There was a park to my left and a narrow alley with no signboard to my right. “Where is Goonj?” I asked a man sitting on a chair by the alley's entrance. He pointed inside. There, by an unassuming black metal gate, lay the main office. Upon closer inspection, I saw 5 cling-wrapped tyres, each with one black letter, spelling out GOONJ, a Hindi word meaning reverberation.
A woman rolled up her sari, sweeping the characteristic dust-covered floors of Delhi. Goonj’s operations spill into the buildings lining a street on the other side of the black gate. Children play on the street, their laughter floating through the windows. There, up a short but steep flight of steps that prey on my clumsiness as I move between processing units, lies NJPC (Not Just a Piece of Cloth).
The women, called Didis (older sister), who work here come from all over India. From small villages to urban cities, they vary in language and culture. But one common thread runs through all of them, lighting up the room and welcoming me into their space with open arms: all the Didis are incredibly hard workers, with tenacity and determination that's coupled with a kind spirit.
When I reached NJPC, two Didis cleared a small space for me to sit, pushing aside freshly made cloth pads (called MY Pads) that they were quality checking before packing the pads for distribution to women in rural areas. These cloth pads give women the ability to menstruate safely and hygienically, without needing to resort to leaves, ash or other unsafe means. A Didi sitting with her back against a wall beckoned me to come and sit next to her. Her soft red-brown hair escaped from the bun at the base of her head, and she would periodically brush them away from her face while cutting the loose threads from the pads.
The Didis asked me questions about myself, immediately making me feel like I’d just stepped into the home of a relative instead of a person I had just met. I smiled and responded in broken Hindi, trying to understand and answer them. They glanced at each other while listening to my responses, patiently waiting for me to string together sentences and finding synonyms for words when I didn’t understand what they were saying. We adapted, communicating through hand gestures and actions as well as spoken language, finding common ground, and learning from each other’s differences.
They gave me what Goonj strives to give all: dignity. I came in as an outsider with barely passable Hindi and almost no understanding of their lives. Instead of being met with judgement, I was offered tea and biscuits. Leaning against bags of cloth, they eagerly asked about my life, and I learnt about theirs. The Didis came to Delhi from all over India, with some hoping for better lives outside of their villages and others simply trying to provide for their families.
As one Didi explained, she had to start working because her husband was injured in an accident and she had to provide for her children. But despite her willingness and ability to work, she could not find a job. After much trying, she found employment in Goonj sewing cotton sanitary pads.
She spoke with wisdom and kindness, explaining that she hugs her children and strokes their hair everyday to show her love for them. Even when she is tired or busy, they know she will always be there.
Our current systems completely fail to recognise the value of women like her. Speaking to them, I was amazed at the obstacles each woman had to overcome just to be granted things I have always been given. It is unfair that they had to fight hard for every opportunity: jobs for themselves, education for their children and healthcare for their families. If they didn’t have to spend all their energy on survival, society would be better off.
The problem with many NGOs (Non-Governmental Organisations) is that they treat people as problems to solve rather than key stakeholders in coming up with solutions for issues like poverty. Oftentimes the very people who NGOs are trying to help are not included in the decision making process, because of which the potential of the underprivileged is not utilised.
By recognising the value of people despite their difficult circumstances, Goonj is able to make sustainable change while preserving dignity. Instead of giving people supplies, Goonj encourages the underprivileged to earn them through socially and economically useful tasks, using the recipients’ local knowledge to identify and solve problems. For instance, when children performed well in school they received pencils, instilling confidence in their abilities. And when a flood-affected village needed a bridge, Goonj shared with the villagers underutilised urban materials like nails and wire and provided them with logistical help. Remarkably, the villagers were able to use their labour and knowledge to build a bamboo bridge in just a few days, without external guidance.
Dignity completely changes the narrative surrounding charity. Instead of being treated as beneficiaries, people recognise that they have valuable expertise and can make a difference in the world.
One day I was ushered into a room with a large mattress spread on the floor and a small whiteboard at the front. Men and women working at Goonj sat near the back while the interns chose a spot near a corner. As we waited for the guest speaker to arrive, I was handed a piece of paper and a pen and told to write down anything I didn’t understand.
We waited, descending into chatter until a woman in a dark sari entered the room, commanding silence. She was different from anybody else in the room. She was a transgender woman, part of what is called the hijra community in India—a community that is, unfortunately, widely misunderstood and shunned across the country.
The woman began her talk simply, writing the letters LGBT on the whiteboard and explaining what each meant. Through open dialogue and discussion, the initial tense atmosphere dissolved, replaced by giggles here and there at her jokes. Through Goonj and its devotion to breaking down barriers, a taboo topic was openly discussed, normalising the hijras’ way of life.
Goonj has many different initiatives, from NJPC (Not Just a Piece of Cloth) to Green by Goonj. The organisation has put a lot of time and effort into ensuring that products are not just given a second life, they are utilised in the best way possible. If jeans are contributed that are not good quality, many organisations would not care and distribute them anyways. Instead, Goonj quality checks all their products, and if there are unwearable jeans, they go to the Green by Goonj initiative, where they are repurposed into wallets, bags, or other items that can be bought through the Green by Goonj website (https://www.greenbygoonj.com/).
Goonj’s overarching goal is to bridge the urban and rural divide by taking materials that are no longer needed by contributors and allowing them to be reused, thereby creating a sustainable model of alleviating poverty. Apart from this, Goonj creates employment, allowing people to sustain themselves and their families to build a better future. Alongside materials, Goonj also collects monetary contributions in order to employ personnel, rent land for processing units, and pay for transportation.
Goonj embodies its principles through actions as well as words. The organisation, for example, did not buy any chairs until recently. Also, the humility of volunteers and workers teaches people who enter the organisation the value of what we have, and makes them seriously reevaluate their consumption habits. But, perhaps most striking to me, Goonj had the unique ability of uniting people across different classes to sustainably reduce poverty while enhancing the dignity of the dispossessed.
For more information please visit https://goonj.org/
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