More than a decade ago, I first met Jenny and Sunil at a workshop they were facilitating in Jorhat, Assam. I was immediately drawn to the ant’s deep commitment to community engagement. That first impression stayed with me, and by the time I joined in 2011, the ant’s work in Chirang district was already expanding into areas that few others dared to reach. I was still a newcomer then, but I was struck by the way the ant was not just running projects but quietly weaving itself into the fabric of people’s lives.
I worked with the IDeA team, where one of our exercises was to compare the life of an organisation to the stages of human growth. Looking back, it feels fitting to think of the ant at 25 as a young adult: it has crawled, walked, run, cycled, and driven its way through challenges and transitions. Its maturity is not measured in the size of programmes or budgets, but in its persistence, its willingness to take on difficult, often uncomfortable work that many shy away from.
For me, the ant’s greatest strength has always been its role as a bridge: between communities and outsiders, between the state and civil society, and between difference itself. It makes dialogue possible where otherwise there might only be distance between people. It cares for its own communities while also creating a space for outsiders, such as interns, researchers, journalists, doctors, lawyers, donors, travellers, and also non-humans. During my time there, I often guided visitors through villages, introducing them to community leaders, translating conversations, and sharing the organisation’s work. At first, it felt like logistics. But over time, I realised how vital this “invisible labour” was. The ant was not only hosting visitors, but mediating between lived realities and abstract ideas, between local struggles and global conversations.
This bridging work is powerful because it does not claim to speak for anyone. Instead, it creates the conditions where dialogue can happen, where respectful engagement is possible, and where relationships of trust can grow. In hindsight, I see how much this shaped me. My own research practice—how I think, how I ask questions, how I listen was formed in those early years.
The ant also occupies a rare position in governance: not entirely inside the state, but not completely outside it either. While not easy to manage, that position enables the ant to bring more impact to the work they do, enhancing its importance to the community. For researchers like me, it has been more than a host; it has been a guide and a mediator, helping us develop context-sensitive research and reminding us that knowledge is not only what we bring in, but also what we learn by being present. Research here has never been just about interviews or surveys, but about the relationships we build and the values we carry. And those values—care, ethics, dignity, humility are what the ant has consistently nurtured. Many of us who passed through its campus carried those lessons into different paths: some into research, others into activism, others into new ventures. I carry them still.
bell hooks once wrote, “But many of us seek community solely to escape the fear of being alone. Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving.”1 This line reminds me of the ant. It has never sought community out of fear or conformity. Instead, it has built a love ethic that is both care and resistance: resisting dominance, embracing difference, and believing in the possibility of transformation even when that is hard.
One of the ant’s quietest but most enduring strengths is its hospitality. Not only in offering a bed or a meal, but in making space—for strangers, for difference, for dialogue, for hope. It is the kind of hospitality that teaches you that community is not something you inherit, but something you make and remake every day.
As the ant steps into its next chapter, I feel more than excitement. I feel confidence. Twenty-five years have taught it to walk alongside others, to adapt without losing its grounding, and to hold complexity with grace. The journey ahead may bring new challenges, but I trust it will continue with the same ethic of love, care, and listening that has always defined it.
I often think of Jenny’s words: “Once an ant, always an ant.” They still ring true. One does not remain an ant because one never left, but because one carries its lessons with oneself. For me, those lessons are about courage and care, about listening deeply, and about creating spaces where others can belong.
Ref. hooks, bell (2018) All about love: New visions, HarperCollins Publishers.
To all the ants—past, present, and those yet to come, I hope you keep making space for others, holding difference with compassion, and reminding us that transformation begins in presence.
And to those who meet the ant for the first time, may you find, as I did, not just an organisation, but a place that changes how you see, how you relate, and how you become.
I know I will keep returning. Not only to visit, but to listen, to learn, and to remember my roots.