In the Konkan town of Kumta, I visited the Sahyadri Cashew Processing factory run by Mr Murlidhar Prabhu. He is a relative of a relative. I was particularly impressed that he hired a lot of women in his factory. Of the more than 250 people he employs, only 8 were men and more than 240 were women. WoW!

“But do they like working here,” I asked. “Most of our new workers are younger daughters, sisters, and relatives of those already working here,” he explained, implying that if the pay was not good, or work conditions onerous, workers would not be bringing other family members in to work. Within a few years of working the women are able to save a decent amount of money. They generally leave when they get married and move out of town. Their ability to earn a living also makes them more marriageable, to a better person and gives them the confidence to seek other jobs wherever they move.

We need more such social entrepreneurs in the villages and towns of India. No! We do not need more television sets, or dainty models selling shampoo, or fancy soaps. Certainly not coffee shops or liquor bars or 'menthol' cigarettes or posh grocery stores. So the next time you munch on the nuts, remember all the folks working in the factories in rural india and elsewhere whose job depends on your choices. Did I mention nuts are actually very good for you?

The hard, gray, raw cashew seeds, perched below the fruit are collected and dried. Seeds are first steamed and allowed to cool in large heaps on the factory floor. The quick heating and cooling causes the kernel to separate from the shell. Operating steam boilers and loading /unloading large bags of cashew seeds was the only tasks in this factory performed by men. Women handled all other jobs here.

After cooling, women on tables with rudimentary cutters expertly position each seed in a v-grip using the hand lever. Then a foot operated lever snips the outer shell longitudinally in half. Cut seeds tumble through a hopper to a basket on the floor.

… where another woman separates the whole nut kernel from the shell. The gray shell has corrosive agents and women rub oil on their hands to protect from the corrosive effects. The shells are sold off to companies which extract oils, which are apparently an important ingredient in marine paint used on ships and docks. May explain why most ships are painted gray?

The sorting tables were in a large well-lit area.

Kumta is a sleepy township. The busiest part of town is Main Street, called paent, which is only a few blocks long. The place for any and all your shopping. Its where all the locals 'hang-out' too. There is not much else to do in Kumta. Rest and relax.

And best of all – I get to speak konkani all over town! My konkani is good enough, I easily pass off as “from Mumbai” (which is not incorrect)! Yes, every shop-owner, rickshaw driver, stall-wallah, lady selling vegetables, and their brother speaks Konkani. So even among strangers, I feel at home.

In the mornings, the local market is buzzing. It's only a few rows of vegetables and fruits. And not surprisingly, friendly folks and juicy vegetable and fruits everywhere.

Join me for a short tour of the Kumta Vegetable Market!

This pair of smiley guys seemed to have the biggest stall there.

These brinjals (?) were mouth watering. Appears to be a hybrid between a “Gullaen” and the brinjal. Can someone shed more light on this?

Yes! MANGOES! BTW, this was from our May-June trip. Those little green ones are deceptively sweet. Called manik-bhat, a local variety and very popular all over the konkan coast.

Who said, sucking up cannot be sweet!
Thats the way to eat the manik-bhat mangoes. Wash (optional), pinch the stem and make a small hole. Gently roll and squeeze the mango, so the pulp is ejected into your mouth. Suck, fast. Discard the leftover at a nearby cow who will glady finish it off

As I negotiated my way around the market shooting pics and striking conversation with the shop-keepers, this girl selling a grab-bag of spices and colors was giggling. Not sure what she found humorous. When I turned my camera on her, … she was full of modesty.

For every guy who ever wondered: What women really want?
The largest crowd was in front of this stall which sold bangles, earrings, nose-rings, bracelets, anklets and other trinkets. Note the women who have orange flowers in their hair (3rd from left; 2nd and 4th from right). Those are the traditional aboli flower strands, very common in the konkan. (see next pic).

On the market, a woman was selling these (l to r) drumsticks topped with woven aboli flower strands; dainty lady-fingers (a longer and delicate version of the Okra available in the US); a ripe pineapple; more drumsticks (these appear less fleshy) and a bowl with more flower stringers.

My visits to Kumta are times for introspection. While M stays at home and rests and lazes around, I walk the markets, the alleys, the temples, and talk, talk and talk. With the guy selling mangoes, the vegetable seller, the woman here, the flower seller there, the shopkeeper elsewhere. I want to know them, see the world from their eyes. With all my education and training, what can I do for them? What can you do for them?

Strolling through someones orchards, I came upon a small cinder-block shed buzzing with activity. Inside were a group of young girls busy making 'papads.' These girls had a machine going, and were churning out hundreds of papads right before my eyes. WoW! Apparently one of the women had gotten a small loan, and started selling papads and other konkani foods to local businesses. I had read a lot about small loans given to women in rural india. Here I saw it in action!

There was one older 'maam' who was tending an industrial blender in the corner, making the papad atta. Then, in a smoothly running assembly line, small dough rolls were hand kneaded, flattened and fed in a powered roller, resulting in a long thin wafer of dough, which was placed on a strip of heavy duty plastic sheet. Other girls immediately attacked it with papad-cutters (sharp-edged round plates; see lady in blue saree has one in her hand) and trimmed the edges. Trimmings went back in the dough mixer! The plastic sheeting was hung out in the sun and after they had partially dried, the papads were gently removed and allowed to dry further on mats.

It was amazing to see the girls operate flawlessly. And the entire time, the girls were smiling and joking with each other (and giggling – surprised to see me showing an interest and taking pics). They offered me some of the papad dough for taste (this too is a delicacy). They make other konkani foods depending upon the demand and I ordered 300 papads. One of them brought the freshly made papads to our home in the evening. They were a fraction of what I would pay here in the US! It was not the price, as much as supporting these young women in their enterprise. They probably use the money to buy food, school supplies and support their family.

Notice how happy and content the girls look. Everyone seems enthused to be there working, earning some money in this bare cinder-block shed, with not a chair in site. Compare that with us and our own colleagues in office parks, pampered with air-conditioning, cafeterias, free munchies and perks. How very fortunate are we! Next time you buy a papad from Kumta, think of these hardworking girls!

There are flowers everywhere. Marigolds heaped on tarpaulins on the ground and sold by weight, champae in tiny baskets and sold by the number and delicately wrapped in broad leaves, the dazzling array of long streamers, as well as the colour co-ordinated gajras of mesmerizing blooms, the cacophony of the sellers and buyers screaming and jostling all contributed to a spectacular audio visual symphony. It was an exquisitely delightful experience, one that I am sure to revisit in the near future.

More than the colorful flowers, the smiles on the flower sellers stayed in my mind. From the woman sitting cross-legged on the ground weaving busily, to the young men weighing the flowers, the older gentleman convincing you to buy the garlands, to the young lady with matted hair selling fragrant lotuses – they all had beaming smiles on their faces.

They probably had to wakeup very, very early in the morning to be in a choice location to sell the flowers here (we got there around 7:00 am). Their sales probably determined what they ate for dinner, or if they went hungry. I would cringe whenever my sister-in-law bargained for a few rupees. I would nudge her, “just give her the money!” Many a times it appeared that their whole life belongings were right there in that little jholi by their feet, yet their grace and joy with the world came through loud and clear.

Whenever I complain about silly things, I think of these flower sellers and see how fortunate I am to have so much. Why then do I complain? Maybe more people in the world need to see these flower sellers and derive inspiration for their own lives. It is not how much wealth you have, it is your attitude towards life.

Seven more pictures