I was born in the undivided Kalahandi district, where drought, starvation, hunger-driven deaths and distress migrations were an integral part of people’s lives. As a young boy and later as a journalist, I witnessed and reported these matters vividly and rigorously. So I have an understanding of why people migrate, who migrates, what conditions force them to migrate, how they earn their livelihood – working way beyond their physical strength.
It was also ‘normal’ that when they were most in need of government support, they were abandoned. Without food, without water, without transport and compelled to walk hundreds of kilometres to distant places – many of them without even a pair of chappals.
It hurts me, since I have an emotional alignment, a connection with the people here – as if I were one of them. For me, they are certainly my people. So I was badly disturbed and felt helpless seeing the same people, the same communities, take yet another beating. That provoked me – and I am no poet - to pen these words and verse.
