Thin beams of light stream through the holes in the asbestos ceiling of the two-room shed that serves as the anganwadi centre in Santoshpur village of Pitala panchayat in Sheragada. The mould-stained walls look desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint — ill-lit and cold, the centre seems to have a miasma thick with gloom.

Ranjita Rath, an anganwadi worker, soldiers on here.

Looking at the only source of cheer in the room, a group of noisy one- to six-year-olds sitting on a white and pink mat, she says, “Sometimes, I am afraid that I can’t feed them all if every child enrolled turns up one day.” There is an earthen chulha in the other room, right by the main door of the centre, where an attendant cooks daily meals for the children. “The lunch comprises rice and dalma (dal cooked with vegetables) or soya nugget curry. On Wednesdays, the children get one egg at lunch,” she explains. “For breakfast, there’s chuda (rice flakes) or mudhi (puffed rice). The rice is supplied by the government. Everything else —from firewood to dal, soy chunks and eggs — have to be procured by the anaganwadi centre.

“The government allocates Rs 4.40 (for meal) per child. Now, after deducting the cost of rice, firewood and breakfast, I am left with Rs 2.70 per child. How am I supposed to feed them eggs if one egg costs Rs 3 or 4?” she asks.

Rath’s exasperation is clear. Prices of all food stuff, especially protein sources, continue to rise in the inflationary times but the government has not revised its allocation. “It is a common practice to mark as ‘present’ even children who didn’t turn up just to feed those who are there,” she says.

There are 20 children enrolled at the centre but only 12 are present the day Governance Now visits. The register, though, shows 17 are present. It can be construed as ‘leakage’ of government funds, I remind Rath. Doesn’t she realise she could harm her standing? She seems quiet for a moment and then replies with a calm confidence: “Everything is monitored. I hold a joint account with the ward member for receiving government money. It is not as if no one knows what is being done but I have to feed these children, and everybody understands that it is not possible to pay the market prices with whatever we get. Yes, this is a desperate measure, but what else can be done?”

The doubts do not go. The back-of-the-envelope calculations seem genuine enough, what with price rise. But the government grant is far from meagre. Rath may have to pull hard at both ends to meet the expenses but surely it can be done, I ask. After a pause, she says, “The money is never enough; not for what they (the government) want to give the children. I can show you our account books and give you some details of the transaction in support of my words but beyond that I have nothing to convince you.”

Rath is walking a tightrope here. But her actions seem to have more to do with a sense of duty and expectation than a motive of profiting illegally.

“I have rented a place for Rs 300 a month to store the rice that comes to us from the government. The government allowance for such space is Rs 200. I can’t let the rice go waste by storing it in our centre, with rats and moisture (around, because at the end of the day I will be held accountable for it. Another anganwadi worker I know is paying Rs 500. Even then, the grant of Rs 200 has been erratic since 2007. We are paid an honorarium that is barely enough for us.

“How do we arrange for the shortfall (then)? These are ground-level problems that the government needs to know,” she says with a bitter timbre.

It is difficult not to be sympathetic. The dilapidated centre is the village primary school’s old building. “The school authorities have kindly accommodated us,” Rath says.

Asked whether she has spoken to anyone in the government about the problems she faces as an anganwadi worker, she replies: “It’s not just me — I believe each anganwadi worker in the state must be facing these problems, and worse, from time to time. There was a rally in Bhubaneswar of anganwadi workers demanding better enablement at their work and a raise in the honorarium. I had gone to participate — the turnout at was huge and we were all enthused that the government would listen to us. After all, weren’t we all there on the street?

“We filed a petition and promises were made. It’s been a long time since. There have been more petitions filed — at the district, in the state capital. Our demands remain.”