Solar Power generation in Uttar Pradesh

An energy injustice exists within India that is obstructing our economic and social development. Greenpeace believes the solution to this injustice lies in developing an infrastructure of decentralised energy generation systems that can be managed by the communities they serve, utilising renewable energy technologies. One such example can be found in the state of Uttar Pradesh, where in a small, quiet village in Bundelkhand, an energy revolution is taking place.

At first glance, Rampura could almost be any other village in India: long flat fields of clodded earth, cattle resting in the shade of uneven houses with heavy-lidded eyes. Just one of the many forgotten villages in which election promises are rarely kept. But Rampura’s unassuming appearance belies a poineering reality, for this village is home to India’s first community-run solar power plant.

Ghyanshyam Singh Yadav is the leader of the village solar committee, the democratically elected village body responsible for managing the plant and the electricity it supplies. He’s also a farmer, a big, gentle man who rests his hand on the plant’s solar panels as he explains their story.

“Since before Independence we had always used kerosene lamps,” he recalls. “All the villages around us had electricity, it was only ours that didn’t. We approached politicians, district managers, the electricity board… the politicians would always agree when it was election time, then later they would refuse. Until 1997 there was absolutely nothing here, not even roads or a school.”

The complete lack of infrastructure meant that the villagers were cut off from society. “We had no idea of the outside world as we had no newspapers, let alone news channels. Over 90% of the villagers were illiterate,” Ghyanshyam says.

A number of development programmes and the formation of a development committee in the village lead to a small school and some basic water and sanitation structure, but the day would still end for residents when the sun went down. In 2008, the residents heard of a Norwegian company called Scatec Solar looking to conduct an electricity project with a village in India. Ghyanshyam and his colleagues jumped at the chance, offering the company land on which to build their plant and forming a solar committee. The 8.7KW peak plant was constructed in a mere 28 days, a collaborative effort between Scatec, the villagers and an Indian organisation called Development Alternatives.

“It’s a pity that another country had to come and help us, and our own government sat by for years and didn’t,” Ghyanshyam says. “But we’re not ashamed. We worked 24 hours a day for a month to put this together, and we’re proud of it even though it came from outside.”

The solar power plant that has made such a difference to the residents’ lives is surprisingly small: three neat rows of photovoltaic panels that slant towards the sun, a control room with a row of batteries and a monitoring room to gauge the success of the project. The area is gated to protect it from accidental damage by untrained villagers, but the gate is open most of the time and children play in the compound, ducking in and out of the panels. In the nine months the project has been running, the only (minor) damage has come from one particularly voracious storm, and there has not been one minute of power failure – a stark contrast to the frequent power cuts and poor quality supply that plagues the surrounding, grid-connected villages.

Once Rampura’s plant was set up, villagers who wanted an electricity supply paid to have a connection made to their house, and so a small, decentralised mini-grid feeds 44 homes and several streetlights. Although power generation by solar is free, the villagers pay a small amount for the electricity they use, which goes into a communal bank account in preparation for the mandatory battery replacement that will be required in a few years.

Still, the costs are often less than the villagers used to pay for the weak, smoky kerosene lamps that used to soot their walls. Bablu Singh Yadav, another of Rampura’s farmers, used to pay Rs. 250 a month for kerosene to light dinner for the family. When the electricity came, two CFLs cost him Rs. 60, provided a far better quality of light and could be turned on at any time. It’s hard to hear his explanation of this though, as the old black and white TV in the background is blaring the Mahabharat, watched avidly by his four daughters and their friends. Electricity use quickly progressed in Rampura, and Bablu holds one of the village’s few cable connections.

“I’ve suddenly got a better idea of what the world is like, “ he says, crediting the exposure with improving both his business and his knowledge of national politics. “We [men] used to come home from the fields, have a drink, go and talk and end up having a fight,” he recalls. “Now, we watch television and talk about politics.”

His girls are less shy too, he says – they’re always trying to copy wrestling moves they see on television. Now they have light to study by they’ve improved so much at school that he’s considering sending them away to complete their education.

Rampura’s female community has benefited in other ways too, which are specific to this type of decentralised model. Rajeshwari Devi is gorgeous, bright and at just 19 is the second in charge of the solar committee. I ask her what her husband thinks.

“He doesn’t think much,” she laughs. “But he thinks its great. It’s important to keep developing. People stay at home together in the evenings now, which is much nicer, and the streetlights mean people feel safer if they want to go out after dark. But I think the next generation will really benefit.” She tucks her little boy under her arm. Her daughter is in class V and has just started lessons on the village’s one computer, donated by the German company, and also powered by the solar power plant.

Down the hill from Rajeshwari’s house a steady roar fills the otherwise quiet path. When Rampura’s mini-grid was set up, Balwan Singh Yadav saw an opportunity to boost income and bought a small flour-mill. His teenage son operates it now, flour on his school trousers.

“I saw an opportunity for us to have an edge over other villages,” he explains. “As we have electricity for 24 hours a day and they don’t. We used to have to travel to grind our wheat, but now other villages come here, and outsource to us.”

The money the family makes from the flour mill is not as significant as that they make from agriculture, but it’s certainly more reliable in the drought-hit Bundelkhand region. The steady flow of income has finally enabled Balwan’s family to move out of his brother’s house, and into a home of their own. In the central courtyard outside his wife scrubs their little daughter in the sunshine, then lies her down and kisses her feet.

The stark difference between Rampura and some of the other remote villages visited for this report is disheartening in one way, and brings hope in another. The assured supply of quality electricity is bringing all the development benefits so familiar to India’s city dwellers, but there is something else here too: the self-governance of the system has strengthened the community and instilled a sense of ambition and pride which is apparent throughout, from conversations with the residents right down to the absence of litter in the streets. Three families that left the village for the city before the solar plant was installed are now trying to move back – a refreshing and rare case of reverse-migration.

India’s villages are self-sufficient by their nature, and so a decentralised energy-generation system that allows their processes to continue unhindered by outside restraints will of course be beneficial. But self-sufficient is not the same as self-contained, and the pleasure the residents have in connecting with the rest of society through this electricity supply is clear. It is interesting to note that Ghyanshyam, the driving force behind the village’s solar power plant, has never heard of climate change: the decentralised system makes sense for the village on a local level alone.

“We wanted to do something historical with our village, and show others how a village can and should be,” he says. “We’ve gone from dark to light, and we want to inspire the rest of the country.”