We arrive by mini bus after hours of driving through the Haryana villages north of Delhi. We are greeted with bare stone buildings set along laneways of compressed dirt, like the ruins of a ghost town. Walking in the oppressive heat we catch the wan glances of older villagers sitting in doorways. Young men smile shyly as we raise a hand in greeting.
Before long we come upon an open stone building — the meeting room. We enter to find 60 weathered women seated on mats on the dirt floor. Their saris fill the enclosure with colour. Their faces tell the poignant stories of their lives. Children gaze out from their mothers' laps while others crowd about the windows peering curiously in. We greet them with hands clasped and heads bowed: 'Namaste' — 'I honour the divine within you.'
As we take our seats a rustle of chatter ripples about the space. Our cups are filled with water. We are garlanded by strong beautiful women and our hearts are touched by this generous welcome. We are regarded as royalty.
These are the members of the women's self-help group of the village, administered by the Chetanalaya Social Support Service of the Delhi Catholic Archdiocese. Through an interpreter we learn about their struggles, their lives and their daily efforts to garner a small income through a micro-credit cooperative. It helps them support their families and each other and restores pride and self-respect.
Several women stand to tell their stories. We hear of the seven buffalo the village has purchased and the small dairy they have established. Some have set up village stores, another was able to pay for important surgery and others can now provide essentials for their children. Each feels she has improved her family situation. Their pride in their achievement is clearly evident.
'Before, I could not be heard. Now I have a voice', one woman explains.
Later, surrounded by excited children, we are guided past dogs, cows, chickens and goats along the lanes to a house. This is home to 12 people, two-roomed and spotless. We sit on the two beds and a few plastic chairs and sip sweet chai tea as the proud home-owners look on. We feel like royalty again. Despite their desperate poverty they treat us with the most gracious hospitality.
Leaving, there is a frenzy of smiling, 'Namastes' and hand shaking. A small boy proudly