Fieldnotes from Mynas: Uncovering the Unawareness About “Awareness Work”

I met Sunita for this article in a small office in Baiganwadi, Govandi: the newly scouted space for the Myna Bolo and RCT team. It was a small, one-room setup where Sunita and Reshma worked from.

Sunita is 26 years old and joined Myna in 2024 as a Community Mobiliser, primarily working in the Gautam Nagar locality in Govandi. She is now part of the Myna Bolo team, which focuses on spreading awareness about our WhatsApp chatbot through community and college sessions. Before joining Myna, Sunita had several years of experience as a community mobiliser on a malnutrition programme at another organisation, where her work involved screening and rehabilitating women and children affected by malnutrition.

When I asked her how she found her current role, she began by telling me a story.

A few months ago, when she had just started working with the Myna Bolo programme, her sister-in-law was going through a difficult pregnancy. While learning how the chatbot worked, Sunita began using it to ask questions related to her sister-in-law’s condition. She shared how the chatbot’s responses helped her navigate that challenging period from pregnancy through childbirth. Even now, she sometimes uses it on her sister-in-law’s behalf to support her in caring for her three-month-old baby. She told me that the chatbot has had a significant impact on her family’s health-seeking behaviour.

I spent the day following her through her usual routine. The first task was scouting and pitching at a new Anganwadi. Sunita already seemed to know exactly where to go. We walked together through the winding lanes of Baiganwadi, searching for the centre and getting to know each other along the way.

During that walk, I learned that Sunita is deeply curious and loves learning new things. Her education had been interrupted after grade 11 due to family responsibilities, and she had to start working at a young age. But her desire to learn never faded. At 26, she has restarted her education and is currently preparing for her 12th standard board exams. She studies at home after work and hopes to pursue a Bachelor’s degree in Social Work, followed by a Master’s.

It made me reflect on how many of us, who have had the privilege of uninterrupted education, take it for granted as a natural progression. But, for many working-class women, leaving education early is not a choice but a necessity for survival. In that context, returning to it while managing a full-time job requires immense determination and grit.

When we reached the Anganwadi, an Anganwadi Helper (AWH) led us into a small room. Soon after, the Anganwadi Worker (AWW) joined us. They explained that due to a lack of dedicated community spaces, they often conducted sessions in homes offered by residents. The house we were in was observing Ramadan; the family had woken up early after sehri so the Anganwadi workers could begin their day. They were eager to learn more about our work.

And then, I saw Sunita in her element.

She began by introducing Myna Mahila as an organisation, and then moved on to explaining the chatbot. She shared testimonials, addressed misconceptions around sexual and reproductive health, and spoke about how access to the right information could be life-saving. Her pitch was not a monologue but a conversation. She engaged with her audience, met them where they were, and responded to their questions with patience and clarity. There was confidence in her delivery, and a depth of understanding in her subject matter that made it easy to trust her. In that moment, I could see her as a professor someday!

On our way back, we found ourselves in a long conversation about the state of public healthcare in India. We spoke about the consequences of underfunding and the growing privatisation of healthcare, and how this disproportionately affects working-class communities who rely on public systems for affordable care. What stood out to me was her clarity of thought, her ability to observe, analyse, and question the systems around her while wanting to be part of changing them

Back at the office, I learned that Sunita had to leave for a training session at a college quite far away. I wouldn’t be able to accompany her. Over lunch with Reshma, our conversations turned more personal. Reshma spoke about how supportive her husband was, how he ensured she ate well as she was underweight earlier. She narrated with both love and pride how her husband took it upon himself to cook and feed her a nutritious diet, and was especially sensitive during her periods. She wished that everyone had a partner like that.

It was then that I learned Sunita herself was on the first day of her period and experiencing severe cramps.

I was taken aback. Here she was, navigating physical pain, while also preparing to spend the day educating others about menstrual health. The irony stayed with me.

I decided to accompany her to another Govandi office, where she needed to collect sanitary pads for distribution. As she counted the packets and later carried them back to Baiganwadi, I became acutely aware of the physical demands of her work. Community mobilisers and trainers carry a significant burden: travelling long distances, often on foot, transporting heavy materials, and conducting sessions in challenging conditions, all while remaining on their feet for hours.

It is labour that is both physical and emotional. And it is constant.

I found myself wondering what sustains this work. While financial need and a desire to contribute to society are part of the answer, they don’t fully explain it. What keeps them going? How do they manage the stress of unpredictable schedules? How do they navigate unsafe neighbourhoods? What do their families think of their work? How do they keep themselves motivated through all this?