Anusreeta Dutta
For most young Indians, choosing a job is a matter of education, opportunity, and aspiration. But for some people in the Banchhada community of Madhya Pradesh, birth can still be a big factor in future options. The Banchhada are a community that has historically been marginalized in the districts of Neemuch, Mandsaur, and Ratlam in Madhya Pradesh, and their identity has traditionally been associated with the sex trade across generations in some sections of the population. But that image masks a more complex story of caste, poverty, gender, social stigma, and a lack of economic mobility.
This is also a developing story. Recent reports indicate that young Banchhada men and women are preparing for competitive exams and applying for government jobs, indicating that they are attempting to forge an identity other than the one that society has assigned to them. They are battling a bigger question: can education and work ultimately break a cycle of economic need and social exclusion that passes from one generation to the next?
When stigma is transmitted
The Banchhada community cannot be defined by sex work alone. This risks stereotyping a population that has historically been marginalized. The more important question is why some parts of a society can be linked to the same profession for centuries. Poverty is part of the answer, but it does not work alone. Gender inequality, caste discrimination, limited employment opportunities, and social stigma can reinforce each other.
Women can be important contributors to family income, while girls growing up in economically insecure families may face pressures very different from those faced by children with more educational and employment opportunities. The impact extends beyond the women themselves. Children may inherit the social stigma of their mothers and communities, even though they had no role in creating the conditions into which they are born. Discrimination happens in classrooms, in workplaces, and in simple social relations. And that creates a vicious circle.
When a community is identified by society primarily by one occupation, those who wish to pursue other livelihoods have to cut loose from the identification placed upon them. Hence, the stigma attached to marginalization could be one of the factors perpetuating marginalization.
A certificate can be an escape
When the issue intersects with bureaucracy, it becomes much more obvious. The Banchhada community is a Scheduled Caste in Madhya Pradesh. Having a caste certificate can affect one’s chances of getting an education, scholarships, reservations, and government jobs. But children born to women involved in the sex industry may face an unusual problem: the absence of their father’s name or identity on official records.
A recent report from Madhya Pradesh highlighted the case of a young Banchhada from Neemuch, whose mother was a sex worker and who did not know who his father was. He always wanted to join the police force, but getting a caste certificate was difficult. He passed the police constable recruitment exam with the help of the administration and the relevant paperwork. This event will have ramifications far beyond one government job.
For a young person from a historically marginalized community, a caste certificate can be the bridge from the constitutional guarantees of affirmative action to actual social mobility. For those who need institutional support the most, the difficulty in acquiring the document due to bureaucratic constraints related to a person’s familial circumstances could be a big challenge. Administrative integration is not a small technical matter, therefore. It can tell you whether a young person has an option to take a different path.
The next generation wants alternatives
There are signs of change all around the community. Reports of young Banchhada people preparing for government exams have recently come in from Neemuch, Mandsaur, and Ratlam. Some people have been successful in joining the police. These may seem like small developments compared with the vastness of India’s labour market. But in a community with a history of stigma and limited occupational mobility, each such change is more consequential.
A police uniform or a government job is more than just a paycheck. It runs counter to the idea that a person’s community should determine what vocation he or she ought to pursue. Education has a role to play too. There is not enough enrolment, but keeping children in school can provide alternative livelihoods. Students should also be protected from discrimination and helped in their transition from education to employment. But the promise of education can be broken when faced with the economic realities of a poor family.
Rescue is not the end of recovery
The response of the state also has to be examined in detail. Interventions with communities involved in intergenerational sex work usually emphasize rescue, rehabilitation, and law enforcement. These procedures are particularly important in cases involving minors, trafficking, coercion, or sexual exploitation.
To liberate a person from exploitation does not necessarily mean that the person has an alternative means of livelihood. What happens next month when the family needs income? This is usually the most difficult test for rehabilitation policies. Women who want to get out of the sex industry need real job options. Girls need an education with a goal. Young people need skills that are relevant to their employment. Families need housing, healthcare, financial services, and social security programmes.
If these foundations are not present, asking communities to give up an existing livelihood without providing an economically viable alternative risks treating the disease, not the framework that supports it. There also has to be a clear line between consensual adult sex work and child sexual exploitation or trafficking. Poverty and tradition cannot be an excuse for the commercial sexual exploitation of children—children cannot volunteer for it.
The right to a normal future
Perhaps the most important factor in the development of the Banchhada community is the fact that its younger members want the same things. They want degrees. They are seeking government employment. They want financial security. They want the right to choose their work. None of these desires should be surprising.
However, leading a normal life can be an extraordinary act of social mobility for someone trying to overcome years of caste-based stigma and economic marginalization. Highways, GDP growth, digital infrastructure, and growing cities are common stories in India’s development. Another measure of development is much simpler: how much the family one is born into determines the life one is allowed to live.
The Banchhada community compels India to face the issue. Its future cannot be secured by stigma, moral judgment, and rescue efforts alone. What is needed is sustained investment in education, paperwork, employment, social protection, and dignity, along with vigorous action against human trafficking and child labour.
Young Banchhada people who are already entering classes, studying for competitive exams, and seeking government jobs are already challenging a long-held identity. Their fight isn’t really about leaving their community. It’s about reclaiming something that should never have been taken away from them in the first place: the power to choose their own destiny.
Anusreeta Dutta is a columnist and climate researcher with experience in political research analysis, ESG research, and energy policy.
