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. 

What makes it ‘super’

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. 

Also read: In the battle of Alphonso vs Kesar, climate change plays dirty

Strained resources

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. 

Also read: Climate change in my cup: Why India’s cocoa and coffee production is at risk

Building resilience

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. 

Read more: A crop for the future: Why India should invest in ragi and its climate resilience

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.

The blossoming of barley

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.

Also read: What it takes to feed India’s growing cities

Surrendering independence through adaptation

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.

Time travel through history

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. 

Also read: Food fortification 101: Can foods built in with nutrients counter malnutrition, deficiencies?

Evolutionary give and take

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. 

Genetic fixations

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. 

Also read: What's lurking in our food?

The diversity discourse

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.

The big superfood boom

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

The wellness economy and eating ‘right’

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

Impact on local ecosystems and communities

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.

Building a ’super’ plate

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?

Indian alternatives to imported superfoods

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.

Marigolds, with their bright sunny blooms, defy the typical, easy withering fate of flowers. Often compared to the sun’s eye in poetry, they feature in cultures worldwide, and are particularly revered in India. From Varanasi’s street stalls to the temple steps of Tamil Nadu, these flowers—heaped or strung in garlands—honour both the living and the dead. 

Growing them requires little care, and their flowering season lasts year-long. It’s a well-known piece of advice among farmers to plant marigolds alongside tomatoes, cabbage, and strawberries to keep plants safe. 

Power of scent

Besides finding a spot in the cultural landscape, marigolds are also hard at work in fields. Their roots release a substance that chemically controls several species of nematodes (worm-like creatures) or invisible pests that feed on plant roots, stunt growth and often cause the plants to die. Marigolds are most effective in controlling the common meadow and stylet nematodes. In the first year of planting marigolds, they start repelling pests. In the second year, the leftover substances in the soil become even better at repelling. This effect can last into the third year, too. 

Why do marigolds work for some who till the land, but not for others? Because the strength of their exudate depends on the variety.  Another reason why marigolds are not suitable for every garden is that their roots produce a sulfur compound called thiophene, which cannot be handled by all plants, like roses.

With so much hybridisation, many of the plants’ basic characteristics have been altered, not least of which is the distinctive—and to some, offensive—odour. This smell of many hybrid marigolds is a natural insect repellent. Fascinatingly, marigolds have been grown at the border of rice fields at Uttarakhand’s Navdanya Biodiversity and Conservation Farm, to deter aphids, mosquitoes, nematodes and rabbits. 

However, there are no absolute rules. Interestingly, not all insects are repelled by marigolds. For instance, Japanese beetles are drawn to their scent. In this case, marigolds can be strategically used as trap crops to lure beetles away from more vulnerable plants.

Two types of marigold commonly available are French marigold (Tagetes patula) and pot marigold (Calendula officinalis). While French varieties are often toxic (to both humans and pests), pot marigolds are edible and can be used in salads or as a natural food colouring. Since they are similar in appearance, understanding which variety to use when and where is crucial.

Also read: These ducks mean business in paddy fields

A multipurpose bloom

Marigold’s sagey scent can also be used as a homemade insect spray, as an alternative to stinkier ones. Here’s a simple DIY method:

1. Crush large amounts of marigold flowers, including roots and leaves, and soak them in a bucket of water.
2. Let the mixture ferment for 5-7 days, stirring daily.
3. Once decayed, strain through a cloth and save the liquid.
4. Dilute the liquid with an equal part of soft, potash-based soapy water (avoid modern detergents with caustic soda, which may burn plant leaves and deplete soil fertility when used frequently).

Pro Tip: Add coriander to the mixture to deter pests that might otherwise be attracted to the marigolds themselves. Be cautious when spraying, as marigolds can attract bees.

Also read: The surprising culinary uses of jasmine flower

More uses

• Mulch: Use decayed marigold leaves, stems, and flowers as mulch to suppress pests.
• Interplanting and rotation: Planting marigolds between crops or rotating them through nematode-infested soil can naturally clean the soil and protect future plantings.
• Pollinator and beneficial insect magnet: The Tagetes species of marigold attract helpful insects, promoting a balanced and healthy ecosystem.

Easy to plant

Marigolds can serve as a companion, especially since many bedding plants don’t handle transplanting well once they bloom. One of the marigold’s standout qualities is how easily it adapts to newer settings. Unlike many flowering plants, it can be transplanted with ease even when in full bloom. Whether they are moved from garden beds into containers, or brought indoors, they adjust with minimal fuss and continue to thrive.

They’re not picky about soil either. While marigolds will grow in almost any type of soil, they do best in well-drained, compost-rich soil under full sunlight. Adding a bit of compost or aged manure can give them an extra boost. When transplanting, keep them at the same soil level as before, press the soil firmly around the base, and water thoroughly. More often than not, the plants won’t miss a beat and will look like they’ve always been there naturally.

Despite being frost-sensitive with a propensity to turn brown at temperatures below 0°C, marigolds are able to adapt for much of the growing season. If it were not for the nursery industry's constant development of flamboyant new hybrids, they may have  been seen as vivid weeds. 

Also read: Why neem oil is the OG pest buster

(Banner image credit: Neerja Deodhar)

There are many reasons to love mushrooms. These resilient, shape-shifting life forms have long occupied a strange in-between space—of being neither plant nor animal, invisible until they erupt, uninvited, from hidden corners, forest floors and compost heaps. Some are hallucinogenic, while others are deadly. They thrive where decay festers, and they bloom without a warning. However, no matter how loved or detested, they are definitely having their moment. 

In one part of the world, mushrooms are being studied for their potential to become customised antibiotics; in another, they’re being pressed into bricks to build homes. Some strains filter drinking water, and others float in orbit as part of experiments to develop self-sustaining ecosystems for deep space. 

These are organisms “eating rock, making soil, digesting pollutants, nourishing and killing plants, surviving in space, inducing visions, producing food, making medicines, manipulating animal behaviour, and influencing the composition of the earth’s atmosphere,” writes one mycologist, rhapsodising accurately the many facets of fungi. 

But mushrooms remain misunderstood. Even in India, where the forests of the Western Ghats and the North East hills host a mycological diversity, a large part of the population remains uneasy about mushrooms. They are seen as a little too alive, a little too strange. Even as these anxieties linger, the country has found its knack in growing these fungi for food and pharmaceuticals.

Mushroom cultivation in India has a curious lineage, one that begins in the cool slopes of Solan, Himachal Pradesh (now known as the ‘Mushroom City’ of India) sometime around the 1960s, under the patronage of the Food and Agriculture Organisation. Before that, the production of fungi remained shackled by cultural fear. It wasn’t until the economic liberalisation of the 1990s when markets opened and tastes widened that the mushroom cultivation gained momentum. 

Historically, since the colonial era, it was the native tribes who understood these organisms best. Under British colonial rule, mushrooms were dismissed as the British saw them as  “pariahs of the plant world.” When French cuisine began to cast fungus in a flattering light, the British palate began to shift. By the 19th century, mushrooms had become an emblem of good taste in a meal. 

In recent years, these near-miraculous organisms have quietly found their place in India’s agrarian community, thanks to their minimal demands—no sprawling fields or heavy investments are required. Across the country, success stories of mushroom farming, flourishing right from the four walls of homes, have emerged.

At the same time, mushrooms are catering to the growing demand for organic and unprocessed food. Known for their rich nutrient profile, they are seeing a gradual increase in per capita consumption in India, which currently averages around 80 grams. However, this remains significantly lower compared to countries like China, where consumption reaches 1.6 kilograms, and the US and Europe, where it ranges between 1.5 to 3 kilograms

Also read: Why an ex-banker is investing in microgreens

Mushrooming opportunities

“India has all the required elements for becoming a superpower in mushroom production,” says Rouf Hamza Boda, a self-taught mushroom researcher who has spent two decades identifying more than 100 species across the highlands of Jammu and Kashmir. “India has huge wild mushroom diversity, lots of composting material, cheap labour, and diverse climatic conditions,” he added.

Gucchis, the honeycomb-headed mushrooms found in the forests of Jammu and Kashmir, are among the world’s most expensive fungi, fetching up to a whopping ₹40,000 per kilogram. Foraged by locals in remote areas, these mushrooms are often consumed raw or preserved using traditional techniques before making their way to urban markets. However, this prized variety is now under threat from the region’s rising temperatures, which are impacting its natural growth cycle.

Meanwhile, the North-East of India has its own catalogue of fungi. To address the region's limited knowledge about edible versus poisonous varieties which is a gap that has led to fatal consequences, mushroom experts Stephen Axford and Catherine Marciniak were invited to document and identify safe mushrooms. Their journey took them through Assam, Meghalaya, and Arunachal Pradesh, helping to map out the region’s rich yet underexplored fungal diversity. In water-scarce areas, mushroom cultivation has been promoted in the region through Self Help Groups (SHGs), offering an effective way to boost local livelihoods.

In Chhattisgarh, a rare mushroom known as Sarai Boda grows naturally in the forests of Dhamtari. This variety commands a premium, priced as low as ₹300 per kilogram in rural areas and soaring to ₹2,000 per kilogram in metro markets. 

Since the crop is fragile, highly perishable, and sensitive, a minute change in temperature or failing to reach the customer counter in time can prove to be stressful.

Across India, fungiculture has become a tool for rural development. From the villages of Bihar, Jharkhand, and West Bengal to individuals making mid-career transitions, mushroom farming is gaining traction. It's not just SHGs fueling this change, entrepreneurs and startups are also getting on board. Mushroom-growing kits have even made an appearance on Shark Tank India, and established companies like Dr. Kurade’s have been investing in the sector since as early as 1994.

It helps that mushrooms have a short growing cycle. A farmer can go from substrate to sale in just a few weeks. But experts have cautioned against over-enthusiasm time and again. Since the crop is fragile, highly perishable, and sensitive, a minute change in temperature or failing to reach the customer counter in time can prove to be stressful. 

Indeed, mushrooms are not forgiving. They demand care, control, and near-constant surveillance. Fans pull air across moist pads in greenhouses to maintain temperature and humidity. Carbon dioxide levels are carefully monitored. One must be part scientist, part gardener, and part soothsayer.

Recognising the potential in the venture, the Indian government subsidised mushroom cultivation, providing up to ₹10 lakhs of loans and a 50% discount on compost. The states have also introduced aid for local farmers. For instance, in Bihar under the “Mushroom Kit Vitaran”, one can avail at a 90% subsidy alongside training support. The state has emerged as a leader in mushroom production since 2021 with a production of almost 42000 tonnes in between 2023-24.

Also read: The fragile future of Guchi mushrooms

Fungiculture 101

Parimal Ramesh Udgave, a microbiologist from Maharashtra, knows this all too well. In 2019, he founded Biobritte Agro Solutions with the goal of merging biotechnology and business. Today, his enterprise grows, dries, and processes mushrooms into powders and health supplements.

Udgave represents a new breed of Indian entrepreneurs who look at fungi not just as food, but as the foundation for various alternative industries. Biobritte’s shelves are filled with bags of shiitake, reishi, oyster, and button mushrooms. His lab tinkers with substrate mixes and spawn quality. His team teaches others how to grow, troubleshoot, and profit from this ancient life form.

“People see mushrooms as a fast, money-making business. But it must also be combined with technical skills,” he clarifies. 

For beginners, a piece of advice from a farmer from Ernakulam is that oyster mushrooms are the best to begin with, as they give quick results and a reasonable quantity. These mushrooms are ideal for newcomers as they offer an accessible entry point into mushroom farming with relatively little effort. Getting started in mushroom farming isn’t difficult, but requires consistency and precision. Ideally, the farm should be close to the home; cultivation is hands-on, and timing is everything.

India’s climate allows for a variety of mushrooms to be grown, depending on the region:

• Button mushrooms (Agaricus bisporus) prefer cooler temperatures and flourish in places like Himachal Pradesh, Jammu and Kashmir, and parts of Tamil Nadu.
  
  
• Oyster mushrooms (Pleurotus ostreatus), locally known as dhingri, thrive in warm, humid conditions and are ideal for beginners. They grow quickly and require less intensive infrastructure.
  
  
• Milky mushrooms (Calocybe indica) thrive in warmer environments and are increasingly favoured by small-scale farmers in the South.
  
  
• For over a decade, farmers across the country have been experimenting with shiitake mushrooms. These mushrooms are challenging to cultivate but have a niche demand due to their medicinal properties.

Also read: Black Soldier Fly: A hero of insect farming and waste management

Trust the process

Mushroom cultivation begins with compost, a nutrient-rich substrate often made from straw or sugarcane bagasse. According to mycologist Arun Gupta, wheat straw, though scarce in India, is ideal. Moisture is key; nutrition flows from compost to the mushrooms, with optimal moisture levels between 66–70%.

Next comes the process of spawning, where the “seed” of mushrooms is mixed into the compost. Depending on conditions, methods include surface or double-layer spawning. High-quality spawn is costly to import, so some farms opt to clone it, rejecting batches with slow growth or deformities.

After colonisation, casing soil is applied using a 4–5 cm layer of sterilised peat moss and lime, or loam mixed with sand or cow dung—added to retain moisture and trigger fruiting. Temperature (23-28°C), humidity (85%-90%), and carbon dioxide levels are closely managed for optimal growth.

Cropping begins 15 days after casing, as mushroom caps become visible. When they reach a length of 2.5-4 cm, harvesting can be done gently by hand. Mushrooms are twisted out carefully, preserving the casing, which is refilled and watered to allow multiple harvests in one cycle.

Trivia 

1. Scientists are building a global atlas of underground fungal networks, believing these hidden webs may help us weather climate change.
2. Though lacking a brain, fungi behave like living algorithms, quietly making smart, strategic choices.
3. After the nuclear disaster at Chernobyl in modern-day Ukraine, fungi were among the first life forms to reappear, thriving in radioactive ruins.
4. Of the estimated 1.5 million fungal species, most remain undocumented. 
5. Long before species with a spine walked the land, the Earth was dotted with towering fungi called prototaxites—some even two-storey tall.

For most people, creepy crawlies evoke a sense of fear, if not disgust. And yet, bugs and insects form necessary links in food chains. They feed directly on plants and convert their food into protein and energy–and when they are, in turn, eaten by birds, small mammals and fish, these predators absorb this plant protein that would otherwise remain inaccessible to them. Insects are also pollinators for over 80% of flowering plants in the world–many of which have no way to self-pollinate: their existence depends on insects.

Some insects may even contribute to solving a looming global issue: waste disposal. As populations increase, so does waste generation—but the land to absorb all of it remains finite. With a projected 1.6 billion demographic rise by 2050, most dwellings in India are strewn with mountains of garbage along the peripheries of urban centres. It only makes the urgency more apparent: how we do away with organic trash needs to be rethought.

A lack of waste disposal isn’t just an eyesore: it also poses severe damage to citizens and the environment, by way of issues such as respiratory and gastric illnesses and contamination of groundwater. Currently, waste disposal, particularly in India, is mostly through landfills–which quickly become hotspots for methane emissions, given the fact that almost 40% of an urban dweller’s waste is composed of organic materials. A 2021 report by the NITI Aayog estimates that urban India produces between 130,000-150,000 metric tons of municipal solid waste everyday, with each person disposing 330 to 350 grams. 

And while large-scale waste treatment and disposal policies are in play, one unexpected solution may be buzzing around the waste itself: flies. Though we typically associate flies with a lack of hygiene, the Black Soldier Fly (BSF) may just be able to do the opposite–consume and treat organic waste, especially food scraps and even manure, without the release of any emissions. They even do this faster than conventional methods of management.

Also read: Why neem oil is the OG pest buster 

What is the Black Soldier Fly? 

Known as the Hermetia illucens in the scientific community, this South American bug species can be found across the globe now. According to a research facility in Dimapur, it is the larvae of BSF that ingest the waste (up to 4 times waste than their body size) and convert it into protein, reducing the weight of the waste by 50%. The waste that these flies can’t consume includes wood, high-cellulose materials and plastics.

The life cycle of the Black Soldier Fly is about 45 days. The larvae themselves mature over a period of two weeks–after which, some of them are kept aside to repopulate the colony, and the rest are used as feed for livestock–they are an excellent source of alternate food for poultry like chicken. This nutrition sustains them when they reach adulthood. An adult fly can live for 5-8 days, and the females can lay up to 800 eggs!

Rearing Black Soldier Flies creates little waste. On the other hand, it encourages the maintenance of natural ecosystems. These flies are quite unique: unlike the usual fruit fly which may be a carrier of disease, the black-soldier fly is a non-invasive species, which is not a vector. They’re also not damaging to crop health. 

The future of insect farming

For small-scale farmers, who are stretched for both land and resources, rearing insects can be a creative solution. Densely populated and requiring little energy, they occupy little land and consume even less feed. They’ve even been raised in humble two-bedroom apartments. For this reason, reports by the UN have suggested that these bugs may define farming in the coming decades. Just one kilogram of larvae can consume up to 30 kilograms of waste, approximately four times their body matter in organic waste. Even their byproduct is useful: the excreta, called frass, is a nutrient-rich biofertiliser that aids soil enrichment.

The role of BSF as feed for poultry and livestock cannot be overlooked either. India is actually one of the largest suppliers of this feed. These flies convert compost and waste into vitamin-rich fodder, given their high waste-to-biomass conversion efficiency. The feed has even been correlated with higher productivity and well-being in chickens, as it promotes better gut health. Requiring high temperatures and moderate humidity to rear, Black Soldier Flies grow best in around 27°-30°C with 70% humidity. Ideal conditions such as these decrease the larvae harvest period from 45 days to 38 days. Fluctuations in this, though, don’t spell disaster–they just aid in mirroring natural habitats. 

In Europe, insect-feed has a much larger consumer base than in India, which has led to the development of the world’s largest facilities there. EU food regulation allows at least nine species of insects to be used for animal feed purposes. The industry as a whole is expected to grow in the future, given the increasing consumption of fish and meat. However, it remains nascent in India, attributed to little government involvement, knowledge gaps within the scientific community as well as religious beliefs. 

Also read: The 'plant' doctor will see you now

Rising industry in India 

The rearing of BSF larvae has been discovered by many agriculture and ecology enthusiasts in India. In Dimapur, Waste to Protein has utilised insects to break down household organic waste in Imphal, the state capital of Nagaland. 

They begin by collecting Black Soldier Flies from the forests, after which the eggs laid by the female flies are placed in a mix of wheat bran and water, to hatch. Then, the larvae feed on food waste. Some continue to reproduce while others become feed for livestock. Once the organic waste is reduced rapidly by the larvae–around 80 kilograms in 15 days–the remains can be used as compost or fertiliser. Though Waste-to-Protein may be a small project, it has processed at least 1.2 tonnes of waste monthly in 2023.

Two years ago, the biotech startup LoopWorm–which raised $3.4 million in its seed round–also cemented this process. They started small, by rearing Black Soldier Flies in a small flat. Eventually, they expanded to a facility in Bangalore, producing over 2000 tonnes of insect protein. Their focus is more on the production of poultry and aqua feed.

The founders Abhi Gawri and Alok Bagaria believe that India has the trappings to develop a symbiotic and beneficial relationship between insects and farming, given the tropical temperatures and abundance of organic waste. While both agree that mastering the production process has a steep learning curve, they argue that India is suited to insect rearing by virtue of its natural ecosystem and humidity levels, unlike North America and Europe, where such conditions have to be mechanically regulated and tend to account for a significant portion of input costs. 

This makes the process of setting up significantly more cost-efficient in South Asia.

The process has been used at a larger scale–as seen with the Kochi Corporation’s Brahmapuram plant, where alternative waste management is being explored. The facility reported in 2024 that around 8,000 tonnes of food waste was consumed by larvae in just 6 months–the remnants can be sold as fertiliser and the process emits zero greenhouse gases like methane. However, for independent and commercial insect-for-feed ventures, it has been difficult to find funding and then ready consumers–given the traditional mindset of Indian livestock businesses as well as a lack of regulatory frameworks for insect farming on the policy end.

Hence, they look to foreign markets and cut corners by relying on manual labour. The lack of government incentive for investment R&D has discouraged much competition in the industry – looking at the heavy subsidies offered in turn for fertilisers, the aim seems to be to kill insects, and not to protect them. 

BSF farming may signify a cleaner, more hygienic future for India. With public urban spaces being slowly engulfed by trash and garbage, the need for a sustainable method of waste management becomes more urgent. Moreover, as rural India still reels under the pressures of a non-existent waste management system, insect farming in particular, points to the possibility of a holistic approach to disposing of organic waste, which is in sync with agriculture.

Also read: Do-nothing farming: The Masanobu Fukuoka story