Chango Village, District Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh

Chango Village, District Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh
Some thousand miles from home, with a trail of broken hearts in the wake, an uriya (from Orissa) migrant mother and her son work the grime of apple orchards in this far-flung Kinnaur hamlet. What is it that is here and not in Orissa? I asked her. Roughly translated, she gave me the clichéd ‘every grain of food carries the name of the person for whom it is meant.’
I am sure it does, but something was amiss in this dismal juxtaposition. Why, but why? Why does a state create conditions so that denizens are forces to leave the comfort of their home, their language, and look for those parched grains carrying their names in a distant hell?