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Shanti, another staffer, said her family was so poor and of such a low status that she never attended school. At 32, she divorced an alcoholic husband who regularly beat her, taking their five children and starting her education from scratch. Now 40, she's supporting the family with her newspaper job and ensuring her children are educated.
"Now I can read and people don't cheat me anymore," she said.
Caste is a social institution and it's probably here to stay, the women said. But if you're educated and know your rights, people are more respectful. As Indian society changes, affected by urbanization and internal migration, a more liberalized economy and political shifts, the grip of this restrictive system is slowly weakening.
Dalit women say they can be their own worst enemies given that caste distinctions are ingrained from birth. Then there's the prevalent belief that individuals somehow deserve their fate because of good or bad karma carrying over from the last life.
"I don't think I did anything wrong in my last life," the younger Meera said. "I'm a human."
Disha Mullick, a Nirantar program coordinator based in New Delhi who helps train prospective reporters, said the social pressure to "stay in your place" extends to those holding staff jobs. In spite of the opportunities that come with working at the newspaper, there is a huge turnover. Many women leave after a few weeks or months, uncomfortable with taking a more assertive role.
But for many of them, the very act of doing a job at which they ask challenging questions of high officials, rich locals and derisive politicians is empowering, the women said. Learning how to use technology is also pretty nifty, some said.
"This job has really helped me stand up and be independent," said Kavita, 30, another co-editor. "A year ago, I never even imagined something like a computer or the Internet existed. This Google is amazing. You can read other newspapers just like that."
Readers have responded and circulation is growing, up from 2,500 a few years ago.
"Other papers aren't printed in our language and don't write about local news we're most interested in," said Balbir Singh, 36, owner of a small shop in Jauharpur. "This really feels like our own. I just wish it were more than eight pages so I'd have more to read."
mark.magnier@latimes.com
Anshul Rana in The Times' New Delhi Bureau contributed to this report.
"Now I can read and people don't cheat me anymore," she said.
Caste is a social institution and it's probably here to stay, the women said. But if you're educated and know your rights, people are more respectful. As Indian society changes, affected by urbanization and internal migration, a more liberalized economy and political shifts, the grip of this restrictive system is slowly weakening.
Dalit women say they can be their own worst enemies given that caste distinctions are ingrained from birth. Then there's the prevalent belief that individuals somehow deserve their fate because of good or bad karma carrying over from the last life.
"I don't think I did anything wrong in my last life," the younger Meera said. "I'm a human."
Disha Mullick, a Nirantar program coordinator based in New Delhi who helps train prospective reporters, said the social pressure to "stay in your place" extends to those holding staff jobs. In spite of the opportunities that come with working at the newspaper, there is a huge turnover. Many women leave after a few weeks or months, uncomfortable with taking a more assertive role.
But for many of them, the very act of doing a job at which they ask challenging questions of high officials, rich locals and derisive politicians is empowering, the women said. Learning how to use technology is also pretty nifty, some said.
"This job has really helped me stand up and be independent," said Kavita, 30, another co-editor. "A year ago, I never even imagined something like a computer or the Internet existed. This Google is amazing. You can read other newspapers just like that."
Readers have responded and circulation is growing, up from 2,500 a few years ago.
"Other papers aren't printed in our language and don't write about local news we're most interested in," said Balbir Singh, 36, owner of a small shop in Jauharpur. "This really feels like our own. I just wish it were more than eight pages so I'd have more to read."
mark.magnier@latimes.com
Anshul Rana in The Times' New Delhi Bureau contributed to this report.
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