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Over 12 months, we interviewed 30 couples to better understand the challenges facing smallholder farmers today. This is the seventh in a series of blogs based on those interviews. Names and faces have been changed to protect privacy. Photo has been AI generated.

Advik, a 52-year-old member of the General Caste living in Derhgawan, Uttar Pradesh, inherited what he refers to as his “ancestral land” about five years ago when his father died. His wife, Pari, 40, makes it very clear that she does not have any ownership of the farm itself, “The land is in my husband’s name,” she says. “After my father-in-law’s death it got transferred to my husband and his brother. Nothing is in my name.”

Pari weighs in on issues concerning the planting and managing of the farm with her husband. “The last decision is his but we both talk it out before,” she says. “I do tell him what should be done. If he likes it, then he accepts, otherwise he does it on his own.” Advik concurs, “I discuss with my wife about what is to be grown (but) mostly the decision is mine.” Nevertheless, Pari has strong opinions about what the farm should be planting, preferring wheat over chana. “There is loss in growing chana,” she says. “The chana gets spoiled completely due to rain or drought or wind; the field loses moisture so the chana gets uprooted from the roots. But this is not in wheat. We will supply water to it (and) we can get some yield.” Pari continues, “Chana yield is very low or almost nothing. In wheat, whatever is there, at least we will be able to recover our invested money. Whereas in chana the investment is gone and we don’t get anything from it, so how will we run our household expenses?”

While Advik ultimately accepts Pari’s argument for planting wheat, he is not convinced, and believes her opinions are better suited to parenting. “She has given her decision with regards to the farm, but it is not right,” he says. “Her decision regarding children’s studies is right, but not for farming.”

Undeterred, Pari goes on to explain in great detail why their land is not conducive to growing vegetables. “Ours is black soil,” she begins. “For potatoes you need a different type of soil. In black soil, potatoes can’t be grown.” Another problem, she explains, is the lack of water during the summer, which makes growing any type of vegetable impossible. “Even mustard can’t be grown because the harvesting of rice is late so the mustard sowing period gets delayed and it won’t grow.” Advik seems unfazed by Pari’s concerns about soil and water, seeing the greater threat coming from intrusive animals like buffalo and Nilgai (a large government-protected antelope). Building an effective 7-foot-high barricade is cost-prohibitive. “I am ready to grow vegetables but (animals) damage the crops,” he says. “That’s why we don’t grow vegetables.”

When asked if they are proud to be farmers, Pari answers with confidence. “We are proud to be farmers because the grains of every household in the whole country are being provided by us,” she says. “We are running the whole country; if the farmer doesn’t grow grains then what will others eat? They can’t eat money.” Advik has a different take on his inherited livelihood. “I don’t feel proud to be a farmer,” he says. “We are just living our lives. We are not able to arrange fees for our children properly - I don’t feel proud about it.” The couple feels cheated by grain dealers, who set the rates to make high profit margins while farmers remain poor; as well as the Indian government, who had promised to double the income of farmers by 2022 but, according to Advik, has not delivered. “What pride should we feel?” he says in defeat. “Our heart is hurt by it.”

One thing the couple agrees on is the importance of their farm succeeding. “We don’t have any other income; only farming,” Pari says. “We are 100% dependent on agricultural income,” adds Advik. “We grow crops, sell the grains, and from that income we take care of the children’s studies and household expenses.”

When asked what other kind of work they would prefer to farming, Pari and Advik do not hesitate. “I want some job,” Pari says. “If the government can provide work from home and we don’t have to go anywhere.” She believes that local poverty is caused by lack of job opportunities. “There is no factory, nothing,” she says. “The government should open some small works in the village.” With a level 12 education, Pari is qualified to teach children, but says nobody has the 50-100 rupees required to pay tuition, so she takes care of her own children and hopes for future opportunities of income-generating projects she could do from home. As for Advik, he has a dream. “I would prefer to do service,” he says. “The best is a small tea shop. Running a small shop is better than farming,” he says.

Their local FPO is Baankelal Bio Energy (BBE), but only Advik participates. “As a woman, no one will support us,” Pari says. “Here, in general, they don’t consider the opinion of a woman. All the decisions are made by the men. We women are not given any right to speak (and) are not allowed to go out of the house.” She continues, “A woman is not allowed to work like a man, and if she goes out to work, she is stopped. Still now, women and men are not given equal rights.”

This opinion is not shared at all by her husband, who claims women have attended the FPO and are given a chance to speak when they are there. “Yes, even women also attended the meetings,” he says. “Women are also given respect and treated equally.” Advik continues, “Everyone should be aware of their rights, whether it is a female or male. It is not possible to run a vehicle with one wheel; there should be two wheels to let that vehicle run. When men and women take collaborative decisions, they take the right decisions,” he says, adding: “Women should get the opportunity to come forward.”

As for the benefits provided by the FPO, the couple seems underwhelmed, saying that whatever products they receive are at market rate, without a farmer discount. Advik wishes they would provide drones to spray the fields for safety reasons; using hand-spray causes skin disease, so many laborers refuse to spray crops once they exceed the height of their head. Pari has other ideas: “We women want to get some work or employment through this FPO so that we can also work, contribute to household expenses, and improve our family’s condition.”

Despite all these frustrations, Pari and Advik both believe things are better off today than they were in the past, especially for their children. “My son is very good,” Pari says. “He understands our sacrifices and we have raised him with that in mind. If he gets a good job, he will do well.” She adds, “He always stands by me when I am in trouble.”

Advik cites women’s literacy, diversity in agriculture, improved medical facilities, better nutrition, and more interpersonal contact through cell phones as a few of the improvements he has seen over the years. “The arrival of education in women’s lives has brought revolutionary changes,” he says. “Earlier, women were limited to their homes and did not know their rights. They were less educated, and men used to dominate them.”

In theory, the future holds great potential for Akvik’s own daughter, now in 8th grade, who wants to become an IAS officer and get a PhD. And while her reality is yet to be determined, her mother is cautiously optimistic. “We will see,” Pari says.