Bakhel is a typical rural Indian subsistence farming village. Spread out over an area a couple of kilometres by a couple of kilometres, in the plain between a low set of (once dense, now a little sparce due to deforestation) jungle covered hills and a seasonal river, eight hamlets sit, one of which is Andat; the home of our school. In Andat there are 100 households, with around 5-6 people in each. Some people we know have just two children, others seven. In the summer months from March until July the river is totally dry, then the monsoons come and it rages after each downpour, becoming impassable. When the river has water it is used for crop irrigation, washing, cleaning clothes and for drinking water. When it is dry people become dependent on the village’s wells and hand-pumps, some of which completely dry out each year.

Between the hills and the river it is relatively flat, but when the rains fall heavily it runs fast enough to wash away top soil and clog the wells, this is an annual and accumulative problem. Much of the flat area is farmed, with the main crop very much being maize, then some wheat here and there, and near the wells, vegetable gardens. Lack of sufficient vegetables is a real problem in the village, and much ill health results from a poor diet.

The fields look wonderful after the monsoons; directly after, grey cattle in wooden yolks oscillate over the glistening saturated soil, pulling a single wooden hand-cut (everything here is hand made) plough blade, with perhaps a couple of children crouched on it to keep it in the soil. A man in a dhoti, a single piece of cotton wrapped to form trousers, guides the proceedings with a stick and grunts at the cattle. Women follow behind in brightly coloured saris, dropping seed into the furrow.

A few weeks later the land is awash with green, and this with all the palms makes it place look very lush. This is deceiving; many people go without much of the time, life isn’t easy guaranteed here.

During the summer though it is a different picture; the land is dry and dusty. Nothing grows and only the resilient palm trees hold green. Livestock become thin and dirt devils race across the village, sometimes throwing tiles off houses and shaking trees. Even when the rains come again nothing is for certain. The first rains always brings illness as wells and hand pumps become infected with dirt washed into the water from the ground. Livestock and people may die. Rain doesn’t necessarily mean crop success either. Too little and the yield is poor, too much and the roots drown, or the fast waters wash crops over, and again the yield is poor, often worse than drought years.

Everyone lives near their fields, so the houses are accordingly dispersed. Daily life begins with the rising of the sun at around 6.30, and similarly it ends soon after it sets in the evening. People fetch water from the wells and hand pumps in terracotta and metal pots. The women largely do this, but also the children and the men to a lesser degree, and us of course! There are other chores to do, sweeping the house, taking out the goats and cattle, taking a bath, washing clothes and, if there is enough food, taking breakfast and tea. Once this is done the men and women go to the fields during the growing and harvest season, or to manual labour work, if they have it, in the dry months. Many families are forced to migrate long distances to search for poorly paid and sometimes dangerous labour work, just to get food to eat. The children have to work too.

The houses are largely made of mud and stones, with rough wood roof structures supporting hand made tiles. A house generally has one windowless room for cooking and storage and sleeping in the winter, and one three-walled area for sleeping in the summer, eating and housing the animals. Every aspect of life happens in these two rooms. People sleep on a mat on the floor, perhaps a couple of cement bags sewn together, or a handmade one of cotton if the family is better off. Each home will also have at least one ‘cot’, a wooden bed frame with rope, made from palm fronds, woven over it. The women and babies sleep on these, and the men on the floor. They are also used to greet guests, and carried out into the fields and put under trees for comfortable siestas.

There is no electricity in the village, or telephones, gas, running water, sewage disposal or anything that comes under the utilities title. We are so used to all these things in the UK and else where, that it is all too easy to just forget that even the simplest measures of an easy life aren’t there.