Pallassana is a microcosm of rural India, where most of the population is into farming for most of the year, and find themselves locked in a relentless battle to improve their household income. Now, that dream teeters on the edge of a high-stakes gamble: should they start sowing, or should they wait till the rains strengthen?
Every monsoon heralds the beginning of two crucial planting seasons. The rabi crops depend on the northeast monsoon in November-December; the kharif crops on the southwest monsoon in May-June. The livelihoods of farmers are intricately tied to the capricious nature of these rains. The rainfall during the June-September monsoon season accounts for more than a third of the country’s yearly rainfall, which is critical for agriculture, replenishing reservoirs and aquifers, and satisfying electricity demand. Over half of India’s arable land is rain-fed, and agriculture is one of the most important job creators in the private sector.
But the monsoon arrived a week later than anticipated on 8 June. Experts have warned that going ahead, the country may see less rainfall, reduced crop output, and repercussions for the Indian economy as a whole, because of stronger-than-expected El Nino conditions. The US National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) said in its monthly outlook that El Nino conditions associated with warming sea surface temperatures in the Pacific Ocean are expected to gradually strengthen into the winter, raising concerns about extreme weather events around the world and a weak monsoon in India, Mint reported on 9 June.
In Pallassana, this explains the waiting game. Many farmers have postponed planting until the end of June. They anxiously await the arrival of permanent rains before making further efforts. For those who did manage to sow the seeds, their lands now lie dry since the rains, right now, are intermittent.
However, the delayed rains are merely the tip of the iceberg for these farmers, as their struggles began long before the monsoon season.
A game of chance
PV Rajappan has been performing a one-man balancing act nearly every day since “the year of the Emergency”, the way he remembers 1975. He had just returned to his village after a series of failed enterprises, and took over the farmland from his father. Its returns gave a decent living for his family, and the required education for his children to get into salaried employment outside the village.
But it has not made him retire. Farming for him seems as much a job as a way of living. He still wakes at 4am and walks to his farm, where he disappears for most of the day. He talks to his paddy plants about his family. He talks to his family about his paddy plants. His house is full of traditional wooden enclosed storage areas for grains, known as nellara in Malayalam, which has become a rarity in Kerala except in the house of those who have been farming for generations.
But, in his 70s now, some things have drastically changed. He has all but given up seeking profits from the fields. He says he can no longer rely solely on his expertise and knowledge passed down through the ages. Instead, he must navigate a treacherous landscape, where fortune favours the lucky few and the rest are left at the mercy of an unyielding game of chance. His story is a stark reminder about how the fate of a farmer has changed over the years.
Every year, the stakes rise higher, the debts mount, and the cycle of risk and dependency tightens its grip, Rajappan said. “I am doing this to preserve the tradition. But it has become almost impossible to do this without losing money.”
He had called his friends, fellow farmers, to a new homestay that has come up in the village to give this writer the low-down about their situation.
The homestay is a traditional house retrofitted with modern amenities; it sits near a loss-making paddy farm. It makes more money from tourism, forming a nice background for Instagram pictures for visitors who come from cities.
The perils of being a farmer extend beyond the results from a delayed monsoon, Rajappan said. For instance, the state government purchased their last harvest four months ago, but the much-needed payments are yet to materialize. The government owes farmers ₹557 crore, household income of 71,000 farmers, Kerala’s media had reported.
With the bulk of the farmers unable to tap into any bank deposits for farming expenses, they are forced to take loans to finance their operations, Rajappan said. Most have resorted to interest-free gold loans under the Kisan Credit Card scheme, but once the interest-subsidized period ends, the loans begin accruing interest, prompting farmers to either pledge more gold or borrow additional money, he added.
Adding to their financial burdens are personal expenses such as education for their children— the schools reopen after summer vacations in Kerala in June.
In a half-joking manner, the farmers in the village discuss the dire consequences if the money owed to them is not received—the thought of suicide looms. Amid nervous laughter, Rajappan’s demeanour turns serious, highlighting the embarrassment farmers face when they receive overdue loan notices. “A farmer is a proud man,” he said.
Farm finances
C Gopalakrishnan, another farmer and a retired panchayat secretary, explained how the farm finances work in the village.
The first crop (Kharif), expected to receive the most rain, is not without its challenges. “Excessive rainfall can destroy seedlings, while the threat of fungal infections looms large. Consequently, the yield from the first crop often falls short of the average of 2,200-2,500 kg per acre,” he said.
For Gopalakrishnan, who spent ₹70,000 on production across two acres last year, the government’s valuation of the harvest at ₹74,350 seemed dishearteningly low. This amount, calculated without considering the farmer’s unpaid labour, underscores the arduous nature of their work, he said.
The second crop (Rabi) typically yields better profit, added Gopalakrishnan. But the combined annual profit for one acre of farming, from both first and second crop, has been hovering between ₹10,000 and ₹18,000, according to his own personal experience.
“When divided by 12 months, this amount pales in comparison to the financial demands faced by farmers. The scale of their operations plays a significant role, with larger farmers enjoying relatively better profit. However, even those with five acres face challenges,” he said.
The financial burden extends beyond the low pricing of the product in the market. Production costs have skyrocketed over the years, driven both by corporatization as well as upended labour dynamics.
The cost of fertilizers, particularly potash, eat into their profit and have increased as much as 500% in over two decades, said R. Unnikrishnan, another farmer and a retired employee of a state-run public sector unit.
Farmers use a mix of manual labour and mechanization to maintain crop health. But machines don’t always guarantee success.
“If you buy one kg of sugar from any store, you can weigh it anywhere and it will still be one kg. The price and value are fixed. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees when it comes to the efficiency of the machinery, or the acreage it can cover in a given time,” said Gopalakrishnan. “Factors such as breaks, delays, or even worker behaviour can impact the cost, with each additional minute of usage translating into an additional expense,” he said.
For manual labour, finding labourers for farm work has become a challenge in villages like Pallassana. The local population is increasingly drawn to other occupations. If not white-collar jobs, natives opt for construction jobs. Among women, the second generation has switched to tailoring, which allows them to work from home.
“You won’t even get a bride from anywhere here if you work as a farmer,” observed the son of one of the village’s senior-most farmers. He asked not to be identified. He added that he will never take up farming and intends to sell the land following his father’s death. “As a teacher, I get paid ₹1 lakh. I know a little bit of astrology, which could earn me another lakh. Will I ever be able to make such a good living as a farmer?” he asked.
The village relies heavily on unskilled migrant workers from northern states who arrive in search of employment. In the nearby city of Kollangod, a network of brokers facilitates employment opportunities. They charge ₹4,200 per acre.
Web of risks
Each farmer in Pallassan carries a ledger of their agricultural expenses. They unfold like a tragic novel.
Even when they get a good yield, storing the harvest has become a daunting task, said Rajappan. The lack of safety and public infrastructure compounds their difficulties. With limited access to secure storage facilities, many resort to stockpiling their produce along roadsides.
Stocking also comes with its share of expenses. Farmers must hire machinery from neighbouring Tamil Nadu to aid in harvesting, which takes time and is costly. It must then be loaded onto tractors, which are rented on a daily basis. The loading task falls on headload workers (they usually carry, load and unload goods), a powerful political force in Kerala, who charge high rates.
Additionally, the harvested grain must be dried within 24 hours to maintain quality. But only a few farmers can afford mechanized dryers due to their high cost and maintenance requirements. Manual drying by employing migrant labourers, therefore, is the norm. It adds to the overall expense.
Next, the moisture level in the rice is evaluated by agents from a government-allocated mill. If the moisture content exceeds the norm, the mill will refuse to accept the harvest, forcing farmers to dry it again.
Farming is becoming an increasingly risky endeavour also as climate change continues to throw its shadow. According to Rajappan, a delayed monsoon contributes to greater expenditures. Prices may climb as everyone rushes to acquire seeds and fertilizer at the last minute. So does the spread of spurious seeds. A last-minute rush could also entail costly labour and trouble finding it.
The unpaid sum from the previous harvest, combined with the last-minute crop loan demand, will add to farmers’ already high interest-rate burden.
The state government has also failed to clinch a timely deal with mill owners for many seasons.
Kerala has no public infrastructure to process paddy into rice. Therefore, every year, the government is supposed to negotiate with private mill owners to help farmers. The mill owners have to pay farmers a predetermined rate.
The mill owners frequently cite the government’s unpaid bills from past years as a reason for the stalemate. The long delays can increase debt and liquidity problems for the farmer. And many end up selling their produce at a fraction of the minimum support price (MSP) to mill owners directly.
Meanwhile, the transition away from agriculture has reshaped the community, and many jobs that were once part of the agrarian society, like carpenters who are known for making sharp knives employed in the farm, are fast disappearing in the village. Some villagers, though, find ways to persevere.
The younger generation shows little interest in farming, but their salaried jobs have become crucial for the elders to sustain farming. While some like Rajappan divert their children’s salary to offset losses, others like Gopalakrishnan and Unnikrishnan tap into their retirement benefits. Others engage in side businesses or diversify their income streams, like the homestay.
“If it rains well enough, we just have to go out in the fields,” said Rajappan. But, in this intricate web of risks, uncertainties, and financial struggles, he knows the odds are stacked against farmers like him.
“I don’t know why the government is promoting farming, they really shouldn’t,” he said.
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Updated: 15 Jun 2023, 11:37 PM IST