Aditi Revankar “Moooo,” I hear before I see ASHA Sahyogi* Shalini’s smiling face. A thick vermilion streak of sindoor* parts her hair. Shalini Verma. In Chhindwara, people always ask your last name. Squatting, she picks round, full bulbs, mostly white, a little lavender, from the ground. “ Madam ji, pyaaz ka kaam chal raha hai, socha thoda ghar ka kaam kar loon. ” (it’s time for the onion harvest, thought I’d do some housework). Her lanky son sits nearby, phone in hand, and follows my instructions on how to download the app we use to monitor AAA* meetings. She has a short window during which to use the phone, before the younger children come by to claim their source of entertainment; the same kids who some weeks ago, deleted the app while playing games. Her son is quick, he only needs to be told once. He’s wearing a red baseball cap. His mother is proud. We say bye. The cow demands our attention one last time before I hang up, “Moo…”. And then silence. On my laptop, I’m fac...