A Migrant Worker's Story-Free Read
Long Road Home is the third story in my COVID series, recounting the journey of Kamal, a migrant worker who cycled over 1,700 kilometres from Chennai back to his village in Jharkhand. I wanted to share this with you because it’s a story that many of us witnessed in some form – and one that left a profound impact on me.
Between March and June of 2020, most of you reading this were likely staying home or moving cautiously for work. It was a time when health infrastructure was scrambling to prepare for an expected surge in cases, knowing that we were working against an uncertain clock until lockdown restrictions would lift. Our focus was on controlling the spread of the virus and, above all, minimizing deaths. In those efforts, we largely succeeded in preventing mass casualties within hospitals.
But in doing so, we unintentionally overlooked the struggles of those who had come to our cities to support us. These were individuals working for minimal pay, often living in conditions that suited our convenience more than theirs. Perhaps we saved financially – but at what cost to them?
I’m talking about migrant labourers and their families.
When the lockdown took effect and industries shut down overnight, millions of migrant workers suddenly found themselves without jobs. Employers, caught up in their own struggles and problems, often overlooked the welfare of their workforce. Makeshift camps were set up for stranded workers, but these were poorly equipped, offering only a few days’ worth of food and supplies. With rail and road services suspended, these workers were left stranded, with no means of returning home.
The emotional toll was equally profound. The constant thought, fear of contracting the virus, and daily exposure to widespread suffering left deep psychological scars. Children, too young to grasp the full scope of the crisis, experienced trauma that could have lasting effects on their mental health. The lack of access to education and secure environments only worsened their vulnerability, leaving an entire generation in a precarious state.
Many of us may have forgotten the staggering reality that, between March and June of 2020, over 10.6 million (1.06 crore) migrants undertook journeys on foot, crossing hundreds of kilometres under the blistering sun by day and freezing air by night. These numbers aren't just estimates; they’re official figures from the Ministry of Labour and Employment of India. Despite efforts by government bodies to provide food, water, and shelter, it’s impossible for most of us to truly imagine what it was like to endure such hardship.
The reality for these individuals was defined by pain and blood. Recalling such an experience is bound to stir deep, heavy emotions, perhaps even leave lasting marks on those who read about it. I didn’t set out to evoke distress in my readers, as I understand that many of us prefer to leave those memories behind, lacking the resolve to revisit such painful chapters.
During this time, I encountered something remarkable—not just a story, but a real, unforgettable event—one that I was fortunate to play a small part in. When I met Kamal, despite the vast distance separating him from his hometown, remained calm and unaware of the huge challenges that lay ahead as he prepared to journey back to his pregnant wife. I, however, couldn’t help but worry about what the coming months held for him.
The idea of suggesting he cycle to his village haunted me; it was a risky option but far safer than attempting the journey on foot. I was plagued by doubts until I finally heard news of his journey’s end.
In Kamal, I witnessed a resilience and determination I hadn’t seen in any of my educated or financially stable colleagues or family members. His actions spoke volumes—he demonstrated that life’s battles must be fought with untiring resolve, the kind he possessed in abundance. Kamal’s journey sent a powerful message, one that reminds us of the strength that lies within us all.
Long Road Home is, at its heart, that message.
COVID Stories from India: Long Road Home
Between March and June of 2020, most of you reading this were likely staying home or moving cautiously for work. It was a time when health infrastructure was scrambling to prepare for an expected surge in cases, knowing that we were working against an uncertain clock until lockdown restrictions would lift. Our focus was on controlling the spread of the virus and, above all, minimizing deaths. In those efforts, we largely succeeded in preventing mass casualties within hospitals.
But in doing so, we unintentionally overlooked the struggles of those who had come to our cities to support us. These were individuals working for minimal pay, often living in conditions that suited our convenience more than theirs. Perhaps we saved financially – but at what cost to them?
I’m talking about migrant labourers and their families.
When the lockdown took effect and industries shut down overnight, millions of migrant workers suddenly found themselves without jobs. Employers, caught up in their own struggles and problems, often overlooked the welfare of their workforce. Makeshift camps were set up for stranded workers, but these were poorly equipped, offering only a few days’ worth of food and supplies. With rail and road services suspended, these workers were left stranded, with no means of returning home.
The emotional toll was equally profound. The constant thought, fear of contracting the virus, and daily exposure to widespread suffering left deep psychological scars. Children, too young to grasp the full scope of the crisis, experienced trauma that could have lasting effects on their mental health. The lack of access to education and secure environments only worsened their vulnerability, leaving an entire generation in a precarious state.
Many of us may have forgotten the staggering reality that, between March and June of 2020, over 10.6 million (1.06 crore) migrants undertook journeys on foot, crossing hundreds of kilometres under the blistering sun by day and freezing air by night. These numbers aren't just estimates; they’re official figures from the Ministry of Labour and Employment of India. Despite efforts by government bodies to provide food, water, and shelter, it’s impossible for most of us to truly imagine what it was like to endure such hardship.
The reality for these individuals was defined by pain and blood. Recalling such an experience is bound to stir deep, heavy emotions, perhaps even leave lasting marks on those who read about it. I didn’t set out to evoke distress in my readers, as I understand that many of us prefer to leave those memories behind, lacking the resolve to revisit such painful chapters.
During this time, I encountered something remarkable—not just a story, but a real, unforgettable event—one that I was fortunate to play a small part in. When I met Kamal, despite the vast distance separating him from his hometown, remained calm and unaware of the huge challenges that lay ahead as he prepared to journey back to his pregnant wife. I, however, couldn’t help but worry about what the coming months held for him.
The idea of suggesting he cycle to his village haunted me; it was a risky option but far safer than attempting the journey on foot. I was plagued by doubts until I finally heard news of his journey’s end.
In Kamal, I witnessed a resilience and determination I hadn’t seen in any of my educated or financially stable colleagues or family members. His actions spoke volumes—he demonstrated that life’s battles must be fought with untiring resolve, the kind he possessed in abundance. Kamal’s journey sent a powerful message, one that reminds us of the strength that lies within us all.
Long Road Home is, at its heart, that message.
COVID Stories from India: Long Road Home
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