What hunger really means: It makes life unpredictable

Earlier this week, at a public hearing on the National Food Security Act (NFSA) 2013, haunting testimonies from participants from 14 states made me realise that people like us don’t, and perhaps can’t comprehend what it’s like to live with hunger. As I chatted with some of the people gathered for the hearing, all of whom were hopeful that their voices would be miraculously heard now that they’d come all the way to Delhi, I learnt a few things. Here they are.

Hunger makes life unpredictable. I spoke to Prem Lal of Satna district, who told me that his village lay within forest land and had no water for irrigation. Consequently, he earns a living as an itinerant agricultural labourer, even though the pickings during these times of agrarian distress are poor. “Imagine this,” he said, “my father, three brothers and I work — but our combined household income never exceeds Rs8,000!” The constant wondering about where their next meal will come from, had made them wary of migrating. “At least we have a house in the village,” said he. “If we migrate to the city, we’ll have no surety of work, no roof over our heads and no assured income!” he said. Without any savings, Lal is constantly conscious of the precariousness of his life. “One long illness, and my two young children could starve to death,” he said. 

His fears are valid. Also at the hearing was the family of Etwariya Devi of Jharkhand. Her daughter-in-law recounted how in October 2017, they couldn’t draw ration as their biometrics didn’t match. The following month, the dealer said there was no supply. In December, the POS machine wasn’t working. On Christmas, 2017, she starved to death.

It’s exactly this hunger and unpredictability of life that NFSA, passed four years ago, is aimed at. But Prem Lal hasn’t been able to get a ration card made, even though he’d applied four years ago. Many others appeared in the public hearing from across the country; all of them had applied for, but were still awaiting their ration cards. Yet others at the hearing — homeless, physically-challenged and migrants, had not even been able to apply for their entitlements. Asmi, a 67-year-old, severely disabled homeless person in Delhi, is a case in point. He begs for a living as he is deaf and mute. Being homeless, he hasn’t been able to provide any address proof to get an Aadhaar card, and consequently, a ration card. 

These testimonies of hunger made me realise that for many, it isn’t just a one-off hollow feeling in the stomach. Poor employment opportunities, low returns from farming and generally low levels of literacy are some of the many reasons why poverty and hunger are constant companions of many in rural India. Ram Bahadur is a 52-year-old itinerant daily wage labourer from Kos Tanga village in Madhya Pradesh. “I want to work, earn some money,” he told me. “But there are no opportunities in my village.” He worked on an NREGA project, but said he didn’t get his dues. “Mostly, I break stones and earn aboutRs100 a day,” he said. Bahadur had applied for, and received, a ration card in 2014. “But I was only able to draw ration on it once,” he said. “Every time I ask about it, the officials give me no answer.” The only constant in his life, he said, is hunger. “Sometimes I’m more hungry, sometimes I’m less hungry,” he said. “I’m never not hungry.”

And that’s what hunger really means.