Getting their bread and butter from jam

Sarita Devi, the slim production in charge of the squeaky clean, aromatic workshop, adjusts her green apron as she tells you how the jam factory changed her life. A matriculate mother-to-be from Bagol village, she was tired of her kitchen-bound existence when Linnet set her free 13 years ago. ‘‘My standing in the family went up several notches once I started bringing home a steady pay packet,’’ she says, adding with a smile how she’s also learnt a smattering of English. Thirteen years ago, she hadn’t ever seen jam let alone taste it, today she’s a connoisseur. And so are 50 others who pitch in at the unit.

Commerce was far from the mind of the blue-eyed Linnet, a Britisher married to a Kashmiri ICI Paints officer, when she bought this cottage in 1992. But the fruit trees that came along tempted her to try out her granny’s jam recipes. It was friends finally who convinced her to market her out-of-the world jellies and marmalades.

Today you can take your pick from over 40 tongue-tickling flavours—from apple jelly wild mint and bitter orange to peach chilli, here is God’s plenty.

THE jams are the bread and butter for women across seven villages. From young girls like Vandana Chauhan, an intermediate from Dhanoke village who manages the billing, to toothless grannies like Balmati, uncared for at home, they thrive on them.

Vimlesh Sharma, a teacher at Bhuira anaganwadi school and a post office agent, can vouch for the change. ‘‘Earlier, these women didn’t have a penny to their names, now they hold separate bank accounts. And no one refuses them a loan.’’

This is not all. They’ve also learnt to read, write, and above all, think for themselves. Take the case of the unlettered Ram Kali, the unofficial manager. Today she lives at the cottage without her family. ‘‘I’ve no husband, and no care in the world,’’ she laughs.

As Linnet puts it: ‘‘I am spreading wealth not merely creating it.’’ Her annual wage bill of over Rs 5 lakh is a testimony to it. Marginal farmers with only a fruit tree or two too will agree, for now they download their produce here instead of trekking up to Rajgarh mandi. Even young goatherds manage to make some money from the mountain berries they collect and sell to Linnet. ‘‘The blackberry jam we make is absolutely unique thanks to these children,’’ smiles Linnet.

Rajeshwar Goel, the young SDM of Rajgarh, who’s proud of the fact that the preserves have made Bhuira a brand name, says the enterprise is tailormade for Himachal. ‘‘It’s a non-polluting, labour-intensive cottage industry actually run from a cottage with local raw material but with a wide market that extends to all metros of India.’’ From Fab India and all major organic food stores to hotel chains like Maurya Sheraton, Bhuira jams certainly go places. It also helps to have Ashwin Mushran, the actor now on Great India comedy show and model, as a son though he’s never really advertised mom’s jams.

Linnet, who shuttles between Delhi and Bhuira, says her army of workers often run the operations without her. With the jams getting more popular by the day—Linnet receives considerable fan mail—the scale of preparations is going up. Last week, for instance, they canned 40 quintals of apples.

Ask Linnet about her future plans, and she waves a hand at her jam women, ‘‘It’s up to them.’’ After all the jams, forgive the syrupy cliche, sweeten their lives.