BADARWAS, MADHYA PRADESH
Belatedly, he is getting some nutrients in a special clinic for malnourished children in Badarwas, a tiny town about an hour’s drive from his mudwalled home in a village in Madhya Pradesh.
The clinic, a concrete room filled with a dozen beds and prone to powercuts, is part of the country’s latest attempt to reduce a malnutrition rate twice that of sub-Saharan Africa. For now, Deepak is far from the only child being reached too late.
It is a problem with “dire consequences for morbidity, mortality, productivity and economic growth,” a World Bank report said in 2005, and shows little signs of fading even as the economy booms.
Born underweight and then underfed during the crucial early stages of development, millions of Indian children grow up shorter, weaker and less smart than better fed peers. They end up less productive workers, too, costing the country about 3% of national income, the bank said.
The problem looks unlikely to disappear for at least the next couple of decades.
The nutrition centres, and measures such as paying pregnant women to give birth in a clinic rather than at home, are part of the government’s National Rural Health Mission (NRHM).
It was started in 2005 to bring health services to people used to a choice between pawning jewellery for doctor’s fees or simply suffering.
The scheme is intended to plug gaps in an older programme that failed to reach children in the most critical first two years of life, educate mothers about nutrition and rein in corruption, which meant free food handouts went missing.
In Deepak’s case, the difference some well-timed good advice could have made is obvious. In the 18 months since his birth, no food passed his lips until he arrived at the nutrition centre, according to his mother. She did not realise this was a problem.
“He only drinks milk,” Shee la said as she sat sweating under a motionless ceiling fan as Deepak lay in her lap in torn shorts and a grubby jacket.
The registration book at the centre is filled with the purple thumbprints of illiterate, unschooled mothers like Sheela.
She does not know her age-a doctor, trying to be helpful, pulled open her mouth, looked at her teeth, and guessed about 25.
After marrying in her late teens Sheela left behind her village and moved in with her husband’s family. She dislikes her mother-in-law, who she says has no interest in giving grandmotherly advice.
Workers at the centre will try to teach Sheela how best to care for her son, paying her Rs35 a day and providing meals to compensate for her lost labourer’s income.
Several times a day, Deepak sips a sweet mixture of ground puffed rice and sugar dissolved in milk with a little vegetable oil. Older children move on to fruit, eggs and lentils.
For Kasumal Adivasi, sitting a few beds away, the centre was a revelation. Like Sheela, she felt there was no one in her husband’s village she could turn to for advice.
After 12 days at the centre, Tunda, her two-year-old son, still has a distended stomach and a slightly grumpy disposition, but is able to stand up again with his mother’s help.
The Madhya Pradesh government adopted the nutrition centres after liking what it saw at a pilot centre set up in the state by Unicef. There are now more than 60 and they are spreading to other states as part of the NRHM. But Unicef staff warn that the limited beds at the nutrition clinics are far from an end in themselves.
They are a last resort, taking in only the most dangerously undernourished children. “There are still big gaps in the guidelines,” said Hamid El-Bashir, the Unicef representative for Madhya Pradesh.