By Bhogtoram Mawroh
Places like Mawlai, Pynthorumkhrah and Nongmynsong have long been known to be working-class neighbourhoods because of the high number of poor people residing in these areas. This is because the rents are comparatively cheaper, attracting households from poorer economic backgrounds. I was born in Mawlai, but my parents left the place to settle in Nongmynsong, where I spent most of my childhood and adulthood. I have faint memories of my childhood in Mawlai, including a steeply inclined road that ran beside our house. Sometimes, when I pass through Nongpdeng, I try to guess which lane or house might have been where I grew up. Alas, I know no one whom I can ask who might remember our family.
While Mawlai had been classified as a Census Town since the 1970s, Nongmynsong was elevated to the status of a town only in the 2011 Census. So, for a long time, we were people of the ‘Shnong’ and not the ‘Sor’. We still had people farming, and there were fields of sweet potatoes, which my friends and I would raid from time to time to steal some tasty snacks. During the season when the radishes were in the flowering stage, white butterflies would flutter around the plants looking for a suitable place to lay their eggs. I would then use a stick to hit them while they were in mid-flight and collect them in a plastic bag to feed them to the chickens. Not far from where I lived, there was a pine forest where we would go and swing from a rope tied to the branch of one of the trees. Below the forest was the Wah Umkhrah, with its crystal-clear water and grassy banks where people would have their picnics.
I had friends from different communities, including many from poorer socio-economic backgrounds. In fact, some people I had known in my childhood are still working as daily-wage labourers. I come across them sometimes, and I feel greatly pained by it. In fact, during my college holidays, I worked as a helper to my friend in laying toilet pipes in the same building where I later studied for my Master’s degree, i.e., NEHU. However, that was for just one winter, and I never went back to doing daily-wage labour again. However, for a few of the people I grew up with, that life is all that they still know to this day.
When I was in high school, one of my friends boasted to us that there was no point in studying hard since we were not going to get a good job anyway. There was a belief that jobs, at least the better-paying ones, were reserved for those whose parents already belonged to the Don Burom class, with a reservation system already in place for their benefit. If your parents were already in a good job, usually a government job, and could afford to send you to an elite school, there was every chance that they would ensure that you got a highly sought-after job.
In recent days, there has been a lot of talk about how the selection of the Rajya Sabha candidate, James Sangma, is an example of dynastic politics. Both he and his elder brother, Conrad Sangma, the present Chief Minister, are sons of the late P. A. Sangma, a distinguished parliamentarian and former Chief Minister of the state. How many of us believe that Conrad Sangma’s elevation as the party president has nothing to do with his father’s legacy? So, while politicians talk about how we have to think beyond reservation, they will do their utmost to hoard the best opportunities for their own children and loved ones, while people from the working class are gas lighted for asking for their constitutional rights.
I find it very interesting that whenever I meet people working in the government or engaged in other highly paid professions, there is invariably someone in their family who was something or the other. In fact, it appears that everything revolves around just a few families and their extended relatives. For all our claims of being an egalitarian society, social mobility is highly restricted, with privileges being hoarded by a select few families of the Don Burom class. It was over 25 years ago that my friend remarked that we should not waste our time trying to excel in our studies since there was no hope for us. I do not think things have changed much since then.
When I cleared my matriculation examination, my late mother told me to stop studying and find a job since I was already grown up. Looking back now, I am not surprised by her advice. She had studied only up to Class III, like my dad, and her first priority was for me to immediately support the family whenever I was ready. If I had been in my village, i.e. Nongjri-Rana, I am sure I would have given up on higher studies and looked for a job. In that event, I would very likely be harvesting broom grass in my village, worrying about whether I would get a fair price for it so that I could save money for my children’s education. Though they would have liked me to get a job, my parents supported my education for as long as they could. Finally, I earned my PhD, becoming the first person from Nongmynsong to achieve that distinction. But before I got my PhD, I still had to complete my graduation.
After I cleared my Higher Secondary examination, I had a choice to make. I had done well but missed making it into the top 10 in the Arts stream. Now it was time to choose a subject for my honours degree. I wanted to take History as it was the subject I had always enjoyed. However, one of my friends persuaded me against it by revealing to me that his brother had done his Master’s in History and was currently unemployed. Perturbed, I decided to take Geography because there was an impression that it was partly a science subject and, by that logic, had more job opportunities. Having done my PhD in the subject, I would say that I was fortunate to take a subject that allowed me to gain an appreciation of both the earth sciences (geology, meteorology, etc.) as well as the social sciences (sociology, anthropology, political science, etc.), and despite the fact that I have not, and may never, achieve what I deeply desire, intellectually I am quite satisfied. What I want to impress upon the readers through this story is that, as someone belonging to the working class, the choices we made were never just about personal interests but also about trying to avoid an uncertain future.
While I was still doing my BA, there was a training programme for BPOs organised at Don Bosco Institute. This was in the early days of call centres, and they were very picky at that time. I went for the training, and we had an interview at the end of it. I was not selected for the job because, according to the trainers, my accent was not neutral enough. I was very disappointed because I wanted to find a job and start earning money to help the family, even if that meant that I did not get to complete my studies. But fortunately or otherwise, I was able to complete my graduation and then my post-graduation and finally my PhD.
Looking back, I do not know if I made the right decision, but I know I am satisfied with it. There were many opportunities when I could have dropped out of my studies and entered the job market. Was not doing so the right decision? I do not know. But I understand the thousands of young people in the state who make that choice every year. This is what, in my opinion, is one of the reasons for the high dropout rates in the state. I think it should change, but that will require giving them hope that continuing with their studies gives them a better chance of having a good life. If they are convinced, the dropout rates will decline. If not, they will continue to rise, as they have over the last decade, as seen in the 2026 report School Education System in India: Temporal Analysis and Policy Roadmap for Quality Enhancement by NITI Aayog.
(The views expressed in the article are those of the author and do not reflect in any way his affiliation to any organisation or institution)
