Clearly, pink is in. in the teeming crowd around me, I spot pink dresses, pink ribbons and hair bands, pink lipstick, even pink sandals. Bright lemon yellow isn't far behind, in terms of incidence, but pink is clearly ahead. The thought crosses my mind that if there's a US spy satellite capturing images of this part of New Delhi the result will probably be a sea of pink. This part of New Delhi is an area encompassing the South Delhi boroughs of South Extension and Defence Colony. The overpass that is meant to streamline the flow of traffic is clogged. The giggling mass of pink (and yellow) has spilled off the pavement, narrowing the width of road available for motorists. One driver rests on his horn, another gawks at a pink dress, and still another leans out of the window and addresses a lewd remark at a yellow dress. The women themselves are oblivious to everything. Dressed in their Sunday best-not surprising since it is a Sunday-these tribals-turned-Christians from Jharkhand are here to attend mass, meet friends and lovers, and generally have a good time before they head back to their mundane lives as ayahs, nannies, cooks, maids, and housekeepers.

A few days later, and some 1,330 kilometres away, I find myself in a region where the chances of encountering a Mercedes SLK convertible and an unmarried girl in her twenties are approximately the same. This is Simdega, a district in Jharkhand that has witnessed an exodus of the species. Two days here and I have already learnt how to identify families that have a Girl in Delhi (GID) from those that don't. All houses in tribal areas-much of the state's 79,714 square kilometers is classified thus-are mud and brick ones with red burnt-mud tiles. The last are relatively expensive, around Rs 1,200 for a lot of 1,000, and roofing a decent-sized abode could cost anything between Rs 40,000 and Rs 50,000. GID families live in house that are new or, at the least, have spanking new roofs. They also have motorised pumps that draw water, and they rear pigs. That's right, pigs: piglets can be had for as low as Rs 200, and if fattened up well, a process that takes a couple of months, never mind what the Earl of Emsworth has to say on the subject, can be sold for Rs 2,000. Roofs, pumps and pigs seem to be the three common accompaniments to having a girl in Delhi.

Former maid Hana Tirkey (right) is picking up the nuances of tailoring. She hopes to start a tailoring institute with her earnings

The phenomenon of Jharkhand's young women leaving home and hearth for an uncomfortable existence in New Delhi-the capital is the most attractive market for these women; Mumbai doesn't pay as well; and Chennai and Bangalore are simply too far away-is largely about economics. A housekeeper in Delhi may help put her siblings through college, build a proper house for the family (red burnt-mud tiles and all), and extend her munificence to gifts of the porcine variety. Estimates from placement agencies and the church suggest that there are around 35,000 to 40,000 women from Jharkhand in Delhi earning, on an average, around Rs 2,500-Rs 3,000 a month-salaries begin at Rs 1,500 and could go as high as Rs 5,000-and sending the bulk of the money (around 50-75 per cent) back home or, as is the preferred custom, carrying it with them when they go back home for Christmas. In number-terms that translates into anything between Rs 52 crore and Rs 126 crore, a substantial amount of money in a state where 60 per cent of the population of 27 million lives below the poverty line and the per capita annual income is Rs 4,161.

A Service Economy

Jharkhand's nanny revolution has been engendered by a combination of factors: topography, economic development (rather, the lack of it), the church, and the common malaise of indolence that seems to affect the male of the species from Andalusia to the Andamans. The Mundas, Kharias, Oraon, and Ho, the main tribes of Jharkhand aren't exactly landless. However, the state's poor irrigation infrastructure leaves these cultivators at the mercy of India's mercurial monsoon. In a good year, these tribes can hope for one good crop; the land is left fallow for the rest of the year, although some tribals grow vegetables; these are watered from their private wells and this is where the pumps fit in. Jharkhand isn't exactly an industrial hotbed either, although the state does boast a profusion of mineral resources. Santosh Kumar, the head of SPG Manpower Consultants, a Delhi-based firm that recruits women from Jharkhand for employment as maids, nannies, and cooks in Delhi, was appalled by the poverty he saw on his first trip to the state. ''I decided never to go there again,'' he says.

The tribes are matriarchal societies; women call the shots and some men take the names of their wives post marriage. Most men are drones and fritter away their time playing cards or drinking haria, a local brew. Even the exodus to Delhi hasn't changed anything: I see women toiling away in their small vegetable gardens and men wandering around in search of liquor and idle companionship.

Then, there's the church. The first mission was established in Jharkhand way back in 1845. Today, a significant proportion of the state's tribals are Christians. Every village boasts its own parish; attendance at Sunday mass and assorted 'moral values' lectures is mandatory, and the Catholic nuns and priests who run missions teach parishoners practical lessons related to personal hygiene. Cardinal Toppo the Archbishop of Ranchi (Jharkhand's capital) Diocese explains that the church also serves as a support system, keeping an eye on the elderly parents or young children of the women who work in Delhi. And the missions run primary schools that educate tribals. The result is an army of women with great work ethic. ''Of all the women who come to Delhi, the most preferred are the ones from Jharkhand,''says Jaya Jha, Head, Kumar Peronnel Bureau.

A motorised water pump is an ubiquitous sight outside houses owned by families with a 'girl in Delhi'. Jharkhand is as parched as it gets

A 'Girl In Delhi'

Sadhanu Bhagat is visibly perturbed. The Labour Minister of Jharkhand would like to see the state's women stay where they are. To that effect he has made it mandatory for every woman (or, for that matter, man) leaving the state to go work elsewhere to register herself and obtain an identity card from the state. And he has conducted a survey of 14 of the 22 districts that make up Jharkhand to ''target the migrating population in an effort to provide local jobs and opportunities''. Posses of police personnel at railway and bus stations have been ordered to watch for groups of young women, and detain them; a move that is explained away as something aimed at preventing human trafficking, although its real motivation is something far more sinister and anti-free market-preventing migration.

Like most such measures, however, this one is an abysmal failure. Young women who make it to Delhi and earn a living as a cook or nanny become role models for other young women back home in Jharkhand. At Khunti, I meet with Serofina Sarong, a domestic help in Delhi who is back home for a break. Sarong is a confident young woman and her dimunitive 5 ft frame exudes an air of confidence. In her room, on an immaculately arranged table are among some trinkets and cosmetics, a fairness cream and a sun block. The envious glances other young women, the unlucky ones that are yet to make it to Delhi, shoot at Sarong are evidence enough of her standing in this society. Or Hana Tirkey's. All of 19, Tirkey couldn't clear her high-school examination and, appalled by her family's poverty, followed a neighbour to Delhi. She spent three years there as a maid, saved around Rs 50,000, repaid the family's debts, bought and sold 10 pigs turning a neat profit in the process, and put away some money in the bank for a rainy day. Now, she proposes to start a tailoring school.

Tales such as these are common in Jharkhand. There's Margaret (just Margaret), a 40-year-old who came to Delhi over 20 years ago and graduated from lowly maid to highly-paid governess. She put a brother through school and saw him join the Army, bought four acres of land in Gumla, a district adjacent to Simdega, and has now retired to Ranchi where she works as a governess. Neighbours claim she has an investment of Rs 40,000 with Sahara India, a non-banking finance company, although the lady herself wouldn't comment on her net worth. And there's Ursula, who made it as far as Dubai and earned Rs 11,000 a month. She spent three years there, oversaw the marriages of her three brothers, bought one a bicycle, helped another open a grocery store in the village, and set up the third as a pig farmer. She has since returned to India and married a local agriculturist, but finds living with an ''uncivilised'' husband difficult.

Pigs are something most women who work in Delhi buy for their dependants back home. Pig-farming is a low-risk, high-return vocation

Home Economics & More

Getting to Delhi, or Dubai, for that matter, is easy. Placement agencies in the capital (estimates put their number at 200) recruit local agents across Jharkhand's villages; these agents scour their constituencies for women who wish to work in Delhi (or those who can be persuaded to); the agent also carries out a background and reference check, gets the women to sign a contract with the placement firm, and puts them on a train to Delhi. Apart from agents working exclusively for them, most agencies also resort to freelance 'guarantors' who serve as an informal employment exchange (apart from vouching for the women on their roster). Placement agencies pay guarantors half a month's salary of the women referred by them.

The agencies themselves charge employers two months' salary when they enter into an annual contract: this is binding on the agency, not the employees; ergo, if a woman deserts her post, it is the agency's responsibility to find a substitute. Most agencies double up as halfway houses of sorts for women between jobs and those that have just arrived from Jharkhand.

The prevalence of public call offices (PCOs) in Jharkhand's interior is testimony to the efforts of the state's émigrés in Delhi to keep in touch with those back home. And B.M. Kar, overseer of the post office at Khunti says most post offices in the state exist solely for the purpose of servicing the remittances sent back home by these women. This, when the majority of Jharkhand's women in Delhi prefer to carry the cash in person when they return home for Christmas! Predictably, they receive a heroine's welcome with some families organising village-wide feasts for their ''selfless daughters''. Not that the men back home recognise their efforts. Any woman who spends some time in Delhi is heckled for being a Dilli Retire, a pejorative with associations that range from sexual deviance to undesirable modernity. In a society where marriage proposals have to be made by the groom's family, this results in several women remaining unmarried. Few tears are shed over these. Jharkhand's drones are no prize catch.

The life of a typical woman from Jharkhand in Delhi is far from a Cinderella story. Some are duped by agents, others framed for petty theft and discharged, and still others, assaulted sexually by employers. Entities such as Manch and Domestic Workers Forum, the first a non governmental organisation, and the second, a forum associated with the church educate the women about their human and legal rights. However, most women nurse ambitions of saving enough money to return home and earn their livelihood there. They may have picked up a smattering of English from the mission school, dress fashionably, and greet people by extending their hands spontaneously, but deep down, these tribal women yearn for the simple and uncomplicated life back home. As long as money isn't an issue.