'No time to rest': Overworked WB village poll staffer juggles life, SIR as clock ticks

In the interior of South 24 Parganas district lies Usthi, a village beyond motorable roads and reachable only by foot or bicycle. One morning earlier this week, Sabeera Khatun, a 42-year-old primary school teacher and Booth Level Officer (BLO), was preparing for a day that promised to be long, like many recent days. Across West Bengal, the ongoing Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls has placed unprecedented strain on BLOs like Khatun.

- Vrinda Tulsian

At least five deaths by suicide, which have been linked to work stress, have been reported since the exercise began in the Trinamool Congress-ruled state. However, there is no way of establishing a definitive connection between the additional workload and the fatalities.

What is undeniable is the sheer volume of work. For instance, Khatun's workload has meant her 16-year-old daughter, Sahieena, has stopped attending classes to assist her.

On this day, Khatun is ready by 6.30am, dressed in a plain salwar kameez. The first rays of sunlight slip into her modest kitchen. A kettle whistles, but there is no breakfast. She dusts the house, feeds the dog, and folds clothes, tackling her chores with the speed of someone who has accepted she will not have a spare moment later.

"If I sit for even five minutes, the whole day collapses," she says. "There is schoolwork, there is BLO work. Both chase me." School begins in 10 minutes. Her road to work is a narrow path, accessible only on foot or bicycle because proper roads do not connect Usthi to the main town.

By 8am, she is in her classroom with a roomful of energetic six-year-olds. She corrects letters, scolds three boys arguing over an eraser, and helps a girl read a sentence. Yet her hand keeps moving to the phone tucked in her dupatta. The phone's screen is cracked and the back is held with tape.

"Sometimes parents think I am rude because I look at the phone," she says. "But what can I do? If I miss a call from the Block Development Officer, that is trouble."

Even her students tease her gently. "They say, Didi, the phone loves you more than we do. They do not know I am trying to keep their parents on the electoral rolls."

At 11.50am, the bell rings and the children scamper out. Khatun shuts her notebook, picks up her voter list register, and steps out. Her second shift begins.