What happens to the food we eat, once we’ve devoured it and wiped our plates clean? It gets chewed, swallowed, and pulverized, as it passes through the esophagus, stomach, and small intestine. Here, at long last, the delicious contents of our plates become things the body can use: water, electrolytes, fatty acids, amino acids, and sugars. These components then cross over from the small intestine into the bloodstream, through a variety of processes, to be utilised by different organs.
Given the largely carbohydrate-based Indian diet, the sugars are the largest end product of digestion, and the primary providers of energy. This sugar can be galactose or fructose, but largely, it is glucose.
Glucose lying around in the blood is bad for us.
There's just one tiny problem: our bodies cannot use all that glucose (or other building blocks like amino acids and fatty acids) all at once. While some is consumed by hungry cells immediately, the rest is stored either as glycogen in liver and muscle cells, or as triglyceride in fat cells. This is, in part, a simple rationing exercise; one cannot use up all energy stores in one go.
But it is also a matter of safety. Glucose lying around in the blood is bad for us. Professor and Head of Department of Physiology at Navi Mumbai’s D.Y. Patil Medical College, Dr. Vivek Nalgirkar explains why: "In the short term, the glucose gets converted to fat and causes weight gain. In the long term, it irreversibly binds with protein structures (like skin) in the body, weakening the body and accelerating ageing." So, glucose needs to be packed away safely.
The pancreas, tucked right behind the stomach, is responsible for detecting this excess glucose, and kickstarting the storage process. Gathered in small clusters of the organ are specialised cells called beta cells, which pick up on the high glucose levels in the bloodstream and release insulin. This hormone acts like a key, opening the doors (insulin receptors) of liver, muscle, and fat cells, and ushering glucose inside them. It was first isolated in 1921, and shortly after, in January 1922, it was administered as part of diabetes treatment for the first time.
Naturally, there are times (for example, when you skip lunch) when the body needs to dig into its glucose reserves. For this, the pancreas has a different set of specialised cells called alpha cells. They look out for low glucose levels in the bloodstream (i.e. when glucose is gone) and release a hormone called glucagon. Glucagon opens the doors in the reverse fashion, emptying glucose from the cells they are stored in, and back into the bloodstream.
Together, insulin and glucagon ensure that the blood sugar levels remain constant in the body. Too little (hypoglycemia), and your body—your brain especially—buckles under the lack of energy; too much (hyperglycemia), and the excess energy wreaks havoc on your organs.
Trouble begins to brew when insulin does not work like it is supposed to. Sometimes, the immune system thinks that the beta cells responsible for making insulin are dangerous, and destroys them. This results in Type 1 diabetes and requires patients to take insulin supplements.
The more common condition, however, is Type 2 diabetes, where the body becomes insulin-resistant. The beta cells continue to make and release insulin, but the hormone is no longer able to open the muscle, fat, or liver cells and pack away the glucose. "Think of it like trying to open a rusted lock," says preventative diabetologist Dr. Jagruti Parikh. "Naturally, the door won't open.” The ‘rusting’ happens because of harmful compounds that form when fats or proteins react with excess blood glucose, and can be triggered due to various factors like excess fat, infections, or stress.
This hormone acts like a key, opening the doors of liver, muscle, and fat cells, and ushering glucose inside them
Insulin resistance contributes to obesity through various ways. Firstly, the beta cells can continue to sense excess glucose in the blood, and release higher quantities of insulin to try to counteract it. This upsets the balance that insulin and glucagon concentrations usually maintain, and this high insulin concentration is linked with obesity. Second, since the cells are starving despite abundant glucose in the bloodstream, the brain sends out hunger signals and we end up eating more. Lastly, the liver can struggle to process this extra energy and starts accumulating excess fat inside its cells, resulting in fatty liver disease. Insulin resistance is also a foundational issue causing PMOS (previously termed PCOS/PCOD).
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The miracle drug of recent times, GLP-1 (which includes the likes of Ozempic), was introduced to control diabetes through weight reduction. GLP-1 stands for glucagon-like peptide-1, and it is a hormone that exists naturally in the body. It acts in the small intestine before digestion is complete. GLP-1 receptor agonists are lab-made medications that are meant to mimic the natural hormone. The first GLP-1 drug was cleared for diabetes treatment by the US FDA in early 2005.
It performs two useful functions for diabetes patients. First, it addresses the issue of excess insulin in blood by restoring the ratio of the hormone to glucagon. "Glucagon is an antagonist (antagonists are substances that block the effect of another substance, or prevent a certain biological response), in a sense. It will normalise the glucagon-to-insulin ratio which is skewed in diabetes patients," says Dr. Nalgirkar. Secondly, GLP-1 reduces hunger at both a biological and psychological level. It affects how the brain ascertains satiety, how quickly the stomach empties food, and even how the liver performs metabolism.
The medication is only prescribed to diabetic patients who match certain diagnostic criteria. "It is never the first line of treatment," says Dr. Parikh. She stresses that GLP-1 drugs are worthless without coordinated changes in lifestyle, otherwise the lost weight will be gained back once the medication is discontinued. Given its prohibitive cost, it is also not a medication most people can afford to take for years together. Dr. Nalgirkar also warns that our understanding of the medication is still in nascent stages.
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GLP-1 drugs find alternate ways to balance blood sugar levels, but there also exists the possibility of reversing insulin resistance. Though the mechanism behind it is not fully understood yet, study after study has proved that exercise and a mindful diet makes our cells more sensitive to insulin, possibly because they increase the number of receptors (locks) on the cell’s surface.
Beneath its 'wonder drug' status, GLP-1 is simply a medication that is prescribed in specific use cases, and approached with the caution of any drug in its early years. In a fat-fearing society such as the one we inhabit, the history and purpose of the medication can serve as an important reminder to not get carried away by its promises of weight loss.
India’s diabetes burden is only growing, with a recent study finding that the country tops the Asia Pacific region in Type 2 diabetes, both in terms of absolute burden and mortality. It is imperative to focus on lifestyle, both diet and exercise, to buck the trend.
Cover art by Pratik Bhide
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Though milk and dairy products are cornerstones of Indian cuisines and nutrition, we seldom stop to think about the food and agricultural systems that bring them to our kitchens and dinner plates. The welfare of the animals at the centre of these systems, their ability to walk and loiter freely, to choose when and what they will eat may sound like small freedoms, but they are important determinants of cattle health.
To the still-ambivalent reader, I offer a more personal, selfish reason to care about this aspect of domestication: livestock well-being affects milk composition, and by extension, the health and nutrition of the milk you consume.
The most widely accepted way of measuring this stress is to test for the concentration of cortisol, the dominant stress hormone in cattle.
Like humans, livestock respond to stress through changes in hormones secreted. Hormones secreted into the bloodstream of distressed cattle cross right over into their milk, and consequently, into our stomachs. India is the world's largest milk producer, and the steadily increasing demand for dairy only poses greater risk to cattle, owing to the prevalence of intensive, stress-causing practices.
Cattle express stress in various ways. For instance, ruminating (the act of regurgitating swallowed food and chewing it again) is a natural behaviour essential for digestion, only undertaken during rest periods. When stressed or unwell, the time spent ruminating reduces. Vocalisations—the various bellows, grunts, and moos of cattle—also reveal their emotional state. Higher frequencies, lower pitches and reduced intensity of vocalisation are all associated with higher stress. The most widely accepted way of measuring this stress is to test for the concentration of cortisol, the dominant stress hormone in cattle.
Like humans, livestock respond to stress through changes in hormones secreted.
Cortisol is a hormone found in most mammals, including humans. Ordinarily, it performs a host of constructive functions to support immunity, reproduction, inflammation, and most famously, the stress response. Chronic stress elevates cortisol levels for extended periods of time. Stress in cattle can stem from factors like heat stress and disease, or management practices like being housed in compact spaces, or not having ready access to drinking water. If not identified and rectified, this stress essentially puts the cattle on survival mode permanently. The protein in their muscles breaks down, bones start decalcifying, and some cattle undergo neural degeneration too. Needless to say, the cattle's productivity falls too.
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Stress-free cattle, thus, is in any dairy farmer's best interests. Why should it concern a consumer? It changes the nutritional profile of the milk, markedly reducing its fat, protein, and lactose content.
Unlike bacteria, cortisol is unaffected by sterilisation or pasteurisation. So, with your spoonful of creamy curd, you may be getting a dash of cortisol that you didn't really sign up for.
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So, how do we know if the milk we are drinking is cortisol free? Put simply, we don't. The Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) guidelines do not mandate testing milk for cortisol, and most labs do not have the requisite infrastructure to conduct these tests. India does not even have guidelines specifying the maximum safe limit of the hormone in dairy products, unlike countries like Japan.
The only way to ensure that dairy animals are being treated well, is to become conscious of our consumption
The solution, within the existing landscape, is to try and ascertain how cattle are treated in dairy farms. Some responses of cattle to their environment or management are natural, and any milk we consume will have traces of cortisol. While cortisol acts as a litmus test to confirm or deny stress, looking out for good management practices, like not tethering livestock, emerges as a key indicator of well-being.
The only way to ensure that dairy animals are being treated well, is to become conscious of our consumption. But better decisions cannot come from a system that does not make information public and accessible. Conscious consumption can only come after traceability, and the capacity to trace which livestock systems one’s dairy is coming from.
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Far, far away from where I sit in Bengaluru, lies a tranquil sea on the western shores of South America. No matter where one lives, one must care about this coast, and the temperature of the waters there. It impacts us in all sorts of ways, like how hot our summers get, how expensive our vegetables become, and how heavily it will rain in the coming monsoons. If the ocean water is the average (or “neutral”) temperature, all is well. If it is cooler than usual (an event called La Nina), some countries suffer, but India enjoys a bounty. But warm waters on the coasts of Peru (the El Nino) tend to spell drought and distress for us.
These warm waters affect the flow of winds and how they pick up moisture, resulting in them being framed as the evil that affects weather, lives, and livelihoods. In reality, it is actually a part of the ebbs and flows of natural climatic patterns. Thanks to climate change, both El Nino and its cold counterpart, La Nina, are persisting for longer, becoming more frequent, and possibly more intense. This makes it harder for ecosystems to recover from the disruptions that these phenomena cause—and that is cause for concern. This year, a new term is strewn across the news: the “super El Nino”, a scarier version of everything that the warm seawaters of Peru imply.
The premise of the El Nino currents is simple: usually, trade winds (equatorial winds flowing east-to-west) carry warm waters from the Peruvian coast towards Indonesia. In their place, cool water rises up the ocean to occupy Peru’s shores. For reasons science has not yet fully understood, the trade winds weaken at irregular intervals every 2-7 years, and warm water stays back in South America. Without sufficient heat building up at the Indonesian coast, cloud formation is affected, and India’s southwest monsoons are weakened.
The April 2026 update of the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) indicates an increasing likelihood that a strong El Nino event will occur as early as May–July 2026, and peak in 2027 before receding. Ordinarily, an El Nino is declared when the sea surface temperature in the central Pacific Ocean exceeds 0.5°C above the long-term average temperature for a few sustained, consecutive months. While a ‘super’ El Nino is not an official term, it is used when the estimated rise in the sea’s temperature is more than 2°C. The last three super El Niño events occurred in 2015-16, 1997-98 and 1982-83. The 2015-16 El Niño led to a record global annual average temperature at the time, a record that 2027 is now predicted to snatch.
Thanks to climate change, both El Nino and its cold counterpart, La Nina, are persisting for longer
There are caveats to this declaration of ‘super’: firstly, this forecast is muddied because it is difficult to predict an abnormality like the El Nino when seasonal changes are also causing variations in weather patterns. Moreover, overall global warming trends affect the baselines that are used to calculate if the rise in sea temperature is an abnormality. What is important, though, is that the figure and intensity is disputed–not the fact that El Nino (‘the little boy’) is visiting.
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Most literature on El Nino discusses its impact on the Indian monsoons (and rightfully so), but it begins affecting our weather earlier on, contributing directly to heatwaves. Heatwaves reduce productivity of staple crops, livestock, and commercial fish while simultaneously making working conditions unbearable for farm labour, especially women. The risk extends beyond farm productivity—agricultural workers are 35 times more likely to die from occupational heat exposure than all workers combined in other sectors.
This harsh summer is followed by a below-normal southwest monsoon, dropping to 92% of the long period average this year according to forecasts by the India Meteorological Department (IMD). The heat has already put soil moisture, groundwater and surface water under stress due to increased evaporation and increased demand for water due to the heat. This reduces the water available for domestic, industrial, and agricultural use.
While a ‘super’ El Nino is not an official term, it is used when the estimated rise in the sea’s temperature is more than 2°C.
The water required for agriculture is worth dwelling on for many reasons, including its key role in providing employment as well as food security. Rain-fed irrigation accounts for around 50% of India’s net sown area, and around 40% of the total food production. Of the remaining half of the sown area, groundwater sources like tubewells make up a significant chunk. All of these sources, including the moisture the soil itself stores to remain healthy, are compromised by the El Nino.
This context is important to comprehend what a weak and delayed monsoon means for an Indian farmer. With rain-fed crops, a farmer’s sowing cycle depends on when the monsoons will come—planting too soon and too late both carry consequences, impacting crop quality and yield.
Findings from a 2025 study add nuance to this conversation: while El Nino reduces net summer rainfall, it paradoxically increases the frequency and intensity of heavy daily rainfall. This means that the little rainfall that farmers receive is hard to harness, and tends to destroy rather than nurture crops.
Rain-fed irrigation accounts for around 50% of India’s net sown area, and around 40% of the total food production.
This hits farmer incomes, even after the El Nino event passes. An RBI paper studying the 2015-16 super El Nino noted that rural wages remained subdued even after agricultural growth resumed. Data also suggests that more people have moved into agriculture after the COVID-19 pandemic, meaning that the economic distress affects more people. Produce from livestock, like milk and eggs, which often serve as contingent sources of income during times of drought, are also affected by El Nino. The supply crunch created by reduced grain, vegetable, and dairy production increases prices for consumers as well. The RBI’s inflation projections for the year captures this. Its inflation prediction peaks in the third quarter (October to December), which is when the impact of the monsoons on food prices will become most apparent. That said, there is some cautious optimism. An SBI Research statement points out that our stock of foodgrains is sufficient to “thwart any untoward disruption” caused by dips in Kharif production.
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The one silver lining with El Nino is that predictive mechanisms are well established, and afford us time to prepare. The most critical of preparatory measures is early warning systems that alert farmers to extreme weather conditions and provide guidance on potential remedial measures.
The agrometeorological advisory services that the India Meteorological Department (IMD) provides to farmers via television, radio, and SMS are a step in this direction.
Adapting agricultural practices to this changing reality is another way to arrest how badly it affects farmers. This includes shifting to efficient irrigation and water management practices, embracing climate-resilient crop varieties, and practicing multicropping and agroforestry to maintain soil health. A statement by the agricultural ministry shared that, thanks to coordinated efforts on better water management, irrigation, and agricultural practices, the country’s reservoir storage is at 127.01% of the normal level for this period. This water is considered crucial in softening El Nino’s impact on the Kharif crops.
While these measures can actively combat the damage that El Nino is causing, climatologists urge us to look at the larger picture.
While these measures can actively combat the damage that El Nino is causing, climatologists urge us to look at the larger picture. The oceans are absorbing over 93% of the additional heat generated because of global warming. It is this heat that collects over the East Pacific ocean to cause El Nino. Climatologist James Hansen compares this heat build up to a battery, saying that “human-made warming is decreasing the time needed to recharge the battery” and making El Ninos more and more frequent. The El Nino, thus, is not the disease, but the symptom. How we tackle global warming is going to define our future.
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Bipedalism. Fire. Domestication.
Renowned geneticist Dr. Hugo Oliveira believes these are the three things that changed human civilisation most irreversibly, and he isn’t wrong. Bipedalism, or walking on two legs, freed up our hands; the invention of fire gave us cooking; and the domestication of plants and animals gave us civilisation. Domestication tethered us to land. By enabling us to settle down and take control of where our food came from, it nudged us to call places home, to specialise in crafts, and to form human-like bonds with distinctly non-human species.
Domesticate (verb)
To tame.
In animals, domestication manifests clearly. There's a lick, a wagging tail, a friendly tackle. But what is a domesticated plant, and how do we recognise the signs of domestication in it, as we recognise them in an approachable, affectionate dog?
In the agricultural context, domestication is when crops went from being wild plants humans foraged to consume as food and medicine, to being 'domestic' plants that humans cultivated through trial and error. The difficulty in spotting its signs comes from one key difference: in response to human interaction, the physiology and behaviour of animals were left altered. Plants, however, changed in biology, making the storied history and present of their ‘taming’, optimising, and adaptation a puzzle with a thousand pieces.
Let's take the example of barley. One of the earliest domesticated plants, it also happens to be the best understood crop as far as the journey of its domestication is concerned. For over 10,000 years, barley was pre-domesticated, i.e. it was harvested from the wild. Then, around 10,000 years ago, the first signs of domesticated barley were found in modern day Syria and Palestine, part of the Fertile Crescent spanning much of West Asia, and referred to as the “cradle of civilisation”. The larger grain size led historians to believe that it was from a cultivated plant.
Each time barley changed its characteristics, it surrendered the very things that made it independent.
But an even more interesting transformation occurred around 9,000 years ago: the plant's rachis changed. Imagine rachis as the vertebrae of the grass, along which the kernels (i.e. seeds) are attached. In the wild, the rachis is brittle, to allow the kernel to fall and for the plant to propagate by itself. Barley’s vertebrae became like ours—flexible—and its parenthood, too: it started holding onto its seeds the way we hold onto our young. In doing so, it marked the first major sign of barley responding to artificial (human) selection rather than natural selection.
In the wild, barley was originally two-row i.e. having two rows of kernels along its length. These kernels were composed of a central spikelet (spikelets are modified florets which grow into the grain), and two lateral spikelets flanking it on either side. Approximately 8,500 years ago–due to a genetic mutation–these lateral spikelets became as large as the central spikelet. So, the 2-row domesticate became a 6-row domesticate—a cultivar first found in parts of Egypt and Mesopotamia. This development allowed humans to get more grains from a single plant.
Slowly, the cereal began to migrate to the east of the Fertile Crescent. So far, the central spike had been the only fertile spikelet; now, the lateral spikes lost their sterility too. Soon after, it made its way to Iran where it truly warmed up to humans: it gave up its protective covering—its hull. This made it easier for humans to harvest it, and increased its beta-glucan content. Then, after over 2000 years of evolutionary lull, this hull-less barley began appearing in archaeological findings everywhere: Turkey, Europe, Scandinavia.
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While barley continued to spread across the world thereafter, its evolutionary journey stagnated. It fluttered back into motion briefly around 60 years ago, with the emergence of dwarf varieties, but largely, barley’s metamorphosis ended with it losing its hull.
Each time barley changed its characteristics, it surrendered the very things that made it independent. In a sense, it entrusted its survival to humans, honouring a bond formed over generations of building trust and changing form. These changing characteristics that mark a plant’s shift from a wild plant to a domesticate are known as domestication traits. The non-shattering of seeds, loss of hull, and flexible stems are all domestication traits for barley.
But barley is only the first chapter of domestication. Even now, millenia later, we find that examining the life cycle of a plant—annual, biennial, perennial—can indicate the time period and geography of when it is most likely to have been domesticated over the last 10,000 years.
Ten thousand years ago, you’d have to be on the eastern shores of the Mediterranean Sea and along the Horn of Africa to witness history, because that is where most annuals—the earliest crops to be domesticated—were first cultivated. Barley, for instance, is an annual, i.e. a plant which completes its growth and reproduction cycle (seed production) within a single year, at the end of which it dies. Most of our major cereal crops—wheat, barley, rice, corn—are annuals. Their rate of domestication peaked 8,000 years ago and plateaued around 4,000 years ago.
Most changes in annuals involve changes to seed morphology—a reduction in dormancy (or the seed’s instinct to ‘sleep’ rather than germinate in unfavourable situations), as well as seed coat thickness and impermeability. All these changes support faster germination during cultivation. Many of the domestication traits observed in barley—like non-shattering of seeds, loss of hull, and flexible stems—also appear in rice, corn, and wheat. These traits converge to make the seeds easier to collect, cultivate, and harvest. Early on in the domestication process, the effect of human technology is visible: the use of a sickle for harvesting was key to the development of the non-shattering trait in cereals, as visible in Asian rice. This ease of harvesting likely aided Asian rice in becoming the species that is predominantly cultivated across the world.
Early on in the domestication process, the effect of human technology is visible: the use of a sickle for harvesting was key to the development of the non-shattering trait in cereals
African rice, on the contrary, was harvested using swinging baskets—and it meant the seeds remained ‘wild’, falling off rather than holding on to the rachis. Some perennials (plants living for more than two years that go dormant in harsh weather) too were domesticated around this time, and cultivated as annuals. For instance, around 3,500 years ago, the Indian subcontinent witnessed one of its few cases of primary domestication: the pigeon pea (better known as toor dal), whose wild ancestor is native to southern Odisha and the adjacent Bastar area.
Around 6,000 years ago, in the northern parts of Eurasia and North America in what is called the circumboreal or largest floristic region of the world, the first biennials—think carrots and beetroots—were domesticated. Biennials take two years to complete their reproductive cycle: roots and leaves establish in the first year, and seeds and flowers only come by the second year. In between, they undergo a short hibernation during the colder months, and this prolonged exposure to cold is often how the plants acquire their ability to flower. For us to cultivate them despite this extended growing cycle, biennials needed human civilisation to reach a stage where we could wait for the plant to give seeds. This explains why the wave of biennial domestication only peaked around 3,000 to 1,000 years ago. This time period also coincided with the Roman Empire’s trade activities in the Mediterranean, which allowed biennials to travel widely.
For us to cultivate them despite this extended growing cycle, biennials needed human civilisation to reach a stage where we could wait for the plant to give seeds.
The last to be domesticated were the perennials, which include both trees (like eucalyptus, mango, and coconut trees), and non-tree perennials (everything from tomatoes and strawberries to mint plants, and even dahlias). Unlike annuals, which die every year, perennials simply go dormant when the climate is harsh, and come back to life as the weather improves. Found across the globe, they were cultivated for a long time before being successfully domesticated, i.e. they were planted by humans for a long time before evolutionary changes initiated by human intervention started to manifest themselves. What delayed their domestication?
Two reasons have been hypothesised. The first is the life cycle of perennials: in the same 1000-year period, there are more generations of a rice plant (one every year) than of a walnut tree (one every 250 years). Each generation becomes an opportunity for mutations to take root, and for domestication traits to establish themselves. The longer lifespan of perennials inherently slows down their evolutionary journey.
The second reason is related to the reproductive strategy of the plant: the successful domestication of perennials has been linked to innovations in vegetative propagation, i.e. when the plant is bred not from its seed, but from the leaves, stems, or roots of the parent plant. The first wave of perennial domestication peaked around 4,000 years ago when vegetative cuttings were introduced, and the second wave around 2,000 years ago coincided with the rise of grafting.
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As opposed to annual grains, where the seed modified itself for humans, in perennials (or indeed, in annuals and biennials with fruits) it tends to be the fruit that bends its nature. In many ways, this concept is a known one: animals (including humans) disperse seeds in exchange for something nutritious.
Did plants take down some of their shields because humans were protecting them from threats, or did the humans start protecting them because they reduced their bitter compounds to appeal to the human palette?
Potatoes, tomatoes, and cucumbers became less bitter, while grapes, apples, and maize enhanced their respective colours. Behind each of these modifications lie the chemical compounds that puppeteer them, otherwise known as secondary metabolites. A plant’s primary metabolites are those compounds involved in its growth and development, like chlorophylls. Secondary metabolites handle the rest—immune response, UV protection, and attracting pollinators, to name a few. As it happens, a lot of the compounds forming the armed forces of the plant (like tannins in tea) taste very bitter to the human tongue.
In a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation, we aren’t yet sure what happened first: did plants take down some of their shields because humans were protecting them from threats, or did the humans start protecting them because they reduced their bitter compounds to appeal to the human palette? One thing we do know is that across all regions and plant types, the most common domestication trait to be witnessed was this: changes to the presence and concentration of secondary metabolites.
While secondary metabolites bend the chemical composition of the plant, a trait called polyploidy tinkers with its genetic makeup in profound ways. Ploidy refers to the number of complete sets of chromosomes a somatic (non-reproductive) cell has, and most sexually reproducing organisms are diploid or greater (polyploid). Humans, for instance, are diploid since they have two sets of complete chromosomes—one from each parent. Plants have greater internal variation in ploidy: some like rice are diploid, while sugarcanes go up to octaploids. All in all, nearly a quarter of all current plant species are polyploid.
Domestication has had a tendency to initiate polyploidy in plants in one of two ways. One method is through abnormal genetic duplication within the same species (autopolyploidy), which is how vegetables like cauliflower evolved. This excess genetic material results in larger stems, roots, or leaves. So, the same parent species Brassica oleracea evolved into cabbage (larger leaves) and cauliflower (larger flower buds) when selected for certain features. These changes also make the plant more adaptive, and allow it to establish itself in regions where its ancestors could not survive.
If you relish potato-based dishes, you will love learning about the second kind of polyploidy (allopolyploidy) where the genetic material of two or more species is mixed to create a new variation. It is only because of a chance hybridisation between a wild potato Etuberosum (which was incapable of producing tubers), and a wild tomato (which has the gene that is the master switch for tuber formation) that we have the wildly popular modern-day potato! This kind of delightful development is at the heart of this method: by mixing genes from two distinct sources, it widens the pool of raw material for natural (or artificial) selection to choose from, resulting in a mix of desirable characteristics from both ancestors.
Changes in ploidy are central to the journey of wild plants differentiating into distinct species. This is simpler to observe in autopolyploidy: the same wild ancestor undergoes distinct domestication journeys at different geographic locations to evolve into cauliflower, cabbage, broccoli, etc. Allopolyploidy allows for something even more magical: it gives the plant ecological isolation even if it is geographically proximate to its wild ancestor.
When a polyploid plant is cross-bred with its diploid ancestors, the difference in chromosome numbers prevents the chromosomes from pairing and leaves the offspring sterile, essentially ensuring that it evolves independently. This allows it to retain and reproduce the characteristics it was chosen for, and solidify its own lineage. In short, it is what makes genetic changes stick.
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Whether through polyploidy or otherwise, the process of domestication allows artificial selection to supersede natural selection. An unforgettable figure in revolutionising how artificial selection is deployed was Austrian biologist-mathematician Gregor Mendel. His work on plant genetics in the 1850s would be refined for over a century, and propel the breeding of varieties with more calorie-dense grains, and more yield per acre. By the 1960s, these developments would coalesce into the Green Revolution—an international programme aimed at battling hunger and poverty in Asia and Africa.
This marks an important shift in the prevailing mode of domestication. Earlier, small-scale farmers would select the grains which had the most starch, the trees with the best tasting fruit, and the plants with the fleshiest leaves. Now, dedicated organisations breed crops with the intention of mixing genes and creating hybrids with specific characteristics. Even when traditional domestication was intentional, the farmer's choice was limited to which crop they rewarded with propagation. The intentionality hybridisation offers is far more precise. Technology has made the process faster too: what used to take thousands of years can now be achieved in a decade or lesser.
Modern domestication is geared towards yield and ease of harvest, and often chooses genes that yield predictable, homogeneous crops. Along the way, we lose diversity.
When measured against a definition, both these practices count as domestication: they both involve a coevolutionary, mutualistic relationship where one species (humans) constructs an environment where it actively manages the survival and reproduction of another species (crops like rice and wheat) to provide itself with resources or services. Most scholastic work on the subject refers to hybridisation as a form of domestication, although there remains a strong counterargument to this nomenclature. If the meaning and implication of a word evolves so deeply that it births an entirely new practice, should they still share a name?
There is great risk in conflating traditional and modern domestication, given the diverse impacts they have had on human society. Traditional domestication has been instrumental in making plants digestible, and in turn, in the development of civilisation. Modern domestication is geared towards yield and ease of harvest, and often chooses genes that yield predictable, homogeneous crops. Along the way, we lose diversity. One way to fathom the scale of this loss is looking at the Food and Agriculture Organization’s data revealing that seventy-five percent of the global food supply comes from 12 crops, three of which—rice, maize, and wheat—make up 60% of the global calorie intake. A dozen crops are at the centre of global food grain demand—something farmers across the world respond to by growing these crops irrespective of geographic suitability, straining natural resources in the process.
This loss of plant diversity impacts not only biodiversity, but also food security and nutrition. Captured in the concept of genetic drift is the acknowledgement that multiple factors determine the fluctuations in the genetic diversity of any species. Humans have, however, developed a knack for being the factor with disproportionate influence. It is how we have driven animal after animal into extinction, and snuffed out over 600 (known) plant species over the past two and a half centuries.
Conservation efforts can mitigate extinctions, but do not always manage to address the problem of genetic diversity. Even in the case of the bearded vulture which was almost hunted to extinction (one of the best known wildlife comeback stories), the gene pool of the surviving vultures is limited, and biologists continue to worry about the vultures' capacity to withstand environmental change in the long term.
As certain easy-to-cultivate varieties become ubiquitous, we are only one plant disease or weather irregularity away from severely disrupting our food supply system. Optimising crops for yield has also resulted in calorie-dense starches replacing nutrient-dense crops, something that is at least partially responsible for the widespread micronutrient deficiencies we see today.
It is easy to understand the domestication of plants as a process where humans tamed plants. But in many ways, the plants tamed us too. They made us sedentary, put us on a diet of primarily 3 cereals, and got us well and truly hooked on starch and sugar. Continuing to feed ourselves this limited diet puts us at risk of fading away like the bearded vulture.
It is easy to understand the domestication of plants as a process where humans tamed plants. But in many ways, the plants tamed us too.
Modern-day domestication, driven by sophisticated science, offers its own solutions to these problems. It talks about the possibilities of selecting crops not for nutrition, but for ecosystem services like carbon sequestration, and using these intentionally bred species for ecological restoration.
Our escape route—surviving wild plants—does not lie in more petri dishes; they are hidden in roadsides and unplundered hills, passed on through oral traditions and aged guardians. Traditional modes of domestication are still open to us, and are still faster than earlier thanks to a better understanding of botany. Both kiwi and cranberry, domesticated only in the past 100-200 years, testify to this.
The world we have arrived into today isn’t irredeemable. But it is a tale of artificial rather than natural selection determining what plants are the fittest for survival. A little less meddling, and we may find the plants that escaped the calorie-dense transformations that human civilisation hammered their brethren into. In a world that is struggling, at once, with malnutrition due to hunger as well as due to overconsumption of high-calorie foods, we might find some answers in indigenous knowledge, and plants that still have diversity in genes and nutrients.
Cover image (desktop) from Henry G. Gilbert Nursery and Seed Trade Catalog Collection;B.K. Bliss & Sons, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons
Cover image (mobile) from Wellcome Library, London, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Eat quinoa for breakfast, and you’re sorted for protein. Slather some avocado and a sunny-side up on warm toast, and you have an aesthetic picture ready for your social media. Top your strawberry shake with chia seeds and blueberries, and you’re halfway to your summer body.
The availability of ‘superfoods’ is a comforting thought. That you can load up your cart with a few ingredients which will multiply your antioxidant intake, lower your cholesterol, keep cancer at bay, and boost energy all at once. But beneath all those glossy promises lies a more complicated—and slightly disappointing—reality. Superfoods…might not even be real.
There’s no standardised definition for superfoods. Usually, an ingredient is promoted to superfood status when it has high levels of nutrients, is linked to disease prevention, and ostensibly offers extraordinary health benefits. Its inclusion in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary confirms how the term has made its way into our food lexicon. “A food (such as salmon, broccoli, or blueberries) that is rich in compounds (such as antioxidants, fibre, or fatty acids) considered beneficial to a person’s health.”Antioxidants, fibre, and fatty acids became sought-after in food after it was discovered that they play a significant role in heart health, and consequently, could help in increasing life expectancy.
The origins of the term, and how the humble banana became pedestalised, is telling of how superfoods continue to occupy an ambiguous space between science and advertising.
One of the first usages of the term “superfood” dates back to the early 20th century, around World War I. And it wasn’t food scientists or dieticians going gaga about discovering a mystical, miraculous ingredient. The United Fruit Company in the US started advertising bananas as ‘superfoods’ to profit from their massive banana imports. Their campaigns were a hit—they promoted bananas as cheap, nutritious, and versatile foods in a struggling economy. The term gained greater legitimacy after physicians started publishing their findings in medical journals. Soon, bananas were a dietary staple across the US.
The origins of the term, and how the humble banana became pedestalised, is telling of how superfoods continue to occupy an ambiguous space between science and advertising. There is no clear evidence that foods labelled as superfoods are any better than the locally grown and sourced produce that we consume as part of our everyday diets. In fact, the term ‘superfood’ is regulated in parts of the world like the European Union. Since July 2007, EU regulations have prohibited the marketing of products as "superfoods" unless accompanied by a specific, authorised health claim supported by credible scientific evidence. Food safety regulation and enforcement is often inconsistent in India. One consequence of this has meant that superfoods have become ‘super-business,’ as leading celebrity nutritionist Rujuta Diwekar puts it.
Part of what makes superfoods so tricky to understand is that food conglomerates sponsor research to promote particular foods. Unsurprisingly, industry-funded research tends to have results that favour the products they are marketing. Author of Food Politics: How the Food Industry Influences Nutrition and Health and Professor Emerita of Nutrition and Food Studies at New York University, Marion Nestle, found that of the 76 industry-funded studies she examined, the results of 70 favoured the sponsor’s product. “Popular claims such as grapes and walnuts are superfoods, wine has anti-ageing properties or that dark chocolate is good for your heart were found to have been funded by or its researchers closely associated with organisations such as Mars Inc., California Walnut Commission and even Coca-Cola in a particularly well-publicised research on obesity and healthy eating.”
Most conventional superfoods are also imported—kale, acai berries, avocado, seaweed, quinoa. These are branded as exotic and have a premium price tag, both of which point to the link between aspirational eating and upwards socio-economic mobility.
But it’s not just an industry conspiracy. Even independent studies on nutrition science examining how one superfood affects the body often don’t compare it to eating an ‘ordinary’ food which makes it hard to know how effective it really is, or if it actually has any special benefits in a larger context. Studies also often test ‘superfoods’ in unrealistically high amounts—like asking people to eat two cups of blueberries every day for a month to examine their impact on blood pressure. But real diets are far more varied – people eat a variety of fruits, vegetables, grains and processed foods every single day. This narrow focus of studies can therefore skew results and not reflect how people actually eat. In a way then, is nutrition science in itself being manufactured?
Also read: Detox teas: Slim claims, heavy consequences
Through the ages, food advertisements have carefully monitored trends surrounding body image. In the 1980s, fat was the enemy—hundreds of products were posited as low-fat or fatfree. What labels didn’t mention was the extra sugar and additives used to make up for it. As sugar intake soared, so did health issues—and ‘sugar-free’ became the new buzzword. Superfoods are just the latest spin in this same cycle. With the ‘skinny trend’ being back and all over social media, people are looking for a magical cure—and superfoods are perfect to cater to this demand.
Mumbai-based gut microbiome specialist Munmun Ganeriwal says that clients have been curious about superfoods for about two decades, but there has been a shift in their objectives. “Earlier, people were more concerned with weight-loss and aesthetics. Post-pandemic, there has been a decided shift to improving energy, immunity and overall fitness.”
Superfoods are largely a metropolitan phenomenon. Their demand and consumption in India is mostly in large, urban cities. Most conventional superfoods are also imported—kale, acai berries, avocado, seaweed, quinoa. These are branded as exotic and have a premium price tag, both of which point to the link between aspirational eating and upwards socio-economic mobility.
Ingredients that have been staples of Indian kitchens are now suddenly labelled as a ‘superfood’ and pushed into a ‘superior’ category. In reality, any food that is good for health is a superfood. Moreover, the list of superfoods keeps changing. Ghee was considered a fattening agent and a deterrent for health until a few years ago. Now, it’s all the rage.
Food writer and Food And Beverage marketing specialist Kalyan Karmakar talks about how campaigns are strategically designed for the upper-middle class urban resident: “Most of these ads target the globalised, English-speaking consumer. They have greater purchasing power, and are a lot more likely to invest in health.” Health claims bump up these foods on their desired demographic’s radar—studies on consumer behavior show that people are willing to pay more money for foods they perceive as healthy and which have nutritional research backing them.
But it’s not just ‘exotic,’ imported products that are riding the superfood wave anymore. Foods like ghee, turmeric and moringa that are added to podi and khichdi, sprinkled into lukewarm milk, and stirred into aromatic sambar have been catapulted to superfood status in the last two decades.
“There is no fixed definition of superfood,” Ganeriwal says. “Ingredients that have been staples of Indian kitchens are now suddenly labelled as a ‘superfood’ and pushed into a ‘superior’ category. In reality, any food that is good for health is a superfood. Moreover, the list of superfoods keeps changing. Ghee was considered a fattening agent and a deterrent for health until a few years ago. Now, it’s all the rage.”
If these ordinary ingredients have been part of our diet for generations, how do marketing campaigns elevate them into ‘superfoods’? “The idea is to take a food away from its natural form and transform it into a completely different product—like amla capsules, jamun supplements or moringa powder. You combine the aura that comes with labelling something as a ‘superfood’ by making functional claims like it being ‘reinforced’ or ‘concentrated’ that transport it beyond its original avatar,” Karmakar says.
This is also why capsules and supplements have skyrocketed in popularity. “People are short on time, and often cannot afford to cook a well-balanced meal. Supplements and capsules make you feel like you’re getting the benefits with minimal effort,” Chandigarh-based nutritionist Lavleen Kaur says. Celebrity endorsements and nutritionist-influencers on social media have only heightened the appeal of superfoods, reinforcing the belief that they’re a panacea for all health woes.
Also read: How food inflation is squeezing Indian households
In some cases, the rise of superfoods has opened up new opportunities for farmers. A boost in the demand for makhanas and moringa has encouraged next-generation farmers to continue in their profession. Hardy crops like quinoa and chia thrive in arid soils where little else can grow. In 2013, the United Nations declared it ‘The International Year of Quinoa’. By this time, the grain was already being imported by India, and –featuring on the shelves of gourmet grocery stores and in fine dining vegan menus. Then, in 2014, the Andhra Pradesh government launched Project Anantha, and distributed quinoa seeds to farmers in the region of Anantapur to revive agriculture in the drought-prone village.
Project Anantha flourished for a few years. Quinoa sold for Rs 70–90 per kilo from 2014-16. But by the end of 2017, quinoa was being grown over 350 acres as compared to the original experimental area of 50 acres. Moreover, Andhra Pradesh lost its sole-producer tag for quinoa and experimental trials started in Rajasthan as well. There was too much unplanned cultivation and production, and the state government had simply not invested in marketing as it had done in production. Superfoods were still largely a metropolitan phenomenon—there was just not as much demand. Quinoa prices crashed to Rs 10 per kg by 2018.
Superfoods have affected local ecosystems in other ways, too. A growing appetite for imported foods in particular, has had wide implications across global agricultural landscapes. Once biodiverse plots are increasingly being replaced by monoculture plantations focused on a single ‘super’ crop. This shift has not only strained soil and water resources but also disrupted traditional farming systems and livelihoods.
“Growers have been cutting down swaths of forest to make room for more fruit trees in the state of Michoacan, Mexico, the world’s avocado capital. Today, avocados occupy approx. 340,000 acres of land.” Worse still, the humble avocado—once a staple on Mexican plates—has been priced out of reach for many, thanks to the sky-high demand outpacing supply and turning this everyday fruit into a luxury item for locals.
An increase in monoculture is just one unseen consequence of the global fad of superfoods. Indigenous Indian communities have always foraged in forests for sustenance. Health and wellness companies have suddenly ‘discovered’ the benefits of some of these wild, exotic ingredients and are pushing them as superfoods, pandering to the urban, elite consumer. This means that urban residents are increasingly competing with indigenous communities for food sources, with the latter having to sell what historically constituted their diet at throwaway prices and turning to less nutritious and non-traditional foods.
To so brutally villainise superfoods would be to risk de-legitimising them completely. Superfoods ARE healthy foods. For instance, avocado is indeed loaded with healthy fats, and grapefruit is a great source of vitamin A and C, and most superfoods are high in antioxidants. However, many plant-based foods with colour have antioxidants. Staples like turmeric and carrot, containing curcumin and beta carotene respectively, both have antioxidant properties.
Kaur says, “I have poha with avocado and cucumber. Superfoods add variety and additional roughage to your plate. But if you’re drinking jeera/ajwain water, eating fruits, nuts and seeds, you don’t need to go out of your way to consume imported superfoods.” Ganeriwal adds, “There’s no harm in being curious about superfoods. But as regular, healthy people, not pursuing them is not going to make us deficient. You don’t need to fear ‘missing out’—and you definitely don’t need to chase Western superfoods”.
“The Indian plate is so wonderfully diverse, nuanced and seasonal,” the Mumbai-based dietician says. “Take gond (a crystalline herb acquired from the sap of the plant Locoweed)—this jelly-like substance cools your body in the summers and helps keep it warm in the winters.”
There’s no harm in being curious about superfoods. But as regular, healthy people, not pursuing them is not going to make us deficient.
Nutrition science is extraordinarily complex—and the truth is that no single food, no matter how rich in vitamins and antioxidants, can replace a balanced diet combined with regular exercise. “Any whole foods that are minimally processed are going to have a positive impact on your health,” Ganeriwal says. Conventional superfoods can also blind us to other ordinary foods that may be equally as nutritious and flavourful. These locally grown and sourced ingredients may be hiding in plain sight in our kitchens and markets.
Also read: Mindful eating: A wellness tool, or trendy byte?
1. Kombucha vs Buttermilk
Kombucha may be in vogue for claims about its probiotic content. However, the standards for probiotic content in Kombucha are largely unregulated—allowing manufacturers to make unchecked claims. Buttermilk, on the other hand, is a gut-friendly, affordable, homemade alternative, minus the added sugars.
2. Quinoa vs Amaranth
Amaranth (Rajgira) packs more protein, magnesium, iron, and potassium than quinoa—and at a fraction of the cost. Being a local grain, it can be easily found in stores or even grown at home.
3. Kale vs Beet Greens
Kale is hyped as the nutritional powerhouse of all leafy vegetables. But beet greens, which are often discarded,are just as impactful. They’re low in calories, rich in vitamin E and potassium, and are far more accessible.
4. Goji Berry vs Jamun
Goji berries may be trendy, but jamun is India’s original superberry. It boosts immunity, balances blood sugar, and is packed with iron, calcium, and vitamin C. Enjoy the tartness and remember the taste of childhood.
5. Matcha vs Moringa
Matcha might be the new, cool Japanese kid on the block, but moringa is desi and delivers more—30x the protein, 10x the fiber, and 100x the calcium, as celebrity nutritionist Pooja Makhija puts it. From leaves to seeds, it’s a super tree, not just a superfood.
What’s the bottom line? Beneath hyped-up health claims, expert nutrition advice hasn't changed much. "The basic principles of eating healthfully have remained remarkably consistent over the years," Nestle, who has researched extensively on the superfoods phenomenon, says. "Eat a wide variety of relatively unprocessed foods in reasonable amounts.” Take fads with a grain of salt and focus on balance—because good health can’t be contained in a buzzword.
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