Dear Farmers,

Dear farmers,

I haven’t thanked you yet.

I have thanked the frontline workers - those who work in healthcare, those who are stocking the shelves and those who are collecting our rubbish, but I haven’t thanked you yet.

Thank you for growing us the food that is sustaining our healthcare workers and those affected by the virus.

Thank you for providing food to stock up the shelves so we can continue to make banana bread and experiment in the kitchen.

Thank you for working day and night to feed our nation.

Lockdown had been tough on our family. Between raised voices and silent tears, there is one thing that brings us all together.

Family dinner.

Family dinners are the time we have a feast. There is a heavenly aroma that gently flows through the house. The quiet simmer of a freshly cooked curry hums through the kitchen, my dad wanders in and out, like an impatient dad-to-be pacing outside in the waiting room of a labour ward.

A glimmer of excitement escapes my mum’s face as she watches the eager expectation of the whole family waiting to welcome the feast. The anticipation is real for my mum – but she has learnt to be patient while cooking – she can wait to enjoy the look of joy on our faces as we devour it all.

Somehow, regardless of how the day looked, and how many eggshells we have walked through, family dinner is our saving grace.

A family dinner that wouldn’t be possible without you.

I have been a city girl pretty much all my life. But every summer, we make a trip back to India, back to a little village where our grandparents grew up, we do it every year like we are going on a pilgrimage.

When we do family meals in India, we know that everything on our plate originated from someone’s backyard. There are no labels, no use-by dates but every vegetable, meat or fish comes with a face attached to it. Every morning, there is a walk over to a string of houses and there is usually talk on how the family is doing or that annoying power cut that lasted through the night. There is a hushed conversation of the older generation gossiping in soft yet audible voices. Every vegetable, meat or fish came from someone with a name and a person who was acknowledged of their hard work.

I hope you know that your hard work is acknowledged, and we are grateful. Every item on our plate comes attached with a face – your face, with fire in your eyes, a weary smile and with beads of sweat forming on your brows, we are so thankful for all your work.

There isn’t a lot that I can do from here except encourage you with a grateful heart. The fruits of your labour have always carried value and worth, but now, more than ever, we are depending on the fruits of your hard work. From the crops you tend, to the cows you milk, thank you for your hard work.

We don’t see the sleepless nights or the blood, sweat and tears that the soil soaks up, but we are grateful. I would never know what it is like to worry about the harvest, to fight through the relentless floods and heavy rain that attempt to dampen your hard work.

I hear that farming is a lonely job and the suicide rates in farmers are alarmingly high and I am so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine the amount of added stress and heartache this pandemic has caused. I hope you find the comfort you need in this letter.

I pray that you find the right help to lean on while we weather this storm together.

Together, we can support and carry each other through this hard season.

I am sorry we haven’t said this a lot, but we truly appreciate all the work that you do. Thank you and thank your families on our behalf. We couldn’t get through this pandemic without you. You are needed and the works of your hands are needed.

We don’t celebrate, praise or applaud you enough.

On behalf of the nation, thank you.

You are truly one of the many unsung heroes that deserve to be celebrated and praised.

Thank you for all your hard work.

Thank you.

Lots of love,

The girl who gets to enjoy all her favourite foods during a pandemic because of you.