We can buy almost everything, but not happiness. To truly be happy, make someone else happy.

It is said by many, “Happiness doesn’t result from what we get, but from what we give.”

We often take many things around us for granted. Modern civilization has undergone a dramatic transformation with modernization, but I’m sure it didn’t happen overnight. Just as a tree bears fruit and flowers only after a seed is planted and its roots nurtured, the age-old traditional know-hows and basic life skills must have laid the foundation for many of our civilized practices today. Some of these practices are not only still in use in remote areas but also support livelihoods for many.

As a member of the South Asian Study Initiatives (SASI), a nonprofit dedicated to raising awareness and building support systems for indigenous artisans, I am often moved by the stories I come across. Dr. Annapurna Pandey ji, a founding member of SASI, once shared her experience visiting a Thengapali village, where women not only struggle to earn a living but also work tirelessly to protect their nearby forests.

Inspired by her account, during my visit to India in 2025, I set out for a village on February 11th. I met Bhagyalakshmi Biswal from the Vasundhara Organization in Ranapur, about 30 km away from Bhubaneswar. She educated us about the village we were about to visit, a further 45 km drive deep into the dense forest.

Gochha, a village in Barasahi Gram Panchayat of Sarankul Tehsil, Nayagarh district, Odisha, is the last settlement before the forest begins. With just 49 households of modest mud homes and a small population of 186, Gochha isn’t a place that often finds itself on maps or milestones. But I was told that this village has always drawn its strength from nature and from the quiet resilience of its women.

Upon arrival, I was welcomed by a cheerful women’s group busy preparing for an upcoming Devi festival. Their energy was infectious, and the miraculous tribal goddess stories they shared gave me goosebumps. Later, we gathered in a small, old, dilapidated room, where they shared their struggles and daily routines.

There, I had the privilege of witnessing firsthand the remarkable craftsmanship of tribal women who create eco-friendly disposable plates and bowls from Shala and Siali leaves. This traditional skill, passed down through generations, not only sustains their livelihoods but also offers an environmentally sustainable alternative to plastic, contributing meaningfully to forest conservation. I learned how these women venture deep into the forest early each morning to collect Shala and Siali vine leaves and then stitch them meticulously with natural sticks to create disposable tableware. If uninterrupted, a woman can produce up to 400 pieces per day, but household responsibilities often limit this potential.

Despite their resilience and skill, these women face many challenges: limited access to markets, inadequate resources, and a lack of financial support to scale their production. They earn just ₹40-₹100 for 100 leaf plates, making between ₹3,000 to ₹6,000 a month. It is barely enough to support their families. Phone networks are poor within a 2–3 km radius. Though the fertile forest soil helps supplement their food supply with fresh vegetables, protecting these crops from wild animals remains a constant challenge.

When I asked about the role of men in the village, their responses were heartbreaking. Most men do not have steady jobs, and many spend their earnings on local alcohol. Some even become abusive and demand a share of the women’s hard-earned income to fund their drinking habits. The women had bravely protested the establishment of a local alcohol production unit, but liquor still finds its way in. As a result, the burden of running the household and raising children rests solely on women’s shoulders.

Education is another uphill battle. The primary school is 2 km away, and the nearest high school is 20 km away. I learned that only two children from the village have ever pursued education beyond the 10th grade.