By Aparna Pallavi

Two films about the life and work of salt workers highlight the problems of this sadly neglected sector

What is salt? How is salt made? What would happen if there were no salt?

Do these questions sound too simplistic to even be articulated? For the well-off urbanite, maybe. But for the largely invisible community of salt-makers scraping a scanty and insecure living doing the back-breaking work that goes into putting this crucial but easily available (hence under-valued) commodity onto our tables, the questions have an urgent poignancy.

Recently, two documentary films on the lives of salt-makers from Prakasam district in Andhra Pradesh revealed the raw underside of the salt-making profession to English-speaking urban audiences for the first time.

The first, titled A Pinch of Salt , produced by Logo, focuses on the problems associated with the vocation of salt-making in general. Starting with an artistic juxtaposition of slick urban sights and sounds and the surreal moonscape of blindingly white saltpans under the hot sun, the film takes you on a guided tour through the lives of the salt-makers.

The problems start with the basic input for salt-making -- land. Whether as ill-paid labourers on saltpans owned by prosperous salt traders, or as marginal salt-makers getting land under the illegal and exploitative sub-lease system from the same well-off traders, salt workers are constantly hamstrung by their insecure hold on the salt lands. As one sub-lease holder puts it: “I have paid Rs 1 lakh for my land but have no papers to prove my claim. When officials from the salt department come, I just tell them that I am a labourer working for Rs 50 per day.”

Income from salt-making does not come easy. For six months in a year, the men earn Rs 50 or less for 12 hours of work scraping salt under the blazing sun, while the women earn half this amount for carrying loads of salt from the pans to the storage platforms for an equal number of hours. The sub-leasers would have been better off but they have to get credit at exploitative rates and sell their salt for a paltry Rs 0.25 or so per kg. What's more, they have to make provision for the six off-season months. And, of course, there is always the danger of untimely rains or tidal floods that could bring work to a complete halt at any moment, pushing workers to the brink of starvation.

Low income and hard work have their obvious impacts on health and education. Children drop out of school after Standard VI or VII, either to earn much needed additional wages or to help save labour costs on the family saltpans. Women talk in simple but evocative language about their failing eyesight due to the constant glare, and the “stones in the stomach”. “Our life is a constant confrontation with death,” says one elderly worker.

The film brings certain startling facts to light -- for instance that the salt departments of both central and state governments, that are responsible for drawing up and implementing welfare schemes for salt workers, spend 80% of their revenue running their own administrations. No wonder then that there are hardly any focused welfare schemes meant especially for salt workers at either level.

The film also touches upon the question of compulsory salt iodisation. Medical and other testimonies of the meaninglessness of such a law in coastal areas, where there is no iodine deficiency owing to the ample intake of seafood, are highlighted although the exact impact of iodisation on the livelihood of the salt-makers has not been dealt with.

A Pinch of Salt places the salt workers in context by, on the one hand connecting the issue with Mahatma Gandhi's famous salt march and its importance in the freedom struggle and discussing the perceptions of today's urban middle-class about salt on the other. The half-humorous, half-satirical shots towards the end, where educated and well-off people struggle with their ignorance about salt, bring out the neglect to which this sector has been subjected to with greater immediacy than any number of statements of fact.

Warriors of Chinnaganjam is a more passionate film about the ongoing struggle of 11 villages in Chinnaganjam mandala (Prakasam district) against a high-tech private salt-production project on 565 acres of village commons land which will destroy the livelihoods of the residents -- agriculture, cattle rearing and marginal salt-making -- by contaminating groundwater, destroying grazing land and grabbing market space.

Produced by the Anti Snow White Salt Struggle Committee, Chinnaganjam, the film records the history of the struggle that has been going on since the early-'90s, through people's testimonies. The people complain that successive governments -- first the DMK and then the Congress -- have let them down despite repeated promises to cancel the lease. It is only intense resistance from local communities that has prevented work on the project from starting.

Although the film raises several important questions regarding democratic values in governance, it fails to substantiate its stand by drawing in views from the ‘other' side. There are many recorded statements by residents of the 11 villages and their representatives, but not a single comment from the official side. Apart from this, the film is a valuable document on the rights of salt workers in the state.

Atmosphere and colour are the artistic strong points of both films. Both capture the vastness and stark silence of the saltpans beautifully. Besides the message in the films, the play on contrast between the unbroken white of the pans and the vibrant colours of the local people makes them a visual treat. Chinnaganjam , especially, boldly experiments with contrasting colour and black-and-white shots that make the film flow evocatively.

Within their limited budgets, both films offer a coherent picture of the goings-on within this crucial but neglected sector. They have been made with support from Concern Worldwide, and inputs from Social Activities for Rural Development Society (SARDS) and Prakasam District Salt Farmers' Forum (PDSFF). Copies of the films are not available for sale yet, but those interested can write to This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it for more information.

(Aparna Pallavi is an independent journalist based in Nagpur )

InfoChange News & Features, January 2008