In 1991, after an earthquake hit Uttarkashi in northern Indian, Mr Anshu Gupta watched government relief trucks throw bundles of clothes at villagers gathered along the roadside. It did not go down well with the villagers. Many made do with potato sacks for clothes rather than touch the handouts. Witnessing that tussle between need and dignity would prove one of the deciding influences on Mr Gupta, a former corporate affairs manager.
The idea grew as Mr Gupta came to know of poor young men who avoided job interviews because they had no presentable clothes to wear. The tipping point came outside a government hospital, where he chanced upon an old man named Mr Habib, whose grim job it was to collect the bodies of destitutes found dead on the streets of Delhi. Mr Habib told him the body count would go up in winter because many could not afford proper clothing and simply froze to death.
Shortly after, in 1998, Mr Gupta quit his job and started Goonj, a social service organisation that focuses on clothing the needy. Goonj, which translates into Hindi as 'life's echo', began with 67 items of clothing, mostly picked from the wardrobe of Mr Gupta and his wife.
Last month alone, Goonj shipped 20 tonnes of donated clothing, reaching villages in Bihar in the east and Maharashtra in the west, as well as those in 18 other Indian provinces. Collection centres in cities gather clothes in warehouses, volunteer sorters set aside those in good condition and patch up the rest before dispatching them across the country. Goonj's driving principles is clothing the people with dignity.
'India's biggest issues still are bread, clothing and shelter,' says Mr Gupta. 'Half of the country needs help at any point of the time, regardless of whether a disaster has struck their areas or not.'
When the tsunami struck the Indian coast in December 2004, Goonj collected a million garments for distribution. The cost of the entire exercise, from sorting to transportation, is less than 4 Singapore cents a garment, underscoring just how a little can contribute so much.
Goonj runs on about 25 million rupees (S$809,000) a year and relies on a network of 300 full-time volunteers, backed by hundreds of part-timers. It achieves its level of efficiency by being famously careful with its money. For instance, its people are known to tap vegetable wholesalers and grain merchants to get gunny bags at the cheapest rates. Recipients are taught the value of what they receive. In some areas, villagers are handed out clothes in exchange for helping to build roads. Quite often, it needs to adapt to the social situation. After the religious riots in Gujeat, it sorted out women's clothing into two sets: It sent tunic- pyjama suits to camps housing Muslim women, while saris went to those sheltering Hindus. From being a distributor of clothing, Goonj has grown into a social movement.
For instance, its 'Not Just a Piece of Cloth' initiative targets an ugly secret of rural India - poor women are forced to use dirty cloth during menstruation, leading to diseases. Goonj provides clean-cloth napkins, thoughtfully packed in a pouch. Another recent initiative is the 'School To School' programme, in which city children pass their used school bags and water bottles to children in rural India. Money is always tight, although the situation is improving.
'We are a people's movement, not a funding-based organisation,' says Mr Gupta. 'We give every opportunity to people to become volunteers, not financial contributors.'
The past decade has not been easy. There were many doubters. Even some friends put the question to Mr Gupta: Why? Aren't there better things to do, like build a career?
Some of the will to succeed came from lessons he learnt after being in a road accident when he was 17. Doctors in the Dehradun valley, where Mr Gupta's father was posted as a civilian officer with the army, said he would not walk again. In and out of hospital for a year, he literally struggled to his feet although his legs never fully healed. It is that ability to battle the toughest odds that has helped Goonj succeed and gain an ever-increasing group of admiring volunteers.
Among them are Ms Srividya Natarajan and her colleague, Ms Smitha Anand, who work as hardware engineers. After the two of them set up the Bangalore unit of Goonj in March, their workload has increased by the day, and their homes have become collection centres for clothes. They also want to go into it full time.
The idea grew as Mr Gupta came to know of poor young men who avoided job interviews because they had no presentable clothes to wear. The tipping point came outside a government hospital, where he chanced upon an old man named Mr Habib, whose grim job it was to collect the bodies of destitutes found dead on the streets of Delhi. Mr Habib told him the body count would go up in winter because many could not afford proper clothing and simply froze to death.
Shortly after, in 1998, Mr Gupta quit his job and started Goonj, a social service organisation that focuses on clothing the needy. Goonj, which translates into Hindi as 'life's echo', began with 67 items of clothing, mostly picked from the wardrobe of Mr Gupta and his wife.
Last month alone, Goonj shipped 20 tonnes of donated clothing, reaching villages in Bihar in the east and Maharashtra in the west, as well as those in 18 other Indian provinces. Collection centres in cities gather clothes in warehouses, volunteer sorters set aside those in good condition and patch up the rest before dispatching them across the country. Goonj's driving principles is clothing the people with dignity.
'India's biggest issues still are bread, clothing and shelter,' says Mr Gupta. 'Half of the country needs help at any point of the time, regardless of whether a disaster has struck their areas or not.'
When the tsunami struck the Indian coast in December 2004, Goonj collected a million garments for distribution. The cost of the entire exercise, from sorting to transportation, is less than 4 Singapore cents a garment, underscoring just how a little can contribute so much.
Goonj runs on about 25 million rupees (S$809,000) a year and relies on a network of 300 full-time volunteers, backed by hundreds of part-timers. It achieves its level of efficiency by being famously careful with its money. For instance, its people are known to tap vegetable wholesalers and grain merchants to get gunny bags at the cheapest rates. Recipients are taught the value of what they receive. In some areas, villagers are handed out clothes in exchange for helping to build roads. Quite often, it needs to adapt to the social situation. After the religious riots in Gujeat, it sorted out women's clothing into two sets: It sent tunic- pyjama suits to camps housing Muslim women, while saris went to those sheltering Hindus. From being a distributor of clothing, Goonj has grown into a social movement.
For instance, its 'Not Just a Piece of Cloth' initiative targets an ugly secret of rural India - poor women are forced to use dirty cloth during menstruation, leading to diseases. Goonj provides clean-cloth napkins, thoughtfully packed in a pouch. Another recent initiative is the 'School To School' programme, in which city children pass their used school bags and water bottles to children in rural India. Money is always tight, although the situation is improving.
'We are a people's movement, not a funding-based organisation,' says Mr Gupta. 'We give every opportunity to people to become volunteers, not financial contributors.'
The past decade has not been easy. There were many doubters. Even some friends put the question to Mr Gupta: Why? Aren't there better things to do, like build a career?
Some of the will to succeed came from lessons he learnt after being in a road accident when he was 17. Doctors in the Dehradun valley, where Mr Gupta's father was posted as a civilian officer with the army, said he would not walk again. In and out of hospital for a year, he literally struggled to his feet although his legs never fully healed. It is that ability to battle the toughest odds that has helped Goonj succeed and gain an ever-increasing group of admiring volunteers.
Among them are Ms Srividya Natarajan and her colleague, Ms Smitha Anand, who work as hardware engineers. After the two of them set up the Bangalore unit of Goonj in March, their workload has increased by the day, and their homes have become collection centres for clothes. They also want to go into it full time.
Adapted from “India’s karung guni man”, The Straits Time, August 2008
