When Family Steps Up
My dad’s phone call to his brother’s son, my cousin, in his native village turned out to be a masterstroke. It was as if, just when we thought we had hit rock bottom, a superhero team of six swooped in. Well, they weren’t exactly superheroes. But to us, they might as well have been.
These six boys were loyal to my cousin, working on his payroll, and they didn’t think twice before stepping in to help us. My cousin gave them strict instructions: “Consider my uncle’s word as mine. Get the job done.” And just like that, the nightmare of dealing with the original team vanished.
The difference between this team and the previous one was like night and day. For one, they didn’t demand tobacco products. They worked early mornings and late evenings, taking breaks when the sun was at its most unforgiving and to sleep at night. My dad was thrilled—these boys were actually distant relatives, part of the wider family web, and knew how to work without the drama.
With these boys on the ground, things started moving fast. Really fast. They churned out 1,250 poles in about 15 days, working at a pace that made me wonder why we hadn’t called them earlier.
Manufacturing of Poles from the scratch at Swasthya Ecofarm
In the meanwhile, I travelled to the farm from the UK for 2 weeks. When I finally stepped onto the land in May 2023, it felt like walking into a dream I had been building piece by piece, thousands of miles away. After over a year of managing everything remotely, seeing the earth beneath my feet as its owner — the same earth I had previously seen as a potential land to purchase — was surreal. There was an overwhelming sense of joy and disbelief, a mix of happiness and relief that after all the planning and the constant phone calls, I was finally here, in person, on my land, notwithstanding the past, present and potential future troubles!
And there I was witnessing the efficiency of the team firsthand. It felt like watching a symphony of teamwork. The boys had this unspoken camaraderie, and despite the physical strain, they joked and laughed, often teasing me for being the "foreign guy" who had come back to the roots. They respected me, not because of the money or the project, but because I was one of them—a guy who had last been in our village 19 long years ago but hadn’t forgotten it.
My dad was relieved that I was there to share the burden now. While the boys worked on the poles, I took on the parallel task of planning the irrigation. After all, poles weren’t enough; these plants needed water. I sourced the pipes, planned out the earthworks, and found contractors to install the irrigation system. Oh, and let’s not forget the stone poles for fencing and the chain link mesh to go around the farm. Using my cousin’s recommended vendors, I negotiated and procured all of that. We had a plan in place to install them. And all of this? It happened because of that team of six boys—the same boys who saw this project not just as a job, but as a responsibility. To give the fencing team the manpower they needed, the original six boys called in four more to help dig and install the poles, as well as the boundary fence.
In the end, everything was ready—the poles, the pipes, the fence—all set before I had to fly back to the UK. The last thing I did was make the payment for 5,000 dragon fruit saplings, finally seeing the light at the end of this crazy, winding tunnel.
Installation of 1250 poles at our farm to support 5000 Dragon Fruit plants.
A fortnight later, the poles were set, and on an auspicious day in June 2023, 10 boys planted the saplings. My parents celebrated with prayers and offerings, and relatives joined in for a festive lunch. As I’ve said before, Dreams don’t just belong to the person who dreams them. They belong to everyone who helps carry them when they become too heavy to bear alone.
In the end, the original team, the ones who had tried to trap us? They heard about our success along with the entire village. Their jaws dropped. And yes, they even came to the celebration lunch we sponsored. But that’s where their role in this story ends. They are now in a permanent sulking mode towards us and also angry at us for getting out of their trap and succeeding without them. They are also on my blacklist now. And that’s a policy I won’t be changing.
Can you imagine the confidence that comes from surviving something like this? From seeing everything fall apart and then come back together, better than before? It’s the kind of experience that changes you. That makes you realize that sometimes, when everything feels like it's breaking, it’s only making room for something stronger to take its place.
It was a moment of victory—a project that had nearly derailed was now a roaring success. But, of course, there was still plenty left to do. And as I sat back in the UK, feeling both proud and exhausted, one question lingered in my mind: was this really the end of the hurdles?