For more than 30
years, three generations of the Das family have shared an idyllic home
tucked between the paddy fields and ponds of this modest village.
Then Tata Motors Ltd came to town.
Tension between the two branches of the family has been growing in
their shared ancestral home after one side gladly sold their nearby
farmland for Tata’s new factory to build the world’s least-expensive
car. The other side refused, but its land was still swallowed up by the
sprawling facility by order of the state government.
“Ever since the Tatas arrived, we have stopped talking to each other,”
said Shamalendu Das, 38 years old. He is the son of Noren Das, the
patriarch of the side that decided not to sell.
“That land has been with our family since our greatgrandfather’s time.”
Tata’s plant, spread across a 997-acre lot, has become a symbol of the
struggle in India between the forces of industrialization and rural
tradition. Protests against the facility by thousands of farmers and
activists succeeded in stopping construction last week, forcing Tata to
make plans to move production of the $2,500 Nano elsewhere.
The Das family rift shows how contentious the tussle has become in West
Bengal, whose quirky and unique history left it, at least until
recently, on the sidelines of India’s rapid economic expansion.
Beraberi is a village of about 600 on the edge of Tata’s new facilities
in Singur, about 25 miles outside of Kolkata.
West Bengal has one of the world’s longest-running democratically
elected Communist governments.
For decades, the Communist Party of India (Marxist) steered clear of
big business and international investment. That has changed in recent
years. Even though party offices still have pictures of Karl Marx on
their walls, the Communists started encouraging new investment.
New technology hubs, malls and apartment complexes are sprouting all
over Kolkata. The four-lane Durgapur highway that runs to Singur cuts
through lush farmland that is becoming increasingly dotted with new
factories flying red hammer-and-sickle flags.
The development has provided tens of thousands of new jobs. But the
industrialization has required land and, in a densely populated state,
acquiring it often means government evictions of farmers.
The Trinamool Congress, which used to be considered a right-wing
political party, has taken up the farmers’ cause and is portraying the
Communists as big-business sellouts who are hurting the little guy.
The party’s leader, Mamata Banerjee, started protesting the land
acquisition for the Tata plant with a 26-day hunger strike two years
ago, which struck a chord among voters.
Her party now occupies most of the seats around Singur in the district
assembly.
The Communists “have been in power for 32 years, but they are not
helping the farmers,” she said in an interview from the makeshift stage
her party built for the protests. “I don’t care if it’s the Nano,
‘fano’ or ‘dano,’ someone has to fight for the downtrodden people.” The
state government says the car factory will benefit local communities.
Officials from the two parties are holding meetings with the state
governor to try to find a resolution.
The problems at the plant could delay the Nano’s scheduled October
launch, said Ratan Tata, chairman of the Tata group. “We will do
everything possible to come close to the planned launch date,” he told
an industry gathering in New Delhi on Thursday.
Behind the Singur plant, away from the political speeches, the
banner-waving crowds and the news cameras, Beraberi is soothingly
silent.
Many homes are still painted with hammer-and-sickle symbols, but the
village voted for the Trinamool Congress in the most recent local
elections.
At the Das home, the walls reflect the split in the family: They are
painted with both the hammer-and-sickle, and the flower symbol of the
Trina mool party.
Two years ago, Nemai Das, 82, and one of the family’s two patriarchs,
jumped at the chance to sell his two acres for the Tata plant. The West
Bengal government, which purchased the land for Tata’s factory, offered
him more than five times the market price.
He says his land, which is a short walk from the house, was lush but
couldn’t support the whole family. He worked as a bus conductor because
he was forced to find an additional job to make ends meet, as were the
other nine men in the house.
“Everyone has gone to the city to work,” he says.
The interest earned on the money he received for his land is a more
stable source of income than the potatoes, rice and jute he used to
cultivate.
Tata also has given his son, Achinta, more than a year of training so
that he can work in the plant, making gearboxes for the Nano.
“I am 100% satisfied with my new job. The Nano is an amazing car,” said
Achinta Das, 33.
“We are trying to convince Tata to stay.” He says he wants his
fouryear-old son to be part of modern India and to go to college.
In the meantime, he has sent his wife to learn computer programming.
Across the 7-foot-high brick wall that divides the family’s courtyard,
the other patriarch and Nemai’s 84-year-old brother, Noren Das, refused
to sell his two acres.
The government took the land, anyway. Tata quickly built a 10-foot-high
wall around that land as its complex grew. When some farmers in the
village tried to break through the wall to reach their land, they were
beaten back by police. After that, Noren Das attended every anti-Tata
rally he could.
One day last month, after the farmers again failed to persuade the
government to return their land, Noren died.
His son, Shamalendu Das, says he died of a broken heart.
“Our land built this house and paid for the five weddings of my
sisters. There is no way we would give it up,” said the younger Das.
“I miss going to the fields in the morning.” He says their small plot
provided the family with most of its rice, potatoes and vegetables, as
well as a bit of extra money. It also provided insurance that there
would always be work and food for the family. He lifts the lid on a
bamboo storage basket to show the last of the rice from his land. He
was kicked off the land a year ago, but it has been feeding his family
until now. He says he doesn’t want money— he just wants his land back.
It is inside the complex’s walls, full of weeds with no new building
nearby.
“Will money stay with us?” Shamalendu Das asked. “It cost me Rs50,000
for my father’s funeral. That’s what happens to money. If my son can’t
get work, I want him to be able to work the land.” wsj@livemint.com
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