learn from each other. The donor model doesn't help in connecting organizations either. Generally, NGOs stand in a queue before donors, trying to show how they are "different" from the rest. How often do four organizations come together to design a program? And if they do, do they get donor support? Rarely.
If the idea of working together is born only to secure a fund, it doesn't guarantee actual collaboration. If the fund isn't granted, the dialogue vanishes. Creating principles for collaboration and sticking to them is a task as big as building a new organization. It requires years of dedicated effort—often against the "temperament" of the organizations and sometimes even against their "rules."
Social organizations in India are passing through their most difficult phase. They are being hit from all ten directions. This is no secret. But I believe that difficult times give birth to new ideas. I hope Indian civil society takes advantage of this moment. It is because of the historical role of social organizations that, despite all problems, democracy and welfare programs still exist in this country.
But if we do not unite, one more shield protecting our democracy will shatter
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