Moong Over Microchips

by Venkat Iyer

  Next morning a large crowd gathered at the sub-post office in Kasa. I was part of the crowd as I had some old Rs 500 notes that had to be exchanged. The queue outside the only bank in Kasa was more than a mile long. Someone had informed us that the post office was better as only a few people were aware that the exchange could be done there.

  In one corner of the ground of the post office I saw a woman huddled up and crying. I went up to her and asked if I could help. She nodded and showed me her life savings of four Rs 500 notes and a tattered copy of her Aadhaar card. Gajari Anya Dhangad had come from the remote hamlet of Dongripada and had no idea of the upheaval caused by demonetization in the country. Next to her, shivering with fever, was her daughter-in-law, whom she had brought to Kasa to be treated. It was only when the doctors in Kasa refused to take her money that she knew something had to be done.

  I helped her fill up the form and submit it at the counter. It was almost 2 p.m. when the postmaster arrived with a bundle of new notes. He agreed to a request that Gajari be given the money first as she had to go to the hospital. She clutched her new Rs 2000 note and left the post office.

  The village of Kasa had two banks, the Bank of Maharashtra and the Thane Co-operative Bank. But the latter had closed operations. This meant more crowds at the sub-post office and the only other bank. People spent the entire day waiting for money, only to be told to return the next day.

  Not everyone was as lucky as Gajari to get their money exchanged. Ladkya, a daily-wage construction labourer who was among those waiting in line, looked dejected when the postmaster announced that they had run out of money. Spending the day at the post office meant he had lost that day’s daily wage and now faced the prospect of losing a second day’s income too. He had no money to go back to his village, about 10 kilometres from Kasa. He prepared himself for the long walk back home.

  As Ladkya walked into the sunset, one of the persons hanging around at the post office remarked in Hindi, ‘Magarmach ko pakadne ke liye talab khali karen, toh sab machli khatam ho jayenga (If you drain the lake to catch a crocodile, all the fish will be finished).’

  With no money in the banks and establishments refusing to take old notes, the villagers were worried about the crops they had sown for the rabi season. They could not buy fertilizers or pesticides and the unexpected cold wave in Maharashtra had caused quite a few pests to appear. Now they faced a bleak season ahead if things did not improve soon.

  While the farmers were fretting over their crops and daily existence, the businessmen too were at their wits’ end. Sandeep Pawde, who had a roaring brick kiln business, was worried as no builder was buying his material. He even offered them credit but they were least interested. He wondered what would happen to the money he had invested in making the bricks.

  Jinendra, the guy who bought paddy straw from the villagers, had more than Rs 3 lakh in old denominations and the paddy season was about to start. He had no idea how he could exchange so much money and pay the villagers who had already started getting the straw.

  I spotted Sitaram of our village nearby and waved to him. He came running and almost fell at my feet. He had come to Kasa to get his money exchanged and now had only the Rs 2000 note with him. No one was willing to give him change and he didn’t know how to return to the village. I offered him a lift back.

  As we left the post office after exchanging my old notes, I spotted Gajari and her daughter-in-law sitting by the road side. She was in despair—no doctor was willing to give her change for Rs 2000. The local grocer was willing to give her change provided she bought provisions for at least Rs 500, which she did not want or need. With no solution that one could think of, I gave her Rs 50 and guided her to the nearest government hospital where they would at least treat the poor woman. I thought of what Damu had said the other day, ‘They will never give you the money.’ It was as if his prophesy had come true.

  14

  Market Initiatives

  Lessons in Supply Chain

  The first year at the farm, I planted ladyfinger (bhindi) in the entire backyard. They grew well and soon the harvest was more than what we could eat. I started looking around to see if I could find a market for them. I heard that there was a vegetable vendor who came every evening to the village and bought any kind of produce which he carted to Boisar in his tempo.

  That evening I went and stood at the corner of the road to try and catch him. I met Hari Bhai, the vendor, who greeted me profusely as if I was his long lost friend. I asked him if he would like to buy my bhindi. I had already learnt a lesson and did not even mention that it was organic. He replied, ‘Why not? I am at your service.’ I asked how much he would pay. He said Rs 4 per kilo.

  My jaw dropped. I had just checked the rates in Mumbai for bhindi and they were selling in Goregaon outside our house for Rs 20 per kilo. I told him, ‘You are looting the villagers. I just checked and it is Rs 20 in Mumbai.’ He was very calm and said, ‘Looks like you are selling for the first time.’

  He said he would explain to me why it was Rs 4 only. He said, ‘I come all the way in this vehicle from Boisar to collect the vegetables. There is a cost to it. Let’s put it as Re 1 per kilo. I have a family to support and need to make some money at the end of the day, say Rs 2 per kilo. I sell this load to the Boisar wholesale vendor for Rs 7. He collects from many like me and sends it by train to Borivali in Mumbai. There is a cost of transportation, either a ticket or a bribe to the ticket checker. Let’s say Re 1 per kilo.’

  Before he said it, I remarked, ‘Of course, he too has a family to support.’ He smiled and said, ‘Now you are getting it. The Borivali vendor then distributes the produce and it goes to the Goregaon municipal market. Whether it goes by road or train, there is a cost involved, say Re 1 per kilo. He adds his share of Rs 2 per kilo. The vendor outside your building then takes the produce from the market to his stall. He has to bribe the municipal authorities and police to set up a stall on the road. Let’s say Re 1 per kilo.’

  He continued, ‘We have still not accounted for losses in transit and spoilages. You are educated and you can calculate what the final figure is and why Rs 4 is a good price for you.’ I did a quick mental calculation and it came to Rs 18 by the time the produce reached the stall outside our house in Goregaon. This of course included the profit at each level. I was so numbed by the calculation that I did not even bother to ask him about the balance amount.

  Before starting his vehicle he gave me one look and said, ‘You are a good man and from the city. For you I shall give Rs 5 per kilo, but don’t tell anyone.’

  I returned to the farm after having been through my first lesson on supply chain in the village. The only way a farmer could make money was to break the chain and sell directly to the market. But with such low land holdings and small quantities how could one do it? I could not afford to go to Mumbai every alternate day with just 10–20 kilograms of bhindi. Even if I did where would I sell it? I realized that marketing farm produce and that too perishables was not an easy task.

  The next day, I told Baban to throw all the bhindi back into the soil. I vowed never to plant more than what we could eat.

  After our first experience of selling moong in the market we had already reconciled to the fact that direct sales was the best option. Hari Bhai’s supply chain tutorial just confirmed it. Grains, pulses and oil had long shelf lives and were easy to cart and distribute in Mumbai.

  I still had chikoos and needed a market for them. Whenever I returned to Mumbai I carried a huge bag of around twenty dozens to sell. The local fruit vendor outside our house bought them from me for Rs 15 a dozen and sold it for Rs 30 a dozen. When I confronted him about the huge difference in the price, he just smiled and told me, ‘Why don’t you sit next to me and sell?’

  The first five years we sold our produce like rice, dal and oil to the dedicated list of friends and acquaintances who had opted to be on our customer database. We sent emails or SMS’s to all of them and collected the orders. We packed the produce as
per the orders and I would go and deliver them while also collecting the money at the time of delivery. It was the only option we had to beat the supply chain and earn some money. Of course the additional effort of packing and transportation was there.

  The organic market has changed in the last five years. There is greater awareness and in Mumbai a number of new outlets have opened which cater to organic produce only. One of our friends, Chaitanya, also opened an outlet in the suburb of Vile Parle. He procured his stuff from various organizations but was clear that the first choice would be to buy directly from the farmer.

  We tied up together and he promised to take whatever I grew. The price he paid us was marginally lower than what we would earn if we sold direct. But the arrangement suited us very much. We contacted all our customers and informed them of our decision to opt out of retail sales. We gave the number and contact details of Green Current, the shop that Chaitanya had opened.

  Till date our arrangement is alive and all the farm produce goes to Green Current. Besides this, we also had the option of selling to Navdanya, another chain which sold organic produce. They had their own farm in north India and got some of the produce from there. So they wanted only certain items that did not grow on their land.

  As for the chikoos, I still continue to take whatever is possible to Mumbai. The last few years we have been making very few trips to Mumbai. I have an Adivasi from the neighbouring village of Amboli who comes every week to take the chikoos. He pays Rs 8 per kilo which is low but better than nothing. Besides he and his wife pluck the chikoos, wash them and take them back. We do not have to do anything. It is better than selling to the cooperative near Dahanu which pay us Rs 5 or Rs 6 per kilo. The plucking, washing, sorting and transportation expenses also have to be borne by us.

  The MOFCA Experience

  After starting the transition, I made a lot of like-minded friends. There were people like Gaurang who had a computer business and shuttled between the farm and the city. Ubai was a chef who decided to move back to India from the USA and start a farm on his ancestral land near Mumbai. There was Archana, Raajen’s wife, who had quit her job and moved to the farm to till the land. Vipul, who had a huge plastic manufacturing company, had sold his share in the company and bought land to do organic farming. And there was Purvita, a computer web designer who had also started the transition from the city to the village.

  We were in constant touch with each other to either discuss our problems on the field or to just find out what the other person was planting. We exchanged seeds and saplings and tried to help out whenever possible.

  During our many interactions and meetings we realized that besides our usual issues with power and seeds we all had the same problem with marketing. We grew a lot of stuff but had no idea where and how to sell it. Besides, since we all had land at least 100 kilometres from Mumbai city, we faced a logistics issue too.

  One of our friends, Karen, had a two-acre farm near Mumbai and she had invited some people from abroad to help at the farm. As one of their initiatives they researched and prepared a white paper on the potential of organic food and its market in the city of Mumbai. At the end of the research they decided to share it with all of us.

  We had a meeting of all interested people at Karen’s place. The crowd was a mix of people who had farms, some shop owners, some consumers and some NGOs working in the organic field. We sat and discussed all day and in the end decided that we had to do something about the market and the gap that we all faced between the farm and the city. The conclusion at the end of the day was the same that we had arrived at. The farmer and the market had to be brought closer and the links in the supply chain broken down. That was the only way the farmer could get a fair remuneration for the efforts he put in.

  It took a while for things to take shape and in 2010 we finally decided to jump into the marketing of organic vegetables. The plan was to commit consumers in the city to buy vegetables grown organically from us and to charge a deposit of Rs 500 from each consumer. This was to ensure that we had a fixed consumer base to sell rather than sit in the market and wait for consumers to come by.

  Vegetables would be delivered once a week at fixed pickup points across the city. We thought of home delivery but the traffic and the logistics involved in the vast city of Mumbai did not justify it. The consumers paid the price per kilo at each pickup point.

  For the production of vegetables we had our group of city farmers who would contribute. In addition we also had the support of an NGO (M.L. Dhavale Trust) which worked with a lot of farmers in the neighbouring taluk of Vikramgad to convert them into organic farmers. They also faced the same problem of marketing and were more than happy to tie up with us. For the first season we had four farmers associated with the trust who promised to grow organic vegetables for us.

  Ubai’s company had a tempo which we used to transport the vegetables to Mumbai. We just had to bear the diesel and driver’s expenses. Neesha, who stayed in a bungalow in Bandra, offered us space for sorting and packing the vegetables. Shops like Navadanya, Green Current and Green Field, which specialized in selling organic produce, agreed to become our pickup points.

  We called ourselves Mumbai Organic Farmers and Consumers Association (MOFCA) and the scheme for vegetables ‘Hari Bhari Tokri Scheme’. We discussed and finalized certain norms that we would follow for the business. Our target would be the city consumers and the vegetables would have to be produced within a radius of 100 kilometres around Mumbai. This was to reduce the food miles that we would incur if we went beyond this range. The vegetables grown would be local and the seeds we gave the farmers would be open pollinated varieties. Of course the method of cultivation would be organic farming. No chemicals or pesticides would be allowed to be used.

  We spoke to the farmers and agreed that they would get a fixed price for the vegetables they gave for the entire season. We would pay them the same price for all vegetables and market fluctuations would have no impact on the pricing.

  We also had to ensure that the farmers strictly followed the principles of organic farming. Gaurang and I were to take the lead in this matter. We had regular weekly checks at the farms and created a form to fill in all the details of the farmer. We attended some workshops with other NGOs who were doing this kind of business and learnt how they managed to ensure quality and honesty among the farmers.

  The plan was in place and we launched the scheme with great fanfare. We got some positive media reports and within a few weeks we had 200 consumers enrolled in the scheme. There were another 400 waiting to enrol. We only had a few farmers with us committed to supplying organic vegetables and so we decided to close the registration at 200 consumers.

  We started the pickup from the villages and got the vegetables to Mumbai. The packing and sorting was done by volunteers who came and helped. After the initial few weeks we noticed that at the end of the pickup day, we were left with a lot of packets. This excess was becoming an issue since at that late stage we could not sell the vegetables and our losses started mounting. These vegetables had already been paid for at the farmers’ end and there was no sale at the city end. We ended up either taking it home or calling friends to come and pick it up.

  We sent messages to the people who did not come for the pickup and even threatened that their deposit would be lost. It was then that we realized that the deposit that we had taken was too small for the city-bred rich to even bother about. They just told us it was fine and they could not come over due to some reason or other. It was saddening to see so much wastage at the end of every pickup day.

  We pulled through the sixteen weeks of delivery that we had promised and made a huge loss in the first season. The loss was mainly due to the transport cost and the wastage that had happened. But we had learnt our lesson.

  The next season we changed the scheme and told all interested consumers that we would be charging for the full sixteen weeks of delivery in advance. That way we were assured that they would pick up the vegetables. We al
so shifted the sorting to Ubai’s farm in Bhiwandi, just outside Mumbai, since he had labour that would help in sorting, packing, etc.

  The encouraging news was that after seeing the success and the money earned by the four farmers of the trust, sixteen more farmers wanted to join the group and supply us. We had more vegetables and it justified the cost of transport. The more the vegetables, the less the cost of transport per kilo.

  With renewed enthusiasm we started the second season. Since the number of farmers had increased and not all of them were associated with the trust, we had to come up with a stringent review system to ensure that they all followed organic principles and did not cheat by adding chemicals. This meant more regular trips to visit the farms and check the quality of the produce. We found out how the other groups were doing this review and created our own form which covered all aspects of organic farming and used it during our review visits. This way we had comprehensive data on each farmer and knew what he or she was growing and how much he or she would give us. The form had columns for even the number of saplings the farmer had planted so it gave us a good picture. Once again I was pleased that I was using all the documentation knowledge I had gathered during my years of working in the IT industry.

  At the end of the second season we were better off and even had some money in surplus after paying for transport and the vegetables. It was decided that this money would be given back to the farmers as a soft loan in case they wished to buy some equipment, say a pump or some pipes, but with the clear understanding that it would be recovered from the sale of vegetables the next season.

  In the third season we increased the price paid to the farmers after consulting with them. We now had twenty-five farmers from in and around the village where the trust functioned. It was extremely encouraging to see that more farmers were interested in organic farming. Besides giving them a fixed rate for the whole season to insulate them from the fluctuations of the market we also noticed that the practices we asked them to follow would in the long run increase the quality of their soil and life. We started encouraging the farmers to eat the stuff they grew organically rather than buy from the market.