Namita Waikar

PARI GSP Team

Sinchita Parbat

Video Editor

Amol Ubhe 

Photographer

Vinutha Mallya

Editor

large_New-GSP-36.jpg

medium_New-GSP-36.jpg

small_New-GSP-36.jpg

thumbnail_New-GSP-36.jpg

New-GSP-36.jpg

Muktabai Ubhe of Khadakwadi hamlet in Mulshi taluka, Pune, sings nine ovi about a wife’s love and longing for her husband, who has gone away in search of work

We didn’t get a good harvest this year O woman, my husband has gone to a faraway place in search of workHe has gone far away, leaving me alone There is no one to care for him there

“Yes, I remember singing these songs many years ago,” said Muktabai Ubhe, when we spoke on the phone in late April this year. Muktabai, who lives in Khadakwadi hamlet in Pune’s Mulshi taluka, had sung these ovi in 1996 for the original Grindmill Songs Project (GSP) team. In these times of the Covid-19 pandemic and lockdown, the nine couplets sung two decades ago now resonate with the experiences of migrant workers across India, separated from their families in the villages. Like the absent husband of these ovi, the migrant workers too had left their homes in the countryside and travelled to faraway towns in search of work.Before mechanised mills reached the villages of India around the 1980s, women used to crush grain in the stone grindmill to make flour every day. They worked in twos and threes, in the kitchen or nearby, singing together in their private zone of comfort. There they expressed themselves freely, away from prying eyes and social restrictions. In simple, rhyming ovi, they sang to the rhythms of the grindstone and the jingling glass bangles on their wrists.Muktabai learned these ovi as a young married woman from her mother-in-law. The couplets express a woman’s feelings of love and longing for her husband – the migrant worker who is far away. When Muktabai sang them in 1996, she was around 40 years old.Now 64, she laughed heartily when we spoke about the ovi describing the pearl-like lustre of the husband’s eyes, and the blue shade of his skin like the javas (flax) flowers. “I have never seen javas flowers,” Muktabai said, “but in the ovi, the wife praises the husband with much fondness.”

We spoke about the pandemic and the lockdown. “Everything has shut down because of corona. My husband and I work a little on our farm, but we are both getting old now. We do what little we can,” she said. She and her husband, Gulabbhau Ubhe, who is in his late 60s, own two acres of land in Khadakwadi, a hamlet of Kolavade village. Their son Amol works at an autoparts factory in Urawade, about 20 kilometres from their village. He was at home when the lockdown started in March, but he was called back to work on May 4. The couple’s three daughters are married and residing in different parts of Pune district.Muktabai is the chairperson of the bachat-gat (self-help group) in her village. “But, like me, most women in the village have no time to spare from their own farm and household work. I merely collect the money from everyone and put it in the bank. There is not much benefit from this post – it is in name only,” she said.About three years ago, when the PARI GSP team visited Kolavade, Muktabai told us how fond she was of reading books. “I have read Shriman Yogi by Ranjit Desai, and Pandav Pratap Hari and other religious books,” she had said. We met her and five other singers in the large assembly hall of the Ram temple in Khadakwadi. The breeze blowing from the three open sides of the hall brought us relief on that hot day in April. The fruit-laden branches of the mango trees outside were swaying. The women sang a few ovi about the summer heat and the much-awaited monsoon. We published these songs on PARI in two instalments – <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/articles/seven-songs-of-summer/">Seven songs of summer </a>and <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/articles/six-songs-of-rain-from-mulshi/">Six songs of rain</a>.In all, 25 women from Kolavade sang 1,265 songs for the original GSP team led by the late social scientists Hema Rairkar and Guy Poitevin. We bring here nine of the 53 songs sung by Muktabai Ubhe, recorded on January 6, 1996.

In the first ovi, the wife worships the deity in her home shrine and prays for the long life of her kunku – the vermilion applied on her forehead, symbolising her husband. In the second couplet, she prays to the pimpal (sacred fig) tree because it represents Lord Vishnu, and asks for a happy married life. In the third couplet, she says that Sukhadeva (god of the morning star) is positioned in the dawn sky above her home, bringing  a cool breeze that stings her body.In the fourth and fifth verses she says that the harvest was not good that year, so her husband had gone far away in search of work. She worries that there is no one to take care of him in that faraway place. These songs tell us of her deep love for her husband and how much she misses him. In the sixth, seventh and eighth couplets she recalls her beloved and describes his features. His eyes shine like the lustre of pearls, his skin is blue like the javas flowers. (These flowers are often used in ovi to describe the colour of Lord Krishna’s skin.) She sings that her husband’s teeth are as white as washed rice. Without him, she is distraught and lost. And the roasted green chickpeas, his favourite, are all becoming dry.In the last ovi, she implores him to return: “When will you come, O light of my life? When will you come, O god of my gods?” The singer tells us that her husband means more to her than the god she worships.Listen to these nine ovi:

I am a suvasina [married woman], and worship the god in my house I pray for the long life of my kunku [husband]I am a suvasina praying to the pimpal [sacred fig] tree Lord Vishnunarayan, give me a happy family lifeIt is early morning, Sukhadeva [god of the morning star] has come above the house How the early morning breeze is stinging the bodyWe didn’t get a good harvest this year O woman, my husband has gone to a faraway place [in search of work]He has gone far away, leaving me alone There is no one to care for him thereDear husband, your eyes shine like the lustre of pearls Dear husband, your skin is the colour of  javas flowersDear husband, your teeth are like washed rice I am distraught and lost without youI roasted green chickpeas for you, because you like it What can I tell you, O woman, it is all drying upWhen will you come, O light of my life? When will you come, O god of my gods?<hr/>

Performer/Singer: Muktabai Ubhe Village: KolavadeHamlet: KhadakwadiTaluka: MulshiDistrict: PuneCaste: MarathaOccupation: FarmerDate: These songs and some of the information were recorded on January 6, 1996. The photographs were taken on April 30, 2017 and May 8, 2020.Poster: Sinchita Maji<a id="2593" linktype="page">Read</a> about the original Grindmill Songs Project founded by Hema Rairkar and Guy Poitevin.

Samyukta Shastri

Songs of love for the migrant away from home

দূর বহুদূর মরদ রে হায়, বিরহের জ্বালা ক্যামনে মিটাই?

வீட்டை விட்டு தொலைதூரம் சென்றுள்ள புலம்பெயர்ந்தோருக்கான காதல் பாடல்கள்

घर से दूर गए प्रवासी के लिए प्यार के गीत

گھر سے دور گئے مہاجر کے لیے پیار کے گیت

ଘରଠାରୁ ଦୂରରେ ଥିବା ପ୍ରବାସୀଙ୍କ ପାଇଁ ପ୍ରେମର ସଙ୍ଗୀତ

जगायला दूरदेशी गेलेल्यांच्या प्रेमाची गाणी

Kolavade

At present, we can only accept donations in Indian rupees by Indian citizens. All donations made to the CounterMedia Trust are eligible for exemption under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961. Here is a copy of our exemption certificate.


India is bigger than New Delhi. And people need to know more about the rest of this vast nation.


Younger, media-saturated generations are growing up knowing little about their country, but a lot about the elites of a few metros and towns. For a narrowly-owned, commercially-driven media, the dumbing down of a nation is part of standard operating procedure. The last available data of the Centre for Media Studies (CMS, Delhi) show us that reports from New Delhi account for 66 per cent of news on the front pages of major dailies. The CMS data also found that just about 0.24 per cent of front page news came out of rural India. The TV channels are not much better.PARI exists to change that.We are a non-profit organisation. We publish under creative commons, and do not charge readers a subscription fee or put-up advertisements. Nothing is behind a paywall and we are completely free-to-access by anyone. We guard our independence and receive no direct grants from governments and corporations, nor any funding that could dictate our content. So, we are dependent on volunteer labour, donations from individuals, foundations and institutions that see value in independent and free media.PARI is changing the way Indian journalism reports and documents the rural.India is more than the elite of a few metros and towns. We report on rural lives and livelihoods, languages, communities, migrants and more. We need your help to pull off this most ambitious of Indian journalistic endeavours. The scale of this effort costs money. Donate generously - and spread the word about PARI.&nbsp;

Donate FAQs


Let’s get you acquainted

Welcome to PARI

All our content is, and will forever be free to consume. If you enjoy our work, you can support us by becoming a volunteer or by donating to help fund our work.

Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

IN TELUGU - Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

Songs of love for the migrant away from home

Related stories

A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai

Living on ravaged land

Biswas and the bamboos on his bike

Recycling energy, Godda style

Bhadels of Goa

Pookadai: still throbbing with morning life

Koli Kadlas

Malnourishment high among children of migrants: study

Wheels of the rural Indian West

Living Under a Red Cloud in Bellary

Vedla – earrings of the Maher community

Dreaming of water, drowning in debt

Kali: the dancer and his dreams

Farmer's diet worse than a convict's

In Yavatmal, life goes on

Suicides are about the living, not the dead

Death of a carpenter

Hoisa Shigmo!

Women farmers: weaving a life in Anantapur

Defiant in Dhinkia

Spice and all that's nice

Kerala's Green Army

The ‘jugaad’ not-a-mobile

Health as someone else's wealth

Calibrating in a Kudumbashree assembly unit