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Farah Naz is used to attracting scathing remarks and disapproving looks from neighbours in her Afghan refugee community as she leaves for work each day.
They tell her she is "not a good woman", what she is doing is "shameful" and that her rightful place is inside her south Delhi home – caring for her sick husband and five children.
But after fleeing the Taliban five years ago – where she was drenched in kerosene and almost burnt alive, her husband was ordered killed, and her children were threatened with kidnap – the 32-year-old refugee woman is past caring what people think.
She is on her way to becoming a business woman.
Naz is one of five Afghan refugee women who are not only battling traditional gender roles by going out to work, but who have also become unlikely warriors in the Indian capital's fight to curb plastic waste pollution.
The task is immense and 10 hands will not solve it. But this project is gaining international support for its twin roles of addressing India's chronic waste problem and empowering refugee women who often flounder in their adopted homelands.
Made from millet and wheat flour, the biscuit-like tableware is gaining popularity in the West as a sustainable, environment-friendly option to disposable plastic utensils, and those behind the initiative believe India is an untapped market.
Nishchay Hans, a 20-year-old commerce student said:
Hans is one of more than 40 students at Kirori Mal College (KMC) who are part of Enactus, a charity that supports young people across the world work with poor communities and build sustainable, eco-friendly businesses.
Their projects range from creating mobile salons for unemployed hairdressers in Ghana to working with villagers in Malaysia to build home stays – all with the aim of eventually handing over the businesses to communities to run themselves.
They found disposable plastic plates, bowls, cups and utensils make up much of the plastic waste in Delhi's burgeoning landfills, where it can take up to up to 1,000 years to decompose and leak pollutants into the soil and water.
Most of the litter and pollution affecting oceans also derives from plastics. This has dire consequences for marine species, which in turn is harmful for those further up the food chain, including humans, who consume the contaminated fish.
During their months of research, the students visited Delhi cafes and consulted restaurateurs, bakers and customers – eventually settling on the idea of edible tableware as an alternative to use-and-throw utensils.
The students then approached the city's refugees to join their venture in a move welcomed by the United Nations.
India – a safe haven in a volatile region – is home to more than 2,00,000 refugees and asylum seekers, many of whom were forced to flee conflict or persecution in neighbouring countries such as Sri Lanka, China, Afghanistan and Myanmar.
As a result, many refugees are vulnerable to harassment and exploitation. They cannot easily access education and health services and endure job discrimination and low pay.
The 11,000-plus Afghan refugees in India fare better than some other poor communities, but many still live hand to mouth.
Opportunities to improve their lives and gain new skills are limited, so when Naz and the four other women were offered the chance to join Project Patradya, they did not hesitate.
Most are the wives of once wealthy businessmen who had good lives in Kabul, but the constant fear of suicide attacks at schools, bomb blasts at markets and death and extortion threats from the Taliban left them with to choice but to flee.
In India now for almost five years, the roles have reversed and these women are the breadwinners – some now widows, others have husbands who are too sick to work or unable to find a job.
They work five hours daily at a charity office, above a hardware store along the bustling narrow lanes of Bhogal market, where they sit around a large table, carefully kneading and rolling dough, cutting and placing it into baking moulds.
As well as making the products, the women are also trained in sales and marketing, meet customers and take orders, with the understanding they will run the business within three years.
The women are turning over a small profit, averaging Rs 7,500 ($115) monthly, which is divided equally between them.
Hasiba Fata, a 41-year-old mother of four, said, as she sprinkled flour over the ball of dough in front of her,
(Reporting by Nita Bhalla @nitabhalla, Editing by Lyndsay Griffiths. Thomson Reuters Foundation, the charitable arm of Thomson Reuters, that covers humanitarian news, women's rights, trafficking, property rights, climate change and resilience.)
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