India: Picking up the Strands

By Surekha Kadapa-Bose

When Sanjida Ishak Malik, a metric-fail and mother of three, walked out of her husband's home in 1996, she had no idea of how she would fend for herself. She certainly hadn't imagined that she would one day be the proprietor of a firm with an annual turnover of more than Rs 800,000 (US$1=Rs39.3).

The reason Sanjida left the 'security' of her marital home was that her husband and his family wanted her to abandon her third child, a daughter. "She is my daughter, God's beautiful gift to me. Why should I abandon her just because she is a girl?" she says vehemently.

As the eldest of five children of a helper in a factory, Sanjida was married off to a 'zari' worker as soon as she came of age, in 1991. The marriage was fraught with problems from the very beginning. Dowry demands and the misbehaviour of the in-laws were part of everyday life.

When her first son was born, her husband's family didn't allow her to breastfeed the child and kept him away from her. Despite the mental torture, physical abuse and harassment, she decided to stick it out, hoping that things would eventually improve after the birth of her second son.

Her parents and siblings stood by her through the trying times and kept urging her to return home with the children. "But I was very obstinate. I told my parents that as they had got me married I would stick to it even if I end up killing myself," recalls the 30-plus Sanjida.

But when her in-laws came to know that their third grandchild was a girl and threatened Sanjida with dire consequences if she brought her home from hospital, she decided to end it all. "My daughter is beautiful. Even at the hospital when the nurses heard my in-laws' ultimatum they offered to look after my baby in case I wanted to leave her behind," she says.

Sanjida's parents welcomed her and her two children with open arms. The elder son, unfortunately, remained with his father. Once home, she wasn't one to burden her parents any further. So, she joined the NGO, Nav Nirman Samaj Vikas Kendra, located close to her home in 1997. Here she learnt tailoring and was eventually even paid a stipend. Rewarding her dedication and skill, she was promoted as junior supervisor with a salary of Rs 1,800 a month. Three years later, when she quit due to an altercation with one of the supervisors, Sanjida was drawing a monthly income of around Rs 2,200.

She was lucky to immediately get another job, this time as a helper at an AIDS awareness and rehabilitation centre in Dahisar, the outermost suburb of Mumbai, with a slight jump in her monthly pay packet - Rs 3,300.

Then, about a year-and-half later she learnt that the tailoring section of Nav Nirman Vikas Kendra had closed down. "I started wondering about the fate women who were in the same situation as me. I was lucky to have the complete support of my parents and siblings. But most women don't," says Sanjida.

So, on one weekly off day, she decided to meet up with some of her former colleagues and realised that most of them were in dire straits financially. "If nothing was done, many of them would have had resort to work that they didn't want to do or work as maidservants. This was when I decided to start an organisation on my own."

Sure of her expertise in needlework and also of her managerial capabilities, Sanjida approached Nav Nirman to give her the contact numbers of some of the NGO's overseas clients, especially those based in Switzerland, who were supplied finished embroidered products.

However, not being conversant in written and spoken English and lacking computer skills was a major drawback for Sanjida, especially while courting foreign clients. But here too fortune favoured her. Her youngest sister, Shanaaz, who was then studying for B.Com, offered to help. The sisters contacted potential clients through e-mails and then Sanjida managed to secure her first order.

She hired a room in the Malawani slums in Malad, a Mumbai suburb, bought some sewing machines and set up SM "Creative" in 2001 with just six members. "With the help of a Rs 25,000 loan from Nav Nirman, we started out. And once the first batch of products - embroidered home furnishings - was approved, there was no looking back," recalls Shanaaz.

Today, this all-woman outfit - the strength has increased to 10 - manufactures and exports to a Swiss company. Their annual turnover is over Rs 800,000. The women are paid according to the amount of embroidery work they do in a day - about Rs 15 per 150 embroidered cross-stitches. Though Sanjida is looking out for domestic clients, she cannot set up a retail outlet, as the real estate prices in Mumbai are sky-high.

With the profits earned, Sanjida bought and added a floor to her workshop and also took a loan to buy a small flat in a MHADA (Maharastra Housing and Development Association) colony, near her workshop, where her entire family stays.

Her business plan attracted a lot of attention when it was selected from thousand such proposals by a panel comprising experts from the Mumbai-based S. P. Jain Institute of Management and eminent personalities from the corporate and social sector - a process that is managed by Citibank every year. Her sister, Shanaaz and she sent the application for Citigroup's micro-financial award. And she was conferred with the West zone's Micro-credit award in 2005 for Social Responsibility.

It is not just providing employment for downtrodden women that makes Sanjida's venture stand out from others, but her dedication and innovative ideas to really uplift women in her locality. From last year, on the ground floor of her workshop, she has started a free three-month tailoring class for poor women. "Many of these women, who largely belong to the minority community, are illiterate. We teach them tailoring hoping that if ever a need arises they could eke a living with dignity," hopes Sanjida.

Then Sanjida also has health volunteers from hospitals coming in once a month to talk to the slum women about the importance of hygiene, cleanliness, health, sex, and family planning. These sessions have become very popular with the women of the slum. Says and employee, Sanjida aapa's (elder sister) has taught us so many things about life. I didn't know how to read and write. Now I can sign my own name."

(Courtesy: Women's Feature Service)