Siddi community livelihood: How a Siddi Woman Built a Village Livelihood Through Pig Farming:

In many rural parts of India, especially within historically marginalized communities, or the Siddi community livelihood is not a matter of choice—it is a matter of survival. People do not ask, “What work do I want to do?” They ask, “What work is available today?”

For the Siddi community, this question has been repeated across generations. Daily wage labour, seasonal agricultural work, migration to cities, construction sites, sugar factories, brick kilns—these have become the default options, not because of lack of ability, but because of lack of access, guidance, and opportunity.

This is why the story of Pushpa bastav advapachi ( BasanGavdi)her nick name, a Siddi woman from a small village, matters deeply. Not because she became rich. Not because her journey was easy. But because she chose to build something where she was, with no financial backing, no training, no schemes, and no outside support.

Her story challenges many assumptions: Siddi community livelihood
• That pig farming is shameful
• That women cannot manage livestock independently
• That migration is the only way out
• That people from marginalized communities lack discipline or vision
Most importantly, her story shows that self-dependence is possible, even in the hardest conditions—if the right knowledge, moral support, and collective encouragement are available.

My native village itself is a Siddi village. Whenever I visit, I make it a point to talk to people—not formally, not as an organisation, but simply as a community member. These conversations usually happen near houses, under trees, during evening hours, or while people return from work.
The discussions are almost always the same:

Siddi community livelihood, what can be done to improve Siddi community livelihood, some times personal problems of families
• No regular work
• Children going to cities
• Uncertainty of income
• Fear about safety and exploitation
• Dependence on contractors
Often, we talk about small livelihood ideas—vegetable cultivation, poultry, goats, tailoring, small shops, value addition. These discussions are not about big profits. They are about staying back in the village and surviving with dignity.

Often, we talk about small Siddi community livelihood ideas—vegetable cultivation, poultry, goats, tailoring, small shops, value addition. These discussions are not about big profits. They are about staying back in the village and surviving with dignity and Siddi community livelihood

During one such conversation, someone casually mentioned that Pushpa (Basan gavdi) aunty and her son were doing pig farming. The tone was neutral, almost dismissive. Nobody spoke about it as an achievement. It was mentioned like just another activity. Later, the same discussion revealed that two other Siddi youths from nearby villages were also running piggery units. That caught my attention.

Pig farming is not commonly encouraged in our community. In fact, it carries strong stigma—social, cultural, and even internal shame. Hearing that people were quietly doing it made me curious.
When I asked where Pushpa ( Basangavdi )aunt’s farm was, I realized it was barely 4 kilometers from my village. Basan aunty is my distant relative from my father’s side, but like many extended family connections in villages, we had lost touch over time.

I had heard earlier that her son had pigs, but people spoke about it very lightly. I assumed it was temporary or insignificant. I did not realize it had become their main livelihood.
That moment made me uncomfortable. How could such a strong, long-running effort remain invisible even within our own community?
I decided to visit her farm and listen directly from her—without assumptions, without judgement.

We had car, but the road leading to the farm was extremely bad. The path was uneven, muddy in parts, and surrounded by forest land. It was not possible to take the car.

Walking both ways was also not practical. We were short on time and had to return to Mumbai the same evening. On top of that, the sun was harsh, and the terrain was difficult.

It was sugarcane harvesting season. Most villagers were in the fields. My husband went around asking if anyone could either lend a bike or drop us. people where busy in the process of cutting sugarcane and could not come—not because they didn’t want to help, but because they were dependent on daily wages, had to load and reach the sugar factory within a given time, and could not leave work.

Finally, one neighbour agreed to take us on his bike he left his work and came to take us

There was another issue—only one bike for three people. My husband suggested that I go ahead while he walked behind. After some discussion, we decided to go together. It was not ideal, but circumstances left us no option.

The road was bumpy, narrow, and passed through forest patches. The ride itself felt symbolic—livelihoods like pushpa aunty’s are always located on such roads: difficult, neglected, and invisible.

Siddi community livelihood:The First Meeting

As we approached the farm, we heard loud barking. Nearly ten dogs surrounded the area. The land was slightly hilly, and the farm was located away from the main settlement.
For a moment, we hesitated.

Soon someone came out and chased the dogs away. Because of his previous back surgery, my husband felt uncomfortable riding further and got down midway. He decided to walk carefully.
From a small house beside the pig enclosure, Pushpa aunty stepped out. The moment she saw me, her expression changed.
She smiled and said,
“When I saw you, I felt like my brother was walking towards me.”
That sentence carried years of shared identity, kinship, and trust. It reminded me how deep community bonds run—even when contact is lost.

Her house was small. The piggery stood right beside it. I noticed hesitation in her body language. She did not immediately ask us to sit or offer water.
Later, I understood why.
She was embarrassed.
Not because she lacked hospitality—but because she feared we might feel uncomfortable due to the smell, the pigs, or the setting. This embarrassment is not personal. It is socially taught. Pig farming is repeatedly portrayed as “dirty” or “low,” even when it feeds families.
I reassured her immediately:
“Aunty, I have come because you are doing pig farming. I know how farms are. Please don’t feel uncomfortable.”
Only after that did she relax and start speaking openly.

Pushpa aunty is in her 60s. She lost her husband many years ago. After that, life became about survival—daily wage work, agricultural labour, and uncertainty. Some days there was work, some days there wasn’t. Income depended on seasons and landowners. There was no security.
One of her sons had migrated to Mangalore for work. There, he earned around ₹7,000 per month—a modest income even by village standards. But that job exposed him to something new.
He worked at a place where pigs were reared. Over time, he learned:
• Feeding practices
• Cleaning and hygiene
• Basic disease management
• Breeding cycles
He did not learn this from books or training programs. He learned by doing—slowly, practically.

During this time, a nun who knew the family well spoke to him. She had worked around our village area for years and understood the lack of livelihood options.
She asked him:
“What will you do when you return to the village?”
She suggested he learn driving so he could earn regularly.
But his mind was already clear. He did not want to be a driver. He wanted to start piggery in his village.
This decision was not impulsive. It came from observing how pigs grow fast, reproduce well, and require comparatively lower investment.

Saving Without Support

He applied for a bank loan. It was rejected because the land was ancestral and not registered individually.
So he returned to Mangalore and continued working.
Quietly, without telling his family, he started saving through a post office recurring deposit (RD). This required discipline—something often underestimated in marginalised communities.
Over time, he saved ₹1 lakh.
Only after returning to the village did he tell his mother.

Resistance and Fear

Pushpa aunty was not happy initially. Her concerns were valid:
• Pig farming has stigma
• It requires daily labour
• It involves health risks
• There was no guidance
She feared loss more than anything.
Her son insisted. Finally, he said he did not want a share in ancestral property—only a small piece of land to start.
They consulted the church priest, who encouraged them and helped connect them with piglet suppliers.

They booked 10 piglets from Sirsi. Piglets are usually sold in batches. Younger piglets cost less, while older piglets cost more because the seller has already spent money on feed and care.
On the pickup day, the driver—his cousin—could not come because his father had passed away.

Transporting pigs is expensive, and most vehicle owners refuse to carry them.
By the time they reached Sirsi, the piglets they had selected were already sold out.
The remaining piglets were older and more expensive. They did not have that money.
So they bought a new batch—8 female and 2 male piglets, smaller in size.

Managing Without Resources

The son took up early morning work at a sugar factory. In the evenings, he collected leftover food waste from hotels.
Basan aunty managed the farm almost entirely alone:
• Feeding
• Cleaning
• Monitoring health
• Protecting the pigs
She also ensured her other children continued going to school.
The days were exhausting. The future was uncertain. But they did not stop.

There came a point when the physical and emotional workload became too heavy to manage. Pig farming demanded constant attention—feeding, cleaning, monitoring health, and protecting the animals—day after day, without rest. At the same time, her son was working long hours at the sugar factory to keep some money coming into the household. Most of the daily responsibility fell on pushpa aunty alone.

She was exhausted. The work was relentless, and the family had underestimated how demanding pig farming could be, especially without proper infrastructure, experience, or external support. With no certainty about income and mounting fatigue, they reached a difficult decision: they would sell all the pigs and step away from the work that was an impulsive decision, though the son never wanted to stop.

Word spread that pigs were available for sale, and soon buyers from Dharwad arrived at the farm. Pushpa aunty and her son had very limited experience with livestock trading. They did not know standard market practices, payment norms, or how transactions were usually secured. Like many first-time producers, they relied on trust rather than contracts or advance payment.

The buyers assured them that payment would be made later. They said the money would be given in Haliyal, where her son was working at the sugar factory. Believing their words, and under pressure to sell quickly, Pushpa aunty allowed the pigs to be loaded into the vehicle.

What followed happened fast. One by one, the pigs and piglets were taken away. By the time she fully realised the risk, the vehicle was already loaded. Despite asking for payment before they left, the buyers insisted they would return or settle the amount later.

They never did.

The buyers drove away with almost the entire stock—months of labour, savings, and hope—leaving behind only two female pigs. Those two were not taken because they had just delivered piglets and were not fit for transport.

No payment ever came. The buyers did not answer calls or return to the village. In a single day, the family lost nearly everything they had built.

That moment could have ended the piggery completely. It could have pushed Pushpa aunty back into daily wage labour and forced her son to migrate again. instead of giving up, they chose—slowly and painfully—to begin again.

After losing almost all their pigs to cheating buyers, Pushpa aunty and her son were left with very little—financially and emotionally. For a brief time, giving up seemed like the sensible option. They had already faced loss, exhaustion, and betrayal. Starting again meant risking more effort without any guarantee of success, but she saw her son was not happy, so she decided to take charge and they decided not to quit.

This decision did not come from confidence or security. It came from necessity, self-respect, and the understanding that returning to daily wage labour or migration would bring its own hardships. They chose to rebuild slowly, with caution and lessons learned the hard way.

Her son brought two male pigs from another Siddi farmer in Dodhakhop—someone they knew and trusted. This was an important shift. Instead of dealing with unknown traders, they began relying on community connections where accountability existed. The investment was small, but it was deliberate. so they again started their farm with 2 female and 2 male pigs

From that moment onward, Pushpa aunty made one rule very clear to everyone who came to buy pigs: “First payment, then pigs.”

There would be no exceptions. No promises, no delayed payments, no loading of animals without money in hand. This rule was not about mistrust—it was about survival. Having been cheated once, she understood that clarity and firmness were necessary to protect her work.

To strengthen their sense of safety, they also began keeping several dogs around the farm. The dogs serve a practical purpose. They alert the family when someone approaches the farm and discourage strangers from entering without permission. This has helped Pushpa aunty feel more secure, especially since she spends long hours alone managing the animals.

Over time, the farm slowly stabilised. With experience, observation, and consistent effort, pig breeding became more predictable. Today, each pig gives birth to around 10 to 14 piglets per cycle. Pushpa aunty personally manages the deliveries. She stays with the animals during labour and ensures that the piglets begin feeding immediately after birth. She has learned through experience that if piglets do not feed properly in the first few hours, many do not survive beyond two or three days.

Her son now focuses on veterinary coordination and medical care. He ensures vaccinations are given on time, medicines are arranged when required, and sick animals are treated early. For piglets, proper fodder mixed with vitamins is used, and waste food is strictly avoided during the early stages to prevent illness.

Alongside piggery, Pushpa aunty has also expanded into free-range poultry. She currently rears around 200 hens, which move freely around the farm. She earns from both eggs and meat, selling them directly within the village. Local families prefer buying from her because the birds are raised naturally, and the eggs are fresh. This additional activity has helped diversify the family’s income and reduce dependence on pig sales alone.

What exists today is not a large or formal enterprise. It is a carefully built livelihood shaped by experience, loss, learning, and discipline. Every rule, routine, and decision on the farm reflects lessons earned the hard way—and a quiet determination to move forward without depending on anyone else.

Even though Pushpa aunty has built a stable livelihood through years of effort, the journey is far from over. Several challenges continue to make her work physically demanding and socially complicated.

Firstly, technical guidance is lacking. She has learned everything through experience, observation, and trial-and-error. While this has worked remarkably well, proper training in animal husbandry, hygiene, breeding management, and veterinary care could significantly improve the farm’s efficiency and reduce losses.

Secondly, the housing for the pigs is not structured or formal. The pens were built using available materials over time and were designed with functionality in mind, rather than technical efficiency. Properly designed shelters could improve animal health, make cleaning easier, and reduce stress for both animals and caregivers.

Thirdly, the feed situation is challenging. Currently, the farm depends largely on rice husk and other externally sourced feed. While this sustains the pigs, it is not nutritionally balanced, and price fluctuations or availability can directly affect the livelihood. If they could grow and process their own feed, the cost would be lower, and the animals would be healthier. However, there is no access to affordable grain processing nearby, and purchasing processed feed or hiring someone to do it is expensive.

Another challenge is the social stigma associated with pig farming. Even today, many people in the village and surrounding areas look down upon piggery. Visitors sometimes hesitate to come near the farm, and this social judgement can make Pushpa aunty feel embarrassed, especially when outsiders refuse to enter her house or stand outside while she continues her work.

Despite these hurdles, she maintains a resilient perspective. She does not complain or blame circumstances. As she says simply:

“By God’s grace, we are doing fine now.”

This statement reflects her acceptance, perseverance, and sense of dignity. She recognizes that while the work is hard, her family is safe, her children are earning, and they are together—something she values far more than comfort or recognition. For Pushpa aunty, progress is measured not just in monetary gains, but in stability, independence, and the ability to live with dignity in her own village.

Before her son returned to the village, Pushpa aunty lived with constant worry. While he was working in Mangalore, she had no way of knowing whether he was eating properly, whether he was safe, or whether he might be exploited in an unfamiliar city environment. Like many mothers in rural communities, her days were filled with anxiety and uncertainty. Each night, she would think about how her children were coping far from home, often relying on odd jobs or low-paying work to survive.

Now, with her son working in the village itself, she has regained a deep sense of peace. She can see him every day, eat meals together, and supervise the work on the farm as a family. She says simply:

“I can see my son every day. I don’t worry anymore. We are together.”

This presence brings more than comfort—it allows the family to coordinate, share responsibilities, and face challenges as a team. Pushpa aunty can oversee the farm, manage the piglets, and ensure that her children are attending school, all while supporting her son in the work he does. The emotional relief of having the family together cannot be measured in monetary terms, yet it is invaluable to her quality of life.

At the same time, she reflects on the larger Siddi community livelihood. Many children are forced to migrate to cities for daily wage labour, exposing them to long working hours, unsafe conditions, and exploitation. Pushpa aunty worries for them deeply, aware that these children often leave home out of necessity rather than choice. In contrast, she feels a sense of pride and security knowing that her family remains in the village, working with dignity, earning an honest living, and staying safe from harm.

Her story underscores an important lesson: sustainable Siddi community livelihoods in the village not only provide income but also protect families from the vulnerabilities of migration. Being together, being safe, and being self-reliant—these are the true markers of success for Pushpa aunty.

Supporting Pushpa aunt’s farm is not about giving charity—it’s about recognizing strength, resilience, and potential. What she has built with her own effort is remarkable. She has shown persistence, learned from mistakes, and created a livelihood despite limited resources, social stigma, and lack of formal support. What she needs now is guidance and connection, not handouts.

AKSSADA may not have substantial financial resources to offer, but we do have something equally valuable: knowledge, networks, and moral support grounded in grassroots understanding. Through our collective experience and community connections, we can link her and others like her to technical experts, veterinary professionals, and experienced mentors who can help improve productivity, hygiene, animal health, and overall farm management.

For example:

Knowledge Sharing: Simple advice on feed management, animal health, breeding, and hygiene can drastically improve the farm’s efficiency and output.

Networks: Connecting her with other farmers, suppliers, and local service providers ensures she has access to affordable inputs and trustworthy buyers.

Moral Support: Pig farming still carries social stigma. Encouragement and recognition of her work can help her maintain confidence, motivate her to expand, and inspire other women in the Siddi community to pursue similar livelihoods.

Grassroots Understanding: We understand village realities, local constraints, and practical solutions. Our guidance is tailored, achievable, and culturally sensitive, so it can be implemented successfully.

By providing technical, veterinary, and emotional guidance, AKSSADA helps empower women like Pushpa (Basan Gavdi)aunty to grow sustainable livelihoods, reduce dependence on migration, and create secure employment opportunities at the village level. This is about investing in dignity and self-reliance, rather than providing temporary relief.

The message is clear: support is not charity—it is enabling strength. With the right knowledge, connections, and encouragement, Pushpa aunt’s piggery and poultry farm can become a model for Siddi women and youth across villages, demonstrating that self-reliance and village-based livelihoods are possible, practical, and empowering.

Pushpa (Basan Gavdi) journey shows us that strength, determination, and knowledge can overcome many obstacles—but no one can succeed entirely alone. She has built a stable livelihood through piggery and poultry, but to scale, sustain, and inspire others, she needs support from people who bring experience, skills, and guidance.

We are calling out to like-minded supporters—people who believe in empowering women, creating village-based livelihoods, and reducing dependency on migration. If you are a:

Livelihood expert who understands small-scale farming, livestock management, or income-generating activities;

Veterinary professional who can provide practical advice, preventive care, or emergency support for animals;

Rural development worker who has experience in grassroots community engagement, farm infrastructure, or sustainable development;

Mentor or donor who can provide guidance, networking opportunities, or moral encouragement—

We invite you to join hands with us.

When we support women like Pushpa (Basan Gavdi), the impact goes beyond a single household. Entire communities benefit—jobs are created locally, families stay together, children can attend school, and dependence on exploitative city labour is reduced. Encouraging and mentoring her is an investment in village-level development and self-sufficiency.

So, we call upon all who have skills, knowledge, or networks to extend a hand. Stand with Pushpa (Basan Gavdi). Stand for village-based livelihoods. Because when women rise, entire communities rise with them. If this story moved you and you would like to support or collaborate with us, we would love to hear from you.

Visit our website: www.akssada.org , www.akssada.com

Email us: akssada1@gmail.com

Together, we can strengthen livelihoods and create lasting impact in the Siddi community livelihood.