Ramanagara: Madhu’s hands move like machines, dipping into boiling water in a copper pan, lifting a cocoon, separating the silk, and plunging back in again—12 hours a day, seven days a week.
And like her, countless women form the backbone of Ramanagara, the sericulture and silk heartland of Karnataka, less than a hundred kilometres from Bengaluru.
For most of them, the day begins at 8 am.
These cottage industries sit deep inside the employer’s house. Dark, dingy spaces with asbestos roofs, coal burning to fuel the machinery, smoke escaping from a pipe above, and the stench of boiled cocoons filling the air.
Ramanagara’s sericulture industry has thrived for decades with cottage industries passed down through generations, and reeling techniques learnt through skill and tacit knowledge, not formal training.
“I was eight when I started. It’s been 20 years. I never went to school. This is the only skill I have,” says 28-year-old Madhu, her fingers separating floss from cocoons.
Women largely build and sustain the occupation, making up 60 percent of the workforce and working at every stage, from mulberry cultivation to reeling cocoons. Both Madhu and her friend Shanthamma (45) share how men are almost absent in this sector, except for the employers and middle men.
“Women work in the factories more because they have patience. They are gentle with the cocoons, and it’s like any other household chore that requires no knowledge”, says 55-year-old Ranganatha, a reeling factory owner.
Despite years of hands-on experience—sometimes stretching up to 20 to 25 years—these women are still classified as semi-skilled or unskilled workers. Their decades of expertise are ignored by official frameworks, leaving them chronically underpaid, undervalued and excluded from decision-making systems.
The state sets minimum daily wages along with a Variable Dearness Allowance (VDA)—an additional amount to help them cope with inflation, allowing their wages to stay relevant against living costs. These rates, revised annually by the state, took effect on 1 April, 2025 and will be applicable till March 2026.
Yet the women remain unaware of them.
“This is just another example of unrecognised skilled work. It’s mostly about questions of power and the fact that workers don’t have the bargaining power to demand higher wages,” says Nithya Joseph, a socio-economic researcher.
On-ground wages fall far short of the official rates with no application of VDA. Some factories pay as little as Rs 250—fraction of the allocated amount.
“I am not aware of the government rates. I have been paid 350 rupees a day for the last eight years,” says Ratna (32), an employee.
Yasmeen Bano (50) and her son run a factory in their kaccha house, completely unaware of the government wages.
“I pay them Rs 250, or sometimes compensate with a meal,” Yasmeen says, while admitting she had employed children to cut costs.
For years, workers have remained tied to one factory, their wages barely changing and their options even fewer. This long-term commitment is also because churning between factories does not translate into real freedom.
Nithya also points to another worrying financial practice in the confines of these silk cottages.
Advances which are initially sought for survival often harden into long-term debt bondage. Workers in the silk belt say it is common to carry debts of Rs 1–2 lakh accumulated over decades in the industry.
When conditions worsen or wages are delayed, families take an advance from another factory owner to pay off the previous one, effectively transferring their debt as they move workplaces.
“The result is mobility without escape. Movement within the system, not out of it,” says Nithya.
This cycle is what keeps women tethered to the silk industry even when individual workplaces become unbearable.
While someone like Madhu can leave one factory, leaving silk work altogether is far more difficult. Other sectors or informal service jobs rarely offer the kind of lump-sum advances that silk owners do, making transition financially impossible for workers already burdened by debt.
What looks like negotiation then is often just the reshuffling of liabilities.
The little social protection workers have comes from personal relationships with employers built over years of service. Long-term employees may negotiate occasional advances, leave, or modest wage hikes.
But this system is collapsing, too.
“In the past, workers could at least ask for housing or basic support from their employer. That kind of relationship is disappearing now,” says Nithya. She adds that workers now frequently move between factories to pay of their previous debts, creating instability and leaving them powerless to demand fair wages or safer conditions.
This erosion of security doesn’t stop at wages. It extends directly to worker safety.
Women have no safety gear, their bare hands lift cocoons from boiling water—often mixed with industrial chemicals—leaving burns, blisters, and chemical residue on their skin.
“I have stopped using my right hand to hold my boy, it’s so rough and blistered. I don’t want to dirty him,” says Madhu. She also noted that daily exposure to charcoal smoke leaves many women with respiratory problems.
Middlemen usually dominate informal sectors, but Nithya observes that Ramanagara operates differently.
“Here, it’s a maestri, a trusted employee of the factory rather than an external contractor. But ultimately, labour conditions are shaped by traders, market volatility, and factory owners,” she adds.
With workers excluded from decision-making, labour mobilisation is almost non-existent.
“Every year, we try at least once to stage a protest for minimum wages, but few women join because they don’t know these systems,” says Pratibha R., president of the Garment and Textile Workers Union.
Pratibha says employers often hide workers and block access to unions and NGOs, making mobilisation nearly impossible. In a women-dominated sector, fear keeps many from speaking out.
“There are barely any negative reports on the silk industry. It’s praised for sustainability and profits, but the workers’ truth is ugly,” says Pratibha.
Both Nithya and Pratibha argue that a dignified silk industry must begin with the state recognising sericulture as formal industrial labour, with fixed wages, safe working conditions, and social protection, rather than debt-based dependence on private employers.
When silk work is no longer treated as an extension of domestic labour but as regulated factory work, they say, women can finally claim dignity, safety, and economic security in an industry built on their labour.
Asked if she wants to fight for her rights and dignity, Madhu says, “I know it’s unsafe, but I’m saving this money so I can take my child away from here. For that, everything else is forgiven and is just a trade-off.”
She then proceeds to take her lunch break.
Sromona Mondal is pursuing a postgraduate diploma in Integrated Multimedia Journalism from Asian College of Journalism. Views are personal.