Everybody knows Rajani B.T. In Chilavannoor where she lives, she is a regarded with a hint of awe. “People know me as the woman who climbs coconut trees.” Nobody in her family has ever been into the profession. Rajani ascribes it to her inherent love for adventure. “No job for a woman? Says who? I’d say nothing is difficult,” she declares, sitting in her tidy two-room rented house. “I like doing something that is risky.”
She is also known for her mercurial temperament. “The men are a bit wary of me. I know kickboxing, karate and kalari and have had chances to demonstrate my skills quite a few times,” she says and bursts into laughter.
Rajani is not the archetypal single mother perpetually struggling to make ends meet. She is an exaggerated version of a multitasker. Apart from climbing coconut trees, she works as a domestic help, used to drive an autorickshaw and is a member of the Communist party. “I’m not a full-time Party worker. But I go whenever I am needed,” she says.
She has learnt textile and screen printing technology, MS Office, which she passed in first class, and has completed a short course in medical transcription. She also attended courses in entrepreneurship, freshwater aquaculture and soap manufacturing.
Rajani is now busy dividing her time between her jobs and household chores to squeeze in lessons in fashion designing from an institute in Kaloor and shingari melam (the women’s version of the chenda melam ).
Acquiring a new skill makes her feel empowered, she says. “I look out for ads on short courses in the newspaper and television. I try to do everything I can. You never know when one of these skills could come to your rescue. I don’t want to be dependent on my children. Even if I reach a stage where I am unable to walk, I should be able to fend for myself.”
Some of the courses she has attended were for free and some had a fee. The coconut tree climbing was a result of a course she did two years ago at a “Friends of Coconut Tree” training programme organised by the Coconut Development Board. “It was a one-week course and we were given a stipend of Rs. 150. We were given the machine, too, with which one can climb the tree,” she says.
The course opened her eyes to the thrills of the job. “It is not easy by any stretch of imagination. But I took it as a challenge. The course only teaches you to climb short trees. The very next day after I finished my course, I was called to pluck coconuts at a house nearby,” she says.
“It was raining heavily and the tree was unusually tall. It was extremely windy, too. When I reached midway, I realised people were shouting out to me to go back down. But, I did not feel like giving up. I kept climbing up and by the time I reached the top, the tree was swaying. My body weight and that of the machine made it worse. I still don’t know how I did it, but I plucked the coconuts and the appreciation I got that day was worth the effort,” she says.
There is not enough money in coconut tree climbing, she rues. “That is why very few people do it. You get only Rs. 50 for a regular climbing. Sometimes, if a tree has not been tended to for more than six months, you have to spend about one hour atop it.
“Plucking coconuts is not the only job. The top has to be cleaned, treated with manure and the fronds have to be cut. In such cases, you are paid Rs. 100. But even that is insufficient, because it is a risky job. Sometimes, the machine becomes unwieldy,” she says.
The course also taught her the finer aspects of the coconut tree. “Each tree is different from the other. What kind of manure to be administered and under what climatic conditions can differ from tree to tree. Also, I pluck only coconuts. I refuse to pluck a coconut that has not matured.”
Since her contact details are on the Internet, Rajani says she gets calls from places outside Kochi, too. “I have even gone to Chennai to climb coconut trees.”
At 47, Rajani does not look a day older than 35. “I guess it’s the work that keeps me fit.” After her abusive husband deserted her and her two sons, life presented her two choices—“I could mope or I could live. I chose the latter,” she says.
“I had to raise my children. I was willing to do anything that would not question my integrity.” She became a domestic help. “There was a time when I have worked in 12 houses.”
Her education stopped after Class X. She had continued studies, even after her father’s death when she was in Class VII, through the literacy programme. But college never happened. Marriage at age 19 put an end to her formal education.
“For a woman living alone, it is a tough battle. One has to be brave. One has to fight if it comes to that,” she says, offering a few tips on self-defence.
“If you are walking alone on the street and there is a guy walking towards you, keep your eyes on him. The minute he approaches closer and tries to attack, swing your fist to the back first and with all your might, punch him. That should paralyse him momentarily,” she says.
Today, she is in a good place with no regrets, she says. Her sons are educated, one pursuing hotel management and the other studying MCA. The only time a hint of sadness casts a shadow on her face is when she talks of her dream to live in her own house.
“I have tried for loans and schemes. But to no avail.” She recovers instantly and adds, “Oh and yes, I want to learn how to operate the JCB. I would need a four-wheeler licence for that and the course is very expensive. But it is something I really want to do.”
