Until five years ago, M. Muthulakshmi, a farmer from Thoppupatti village in Dindigul district, Tamil Nadu, relied heavily on chemicals, including banned antibiotics like streptomycin, for her paddy crop. It was her go-to solution to treat bacterial blight, a deadly disease that affects crop yield. But, this crop season, she no longer uses powerful antibiotics. Muthulakshmi has transitioned to natural farming methods after heeding the advice of ‘plant doctors’ over local agri-input dealers.

The input dealers, who were ignorant about this new invasive pest, suggested a combination of random insecticides, which would’ve inadvertently aggravated the population of black thrips, an invasive insect species. “I learnt about it only after frequent visits to the plant clinic," Muthulakshmi says. Aware that the disease occurs primarily between October and December, she now sprays a natural solution made from cow dung as a preventative measure against bacterial blight. This approach has reduced her reliance on fertilisers, lowered plant protection costs, preserved soil quality, and, most importantly, has been a solution to antimicrobial resistance in agriculture.

Also read: Antibiotics abuse is poisoning us and our soil

What are plant clinics?

Given this reality, many farmers, such as Muthulakshmi, have visited plant clinics in the hope of finding solutions.

Developed by the Centre for Agricultural and Biosciences International (CABI) and initiated in India by the MS Swaminathan Research Foundation (MSSRF) in 2012, ‘plant clinics’ are a technological model that educates farmers on preventative measures for pest management and focusses on sustainable crop practices. Just as doctors diagnose human diseases, plant clinics perform a similar role for crops. At a plant clinic, typically set up in a common area within a village, farmers bring samples of their plants to showcase pest symptoms. Each clinic conducts at least two sessions per month, with around 20 farmers attending each. During the peak crop seasons of November and December, clinics increase their frequency to hold weekly sessions.

Plant clinics are managed by plant doctors who are either experts, extension officers or progressive farmers who underwent CABI’s training modules on various plant health issues. These doctors either suggest biological solutions to the crops or, if needed, visit the fields to get a better analysis. “In the case of trees, such as coconuts and palms, when the samples cannot be brought, we visit the farm to get a first-hand analysis of the pest,” says P. Senthil Kumar, a plant doctor.

Precision equipment—including a tablet, microscope, magnifier, laptop equipped with DinoCapture (a software that allows users to capture images from a microscope and annotate them), and a projector—makes the plant clinic a mobile unit that can cater to different villages. All these tools help the farmer understand the type of disease on hand, its cause, patterns, and appropriate solutions, which are mostly na​​ture-based, to address it.

A 2018 MSSRF study on plant clinics states that plant doctors consult a panel of agricultural experts from CABI, MSSRF, Tamil Nadu Agricultural University (TNAU), Krishi Vigyan Kendra (KVK), and the Agriculture Department when faced with issues beyond their expertise. The panel, formed with specialists committed to offering support, helps tackle complex challenges. MSSRF currently operates 37 plant clinics across 205 villages in Tamil Nadu, Puducherry, Assam, Odisha, Kerala, and Madhya Pradesh. The foundation has trained 190 plant doctors—including 47 women—conducted 3,180 clinic sessions, assisted 50,433 farmers (9,468 of them women), and tested 49,588 crop samples.

Tackling new pests

Recently, when black thrips started impacting the chilli crops in South India, farmers with no source of information and without any sense of direction used a combination of irrelevant chemicals. “It is a sucking pest that melts away the petals of chilli flowers, resulting in malformed chillies. Rather than using insecticides [alone], input dealers prescribed a combination of insecticides and fungicides,” Kumar says.

Plant doctors advised the farmers to grow tall growing crops on the border to prevent the invasion of insects. They also suggested setting up blue sticky traps and using neem-based pest repellants as control measures. “Input dealers pushed three to four chemicals as a solution. By visiting plant clinics, farmers could save 60% of the plant protection cost,” Kumar says.

Thangaraj M, a farmer from Pandikkudi village in Pudukkottai district, Tamil Nadu, has been visiting a plant clinic for the past four years to consult with experts about various pests affecting his jasmine, paddy and lemon crops. “I also participate in their workshops to learn about changing climates. In one session, I learned how climate change contributes to the emergence of new pests and the ways farmers can adapt to it,” he says.

Also read: Gujarat’s tribals turn riverbeds into breadbaskets

Changing the perspective

A study conducted by MSSRF revealed that 90% of farmers rely on input dealers for guidance, 5% turn to their peers, 2-3% seek information from friends and relatives, and the remaining 2% rely on traditional knowledge. Shifting farmers’ reliance from input dealers to plant clinics has been a herculean task for the Foundation.

“Farmers were initially reluctant because input dealers were their primary source of pest management advice. However, plant doctors visited the fields, displayed magnified images of pests on laptops, and educated farmers in ways they could easily relate to,” says Dr. R. Rajkumar, Senior Fellow at MSSRF and coordinator of the Plant Clinic Programme.

Lately, being in the dairy business has become tough, as cattle are developing new types of diseases. Earlier, I used to struggle to get a veterinarian to visit for consultation. They are often unavailable during festivals or when busy with other cases. Most times, I had to rely on my husband to call the veterinarian or help take the cow to the nearby hospital. With plant clinics, the solution is just a text away.

The Plant Clinic Programme faces several challenges. While plant doctors recommend bio inputs, these are often less accessible than chemical alternatives in some areas. Input dealers remain a key source of agro-advisories, making it hard to fully replace their role. “However, periodic training for input dealers and collaboration with plant doctors can ensure farmers receive accurate guidance. Educating farmers on the importance of timely and appropriate input use can further address these challenges,” Rajkumar says.

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Even experienced farmers have learnt a great deal from plant clinics. A 75-year-old farmer, Tirupathi Manickam, also from Pandikkudi, says he is a more informed farmer now compared to a decade ago when he used to farm merely for the sake of it. “It was through plant clinics that I was introduced to the scientific procedure of sowing. They taught me not to dry the seeds completely, the right season to sow seeds, and the importance of using unadulterated seeds to achieve a good yield,” Tirupathi says, adding that these learnings have been helpful in cultivating groundnut, paddy, and maize.

These tools have been especially resourceful for women farmers, as plant clinics have reduced their dependence on men—especially since most plant doctors double up as veterinarians. For M. Radha, a 41-year-old farmer from Thirumalaraya Samudram village in Pudukkottai, her primary source of income comes from selling milk from her seven cows. “Lately, being in the dairy business has become tough, as cattle are developing new types of diseases. Earlier, I used to struggle to get a veterinarian to visit for consultation. They are often unavailable during festivals or when busy with other cases. Most times, I had to rely on my husband to call the veterinarian or help take the cow to the nearby hospital. With plant clinics, the solution is just a text away,” she said.

There is growing demand from farmers and stakeholders for more plant clinics. While the MSSRF is working to expand its reach, its capacity as an NGO is limited. “To effectively scale the initiative, training Agricultural Extension Officers as plant doctors and integrating the Plant Clinic Programme into the existing agricultural extension system seems to be the most sustainable solution,” Rajkumar says. MSSRF also conducts online plant clinics for farmers, and is making efforts to develop AI-based plant health advisories.

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Amid the hubbub of urban life – the chaos, the din, screens everywhere you turn – there is a counterpoint that invites you to slow down, savour and reconnect with your food: mindful eating. 

This is a practice that promises a range of refreshing benefits, from improved digestion to a healthier relationship with eating. The mindful eating wave started slowly, emerging in the early 2000s as an extension of the mindfulness movement (which finds its roots in Buddhism) at large. It started being noticed by scientists and practitioners as beneficial in various ways, when practised correctly. There was growing research interest.

It didn’t take a long time, though, for mindful eating to then proliferate into a trendy buzzword in the wellness industry. Case in point: meditation and mindfulness apps have now swiftly capitalised on this trend, offering guided sessions on mindful eating as part of their subscriptions. These apps promise to integrate mindfulness into meal habits with just a few taps, turning a deeply personal practice into a marketable commodity. 

But beneath the surface of this seemingly simple concept lies a complex web of cultural nuance that demands a closer look.

What research says

Mindful eating is a habit of being fully present and aware of your food. It’s about engaging all your senses—sight, smell, taste, texture, and sound—while consuming a meal and paying attention to the signals your body sends about hunger, appetite, and satisfaction. Rather than eating on autopilot or impulse, mindful eating encourages you to slow down, savour your food, and make conscious choices about what, when, and how much you eat. It isn’t just about what foods you eat, but how you approach eating as an act. The idea is to break away from your life’s rapidly moving landscape and the over-exposure to multiple screens, so that you can develop a more present and conscious method of consumption—focusing on the experience of eating itself, enjoying the taste, texture, and even the feeling of nourishment.

What does this do? “Attentive” eating has proven to have a few benefits. For one, it can help regulate your appetite–you really know when you’re full when you’re not distracted. Most interestingly, this “knowing” can aid even a few hours laters, when you usually feel like snacking; research has shown that those who remember their lunches vividly tend to have a moderate snack later on. It can also help satisfy cravings better: really enjoying an indulgence with mindfulness keeps you from having too much of it. 

Mindful eating largely just asks you to be thoughtful about what you eat in your daily life. But it is also marketed in the wellness industry as a respite from overeating, emotional eating, and rushed meal habits that are common in today’s fast-paced metropolis. 

There is substantial research to prove that mindful eating holds promise when practised with intention. But think about it: this is a technique that places the entire onus of success on individuals, no matter what their circumstances–putting it at the risk of becoming another commodified wellness fad.

The true potential of mindful eating lies in fostering a compassionate and guilt-free approach to food—one that acknowledges the complexities of modern life rather than oversimplifying them into compact diet plans and apps.

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

Double-edged sword

At its core, mindful eating emerged as a response to disordered eating habits—an umbrella term encompassing a range of unhealthy behaviors, such as binge eating, restrictive dieting, and emotional overeating. These patterns–which also have a genetic component to them–stem from a fraught relationship with food, exacerbated by societal pressures to conform to unrealistic body standards. 

Mindful eating seeks to counter these behaviors by encouraging individuals to listen to their body’s hunger and cues while forging a more intuitive and compassionate approach to consumption. It also positions itself as an antidote to diet culture, which perpetuates harmful cycles of restriction and guilt, turning food into a battleground rather than a source of nourishment.

In countries like India, socio-economic realities shape individuals’ access to food. Hidden hunger—a term used to describe micronutrient deficiencies that occur even when calorie needs are met—affects more than 80% of Indian adolescents. While mindful eating aims to promote health and balance, it may not be a suitable approach for those who have inconsistent or poor access to nutritious food.

Dr. Kirthika Tharan, a Bengaluru-based nutritional psychologist, underscores this tension. She cautions against the dangers of marketing mindful eating as a universal solution, warning that such narratives risk alienating communities struggling with basic food security. “In a country where the most vulnerable have no food security, nutrition, and a respite from hunger, it can be a bit myopic to talk about eating mindfully,” she notes. Yet, she also recognises the value of mindful practices, drawing parallels with traditional Indian eating habits, which emphasise moderation and intuition over rigid dietary rules and schedules.

The disconnect becomes even starker when mindful eating is marketed in urban centers as an aspirational lifestyle. While the concept advocates distraction-free meals and mindful cooking (engaging with the sensations of cooking and how you’re transforming ingredients to food), it rarely addresses the structural inequalities that shape food practices. For example, in many Indian households, domestic labour—including meal preparation—is disproportionately shouldered by women. Even within homes with access to nutritious meals, women don’t eat the same food as the men–compromising their own nutrition. In such contexts, what does it mean to “cook mindfully” when the labour is often invisibly performed? 

Similarly, in fast-paced, mechanised cityscapes, where time is a luxury, how practical is the expectation of presence and reflection at every meal?

Also read: India’s ancient grain is facing an uphill battle

Criticisms

Practicing mindful eating may not be the easy, perfect solution that the wellness industry is making it out to be. Eating in this manner, for every meal, is decidedly challenging to implement in real life. This technique is frequently marketed as a quick fix or 'magic bullet' for weight loss, promising to reverse disordered eating patterns effortlessly. However, mindful eating requires deep self-awareness, consistent practice, and a lifestyle shift—elements that cannot be condensed into a social media infographic or trendy diet plan.

This complexity is further compounded by the lack of a standardised definition or protocol for mindful eating behavior. In fact, we are actually not quite certain what constitutes ‘mindful eating’– the current research relies on varied mindfulness scales and questionnaires.

A review of 68 studies on mindful eating showed improvements in eating behaviors such as slower eating, recognising fullness, and reducing binge and emotional eating. Still, it did not consistently lead to weight loss. Moreover, trials incorporating mindfulness concepts demonstrated some benefits, like decreased sweets intake and stable glucose levels, but no significant weight loss outcomes.

Dr Deepta Nagpal, a nutritionist and researcher based in New Delhi, agrees that employing mindfulness in the way you eat can reduce your stress levels – it can be a way to counter emotional eating. But she’s cautious: it is not uncommon to develop an ‘obsessive and compulsive’ reliance on this way of eating–which can, tragically, lay the ground for eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia.

“The Indian diet is carb-heavy in nature. So, we can practice portion control, but I see women who weigh themselves every day and obsess over 200-400 grams, excessively checking what they’re eating. This is not healthy either,” she underscores.

There is a cost to mindful eating too, and it is not insignificant. Mindfulness in eating can be an expensive practice in terms of money, of course, but it also costs you mental and emotional work. It assumes a level of emotional bandwidth and financial freedom to make intentional choices about food and to invest time in self-reflection during meals—something that many working class families simply do not have in the throes of informal labour.

Also see: Ancient Pokkali fields in decline

More harm than good?

It’s not that mindful eating itself is inherently harmful—it’s the way it’s being packaged and sold that warrants concern. 

Additionally, in the context of an industry that thrives on the idea of constant self-optimisation, mindful eating can sometimes exacerbate the very issues it seeks to address—like food guilt, perfectionism, and unrealistic body expectations. The idea that you should eat every single meal perfectly and with complete awareness can lead to an overwhelming sense of failure when you’re not perfect, especially if you are navigating a life full of distractions, responsibilities, and interpersonal issues. 

While there is a pressing need, more than ever, to be in touch with what goes into our bodies, we must also recognise that there are deeper sociological and psychological factors at play that influence and shape our relationship with food. Mindful eating is a tool, not a cure-all, and its potential is best realised when combined with a compassionate, holistic approach to well-being—one that prioritises balance, not perfection.

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(Video credit: globalhungerindex.org)

KV Dayal’s dream is to build a ‘happiness university.’ “Isn’t happiness what everyone wants?” he asks. “Yet, are we taught how to achieve it?”

Twenty-six years ago, ‘The Forest Man of Kerala’, as he is popularly known, took one and a half acres of barren land around his home in Muhamma, Alappuzha and started planting trees, one by one. Today, on this land rests a lush forest.

Dayal confesses that in the past 38 years, he has learnt that there is only one way to happiness: organic farming. Dayal’s approach is unambiguous and backed by scientific knowledge. “The food we consume is directly linked to the state of our minds. The more eco-conscious the food, the clearer the mind,” he says. “And that is the route to happiness. To achieve it, we need to correct existing farming practices. We have moved far away from traditional farming methods. Any system that does not support conservation is not the way ahead,” he asserts.

To this end, Dayal has designed a 20-day Art of Happiness course through the Mahatma Gandhi University, which is open to students of all ages. Using a combination of ecology, eco-psychology and eco-spirituality, the curriculum guides students to understand the essence of life. “We are working hard to develop Artificial Intelligence, but what about natural intelligence?” he asks.

Over the years, Dayal admits to having evolved into a teacher and philosopher, too. In addition to his talks, lectures and practical sessions on organic farming, he also mentors green collectives and organisations on concepts such as happiness tourism: programmes that give people a chance to experience natural living and natural foods.

His focus, though, is not just on organisations or collectives. It is important, he believes, to raise a whole generation of people who understand the principles of organic farming. This can reverse the damage caused by years of unscientific practices. As the chief faculty for the Organic Farming Certificate course offered by the MG University, Dayal inspires students to be changemakers. “The social leadership has to realise that only if we solve the problems in farming can the farmers be benefitted,” he says.

For someone who entered farming serendipitously – fumbling into it while trying to save his coconut trees that refused to yield – Dayal has come a long way. And along this way, he realised that forests are actually a brilliant self-sustainable model.

He was hugely influenced by the methodologies of Japanese farmer-philosopher Masanobu Fukuoka – whose do-nothing technique created a revolutionary ripple effect throughout the world – and one of Kerala’s pioneering environmentalists, John C. Jacob. Inspired by Jacob, Dayal founded the Vembanad Nature Club in 1986, one of his earliest green initiatives. Dayal was also a disciple of CRR Varma, an exponent of naturopathy science. From Varma, he learnt that the human mind and body are inextricably linked to Nature.

For Dayal, it was as if he were playing a video game: each level he unlocked took him closer to Nature. A coir exporter by profession, his friends fondly remember Dayal as a star volleyball player during his college years. “I had never once imagined that I would end up planting a forest, and yet here I am,” he says.

In less than four decades, the barren patch of land around his house, just six km away from the coast, became a luxuriant forest teeming with life. Today, it has over 200 different species of trees and two ponds, not to mention the various life forms it supports. It is a sanctuary of peace for anyone who has visited it.

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In the years that led to the idea of building a forest, Dayal spent all his time researching, visiting forests and studying them, and interviewing people connected to the wilderness in some way.

Dayal dreamed of his forest, however, to have a wider scope. He envisioned a food forest within the larger project, and so, devoted half an acre to farming. The proximity to the larger forest he had created helped to envision a conducive micro climate.

And this has been one of Dayal’s biggest goals – to create mist. “Through agro-ecological design, one can create mist artificially. This way, we can bring the climate under our control,” he adds. He’s referring to a design that creates sustainable, resilient farms that consider the environment and the interactions between its elements.

While Dayal is a repository of traditional farming knowledge, he is also a hands-on guide, often encouraging his proteges to experiment with creating natural remedies. He gives them practical solutions to their problems, some of which have even transformed the pH of the soil. For instance, Dayal found that instead of using powdered limestone (calcium oxide), powdered oyster shells (calcium carbonate) would work well as a fertiliser, as it did not alter “the pH of the soil”. He advocates the use of diluted seawater (one litre seawater in 30 litres of freshwater) to water crops. His advice to organic farmers is to maintain five crops, which would ensure regular incomes.

Also read: The tree that keeps the Thar alive

His contributions to organic farming won him the Kerala Government’s Vanamitra award in 2006. He has authored books including Pachamanninte Manam (The scent of soil), Jaivakrishiyum Jeevanenna Prathibhasavum (Organic farming and the phenomenon called life), Jaivakrishi: Pradhamika Padangal (Organic Farming: Basic lessons), Oru Puthiya Vidyalayam (A new school), and Urvarathayude Sangeetham (A music that is fertile).

What sets Dayal apart is his unflinching and holistic commitment to the green cause. During his early forays into organic farming, he spent three years learning psychology in order to understand the human mind and its application in farming. “Agriculture is about truth, dharma and justice. And the philosophy of organic farming is based on this. When an idea has a philosophical backing, it is better accepted,” he says.

Also read: Himalayan farmers stand tall against chemicals

India’s natural resources are vanishing at an alarming rate. Over the last few decades, a third of the country’s wetlands have disappeared, and grasslands have seen similar losses in just ten years. In the face of little to no government intervention, local communities have stepped up to protect their land and livelihoods.

One such effort is Kalpavalli, a 3,000-acre grassland in Andhra Pradesh. Once barren, this land has been restored through collective action—proving how much can be achieved when people unite to care for nature. In Kalpavalli’s open plains, sunlight pours down unbroken by day. By night, moonlight turns the landscape silver.

The bush camp is remote, with no electricity or mobile networks. As we sit around a bonfire, Chiranjeevi, coordinator of Timbaktu Collective’s Kalpavalli programme, lets us into the story behind the landscape. Thirty years ago, the land was lifeless and forgotten. When CK Bablu Ganguly and Mary Vattamattam, the founders of the Timbaktu Collective, arrived, they were met with scepticism. Tall and lean, Ganguly didn’t fit the local mould, and villagers doubted his intentions. But he and Mary stayed on, building trust by visiting farms, sharing meals, and listening to the community’s concerns.

By 1992, their efforts began to bear fruit. Ganguly established Vana Samrakshana (forest conservation), a group devoted to the restoration of 125 acres of degraded land. Grass began to grow again, and soon enough, the shepherds returned with their sheep. Nine kilometres away, in Shapuram, shepherds brought their animals to graze on the recovering grasslands. But this led to conflicts. Nearby, in Mustikovila, villagers claimed the land as theirs. They had already formed the White Swan Conservation Committee in 1985 to protect grasslands.

“Last year, 82,000 livestock grazed here,” Chiranjeevi says. “In 2022, the figure rose to 100,000.” In a region where rainfall is erratic, the survival of both, shepherding and farming, hinges on the health of the land and the whims of the weather. 

By 1995, other villages started to follow Kalpavalli’s lead; three more formed groups to protect their shared land. Together, they built a system that benefits everyone. As Chiranjeevi puts it, this isn’t just about the land; it’s about life–for the soil, the grass, the animals, and for people, too.

A growing movement

Kalpavalli has come a long way. Today, it works with 11 villages, each with its own forest conservation group. When the project started, there were barely any trees–no shade, no forests, just a few scattered trees and patches of grass. Now, after years of hard work, Kalpavalli is home to 400 types of plants, 130 bird species, and 22 mammals.

The project is run by a cooperative with 15 directors who meet every month to plan the next steps. Their main goal is to raise awareness about the local environment. They run programmes in schools to teach children about conservation and train adults to see how protecting the land can benefit their lives.

In 2015, they set up a bush camp to support their mission. It brings in income and serves as a mobile learning centre. Each year, more than 1,000 children visit to learn about the plants and wildlife that now thrive in Kalpavalli.

Persistent challenges

The story of Kalpavalli is one of hope and resilience, but it hasn’t been without its struggles. Climate change and the pressures of development remain. Moreover, the watchers safeguarding the 3,500 acres of rare grassland earn no money for their efforts. There’s no direct reward—no payments for patrolling the area or ensuring its safety. What drives them is their trust in the Timbaktu Collective, a group that has supported these communities for decades. The watchers’ work involves ensuring trees aren’t felled, gathering seeds for planting, and meticulously tracking the number of grazing animals. These records, in turn, serve as a vital health check for the ecosystem.

In 2011, Kalpavalli faced one of its biggest challenges: the arrival of windmills. For years, the area had no roads. It was so remote that Bablu and Mary had to park their car five km away and walk the rest of the way. The windmills brought with them roads, but at a cost. Trees were cut, wildlife was disturbed, and hills were dug up, causing soil to wash into downstream tanks, silting them up.

The villagers decided to act. Backed by the Kalpavalli Cooperative and the Timbaktu Collective, they took their case to the National Green Tribunal (NGT) and won. A Rs 50 lakh compensation was promised, but as the land is officially common property, the funds went to the Forest Department and were spent elsewhere. Still, the victory ensured no windmills could be built inside the conservation area again. Now, they stand on the fringes of the grassland.

Meanwhile, land prices in the region have been climbing steadily, tempting some to claim pieces of the precious grassland as their own. But Kalpavalli, a rare savanna grassland, stands protected—not by fences or laws, but rather the villagers who call it home.

Kalpavalli is not just a beautiful place. The rare savanna grassland is home to species that are disappearing in other areas. For example, the critically endangered Indian grey wolf has been spotted here–a group of seven at one time. Sloth bears and leopards also roam these lands.

What truly sets Kalpavalli apart is its model of care. The community owns and manages the grassland, with the Collective providing organisational support and training. Everything else—preservation, monitoring, and repair—is carried out by the people themselves.

Nature’s reservoirs

Beyond sheltering wildlife, Kalpavalli supports nearby villages in critical ways. The grassland absorbs and stores rainwater, feeding seven downstream tanks. These tanks are lifelines for farming and daily life. When the grassland thrives, water levels rise, securing livelihoods.

But the balance is delicate. In 2023, a harsh drought left just enough water for the grass to survive. This followed three years of good rainfall, which had allowed the ecosystem to recover. Another hurdle is fires during the dry season, but villagers worked together to create firelines and extinguish flames before they spread.

Kalpavalli’s story is one of resilience. Droughts, fires, and encroachment are constant threats, but the community’s dedication proves that grasslands are far from wastelands. They’re vital biomes, as crucial as forests and wetlands.

In 2018, Dixit Kundar, a young resident of the Udupi district in Karnataka, paid a huge price for a game of barefoot football in rainy July. The only son of his parents Jai and Pathima, he was admitted to Manipal’s Kasturba Medical Hospital with complaints of high fever, severe headaches, repeated vomiting and trouble with closing his eyes while asleep. Despite medical interventions, his condition worsened as the days passed.

A week after being hospitalised, he succumbed to Melioidosis—a condition that was considered rare at the time. The news sent shockwaves through the public and medical fraternity. Following Kundar’s death, health officials were alarmed by the widespread presence of the causative bacterium, Burkholderia pseudomallei, in the soil, water, and environment of tropical, coastal, and monsoon-prone regions in India.

The bacterium is transmitted through inhalation, small cuts, or ingestion of contaminated water. Kundar had played football in flooded areas near his home, and it is suspected that he may have fallen into a waterlogged field during the game, thus exposing him to the disease.

A 2016 report estimated over 50,000 people contract Melioidosis annually in India, with more than 30,000 deaths. “India was predicted to have the highest burden for the disease (20,000- 52,000 new cases/year with an estimated mortality of 32,000 per year),” reads a 2019 bulletin from the National Centre for Disease Control. Troublingly, over 90% of the total cases in the country have been reported in the last ten years, even as academics predict that since 2005, the incidence of the disease has been underreported owing to misdiagnosis. Globally, the disease affects around 160,000 people each year, causing approximately 89,000 deaths.

Rapid response

Microbiologists believe Burkholderia pseudomallei has been prevalent in India for over a century; it was first described in Myanmar’s Yangon in 1911. “Dixit's death brought attention to a deadly infectious disease that the medical fraternity has issued warnings about since 2005,” says Prof Chiranjay Mukhopadhyay, Director of the Manipal Institute of Virology, who identified the first cluster of cases in 2007.

“It invades cells and destroys them. The infection can be particularly fatal for individuals with diabetes and chronic kidney disease. If left undiagnosed and untreated, patients may succumb within 48 to 72 hours,” Mukhopadhyay adds.

Understanding how India’s geography influences the spread of Melioidosis is critical for developing region-specific prevention strategies.

Fearing an outbreak, a team led by Mukhopadhyay visited every household in Udupi to assess the situation. They collected soil samples, tested drinking water sources, and disinfected stagnant water bodies with bleaching powder, in collaboration with district health authorities. They also urged residents to keep their homes, gardens, and cattle stables clean, as well as advising them to wear shoes when working with soil and water.

Those who work on farms, or even engage in recreational activities in waterlogged areas, are at a higher risk of contracting Melioidosis, warn medical experts. Gardening without gloves, walking barefoot, and consuming contaminated water also increase the risk of infection.

Diagnostic challenges

The disease can appear in a manner similar to pneumonia, septicemia, or acute bone and joint infections during the rainy season. In contrast, in the dry season, patients often present with multiple abscesses and skin ulcers.

For years, microbiologists struggled to diagnose Melioidosis due to symptoms that resemble those of common infections such as malaria, tuberculosis, dengue and the flu. This often led to misdiagnoses and delayed treatment. “A delay in identifying the disease can be fatal, as the infection requires specific antibiotic treatment,” Mukhopadhyay explains.

That Melioidosis can remain dormant in the body for years, resurfacing only when the immune system weakens, only adds to the concerns surrounding its diagnosis. “This characteristic makes it a ‘silent killer’ that can strike without warning. The disease can lie undetected for long periods, posing a persistent and hidden threat,” he said.

Environmental conditions

India's tropical, coastal, and monsoon-affected regions provide ideal conditions for the growth and spread of Burkholderia pseudomallei. While cooler, arid, and high-altitude areas face a lower risk, factors such as flooding, irrigation, and poor sanitation still pose significant threats.

Scientists have found connections between climate change and the spread of Melioidosis—including rising temperatures and more extreme weather events; Burkholderia pseudomallei thrives in warm, humid environments. Higher temperatures and lingering moisture create the perfect habitat for the bacteria in soil. As rainfall and flooding increase, the bacteria migrates from soil to water sources, broadening its spread.

Human intervention, in the form of deforestation, urbanisation, and changes in agricultural practices, also contribute to the spread of the disease. Soil disturbances during the rainy season, combined with strong winds, can release the bacteria into the air, raising the risk of inhalation and infection.

Climate change-induced extreme weather events, such as cyclones and droughts, can significantly alter the dynamics of Burkholderia pseudomallei in the environment. Cyclones bring heavy rainfall and soil erosion, while droughts concentrate the bacterium in soil and water, increasing its virulence during subsequent periods of rainfall. “Understanding how India’s geography influences the spread of Melioidosis is critical for developing region-specific prevention strategies. On the climate change front, raising awareness, improving surveillance, and adopting sustainable practices are essential measures to combat the threats posed by Melioidosis,” Mukhopadhyay says.

Preventive action

To combat the disease's spread, the Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR) launched MISSION: A Multi-Centric Capacity Building Initiative to Strengthen the Clinical and Laboratory Detection of Melioidosis in 2022. The project involves 15 medical centres across 14 states, including Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Sikkim, Tripura, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Karnataka, Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, New Delhi, Odisha and Rajasthan. The initiative aims to raise awareness about Melioidosis and improve early detection and treatment protocols.

Kasturba Medical College (KMC) in Manipal, a leader in Melioidosis research for the past two decades, serves as the referral centre for the project. The Centre for Emerging and Tropical Diseases (CETD) has developed comprehensive training protocols for healthcare staff, equipping doctors and technicians with the tools needed to diagnose and treat the disease effectively. “Accurate diagnosis is critical for the successful treatment of Melioidosis. This capacity-building initiative aims to empower healthcare facilities across India to identify and manage the disease more efficiently,” Mukhopadhyay informs.

Early diagnosis is essential for effective treatment. “If the diagnosis is delayed, doctors may administer broad-spectrum antibiotics indiscriminately, potentially leading to antimicrobial resistance. This makes proper treatment increasingly difficult. Early and accurate diagnosis is, therefore, vital,” the veteran microbiologist explains.

Greater awareness can be raised if Melioidosis were classified as a notifiable disease, as well as recognised as a neglected tropical disease, he adds. This recognition will increase public awareness and help experts to attract funding and conduct research to combat it. “With the rising number of cases, particularly in tropical regions, we must invest in understanding the disease and developing effective treatments. By categorising it as a notifiable and neglected tropical disease, we can ensure the necessary resources are allocated to combat it, ultimately reducing its impact on affected populations,” he concludes.

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When Raghu Nair (name changed upon request) underwent chemotherapy at Kochi’s Aster Medcity Hospital, his doctor recommended that more protein be added to his diet. “It’s good to have microgreens,” the doctor said to Raghu’s son, Mahesh. 

On the lookout for sources of protein, Mahesh turned to Ajay Gopinath for advice. The banker-turned-microgreen enthusiast and farmer recommended a mix of beetroot, bok choy, and sunflower seedlings for a balanced intake. But he also warned the duo: "Don’t go over 25 gm a day," he said, "It’s important that your father’s body should actually be able to absorb the protein."

For three months, Raghu regularly consumed the microgreens, and the results were remarkable—his protein levels increased to the extent that the doctor advised taking the seedlings out of his diet for a while. “It was a confirmation of the tremendous benefits of microgreens,” said Ajay.

Curious beginnings

In 2006, over the course of a lunch at a Bengaluru restaurant, Ajay Gopinath’s life took a turn. When the paneer dish he had ordered arrived, he noticed an unusual garnish: triangularly arranged leaves. They didn’t look like the usual curry or coriander leaves he was familiar with. Curious, Ajay tasted them and found their flavour unique. When he quizzed the chef, he learnt they were mustard microgreens delivered by some vendor to the restaurant. That’s all the chef knew.

At the time, Ajay led the credit cards and personal loans division at Citi Bank’s Bengaluru outpost. Fourteen years into his corporate career, he was successful but stretched thin. While he liked the job, the 24x7 grind left little time for his family or himself. In 2007, he decided to quit. “It was an impulsive decision,” he said, “I also wanted to get out of my comfort zone.” Now back in Kochi with his wife—a lawyer—and their two children, Ajay took a break from work, prioritising leisure, travel and catching up with friends. In 2012, he switched to a marketing role at a dental implants company.

Soon after, what had begun as curiosity about a garnish would turn into Ajay’s new purpose. His work with microgreens has changed lives—just like it did for Raghu.

It was on a 2017 morning that Ajay woke up with an idea: why not start a business in microgreens? When he spoke to chefs in Kochi, they mentioned sourcing their supply from Bengaluru, as the seedlings weren’t available in local shops or supermarkets. This prompted Ajay to begin growing them himself. At first, he began small—with a single two ft by one ft tray, which produced 500 gm, a generous quantity that far exceeded the amount his family could eat. Since microgreens are highly perishable, he began sharing the extras with friends, relatives, and neighbours. “The taste was different but everybody, including my family, liked it,” he said.

His friends recommended that it was time to stop giving them out for free and begin selling them instead. Ajay heeded their advice, and by December 2020, he had launched Grow Greens, expanding his production by adding more trays. He also adopted a method involving cocopeat, a natural medium made from coconut husks. The seeds are placed on the cocopeat, and the prepared trays are kept in darkness for three days for germination. After that, they’re placed under 20-watt white LED tube lights for 10-12 hours daily. Ajay waters them once or twice a day and ensures the room stays below 25°C, with humidity under 60%.

Also read: A fisherman's inspiring fight to save Kerala's coast

Scaling up

Today, Ajay grows 60 trays of microgreens in an 80 sq ft room. His crops include radish, mustard, bok choy, sunflower, kohlrabi and yellow American microgreens, and works with around 25 different varieties. He sources seeds from countries like the UK, the US, Australia, Italy and Israel. “The prices range from Rs 600 per kg to Rs 1 lakh,” said Ajay. While the seeds have a shelf life of six to eight months, Ajay ensures they are used within three months.

To find high-quality seeds in India, Ajay has travelled to Delhi, Ranikhet, and Nainital. He also visited the GB Pant University of Agriculture and Technology in Uttarakhand, which specialises in nurturing seeds without using inorganic fertilisers, pesticides or genetically modified strains.

The green power

“Many people lack sodium, and microgreens help to balance it. They’re rich in protein, magnesium, and a mix of macro and micronutrients. What more do we need?” said Ajay, speaking excitedly about the many benefits of these seedlings. Aside from restoring calcium levels, they’re also known to be good for the eyes and skin. However, people who take blood-thinning medications should consult a doctor before consuming them. “Blood thinners regulate Vitamin K levels,” Ajay explained, “Microgreens can increase the levels of this vitamin in the body.” For such patients, low-Vitamin K options, such as beetroot microgreens, are a safer choice.

Priced between Rs 150 and Rs 250 per 100 gm, microgreens should be consumed within seven days. The best way to eat them is raw, or added to salads. Grow Greens supplies its produce to individuals, shops, hotels, gyms, hospitals, supermarkets, and schools, delivering 5 to 8 kg daily. Since Ajay’s venture is located indoors, it isn’t affected by weather changes. “I can grow them 365 days a year,” he said.

Many people lack sodium, and microgreens help to balance it. They’re rich in protein, magnesium, and a mix of macro and micronutrients. What more do we need?

He speaks about the shift from working in a bank to running a business with great clarity. “The salary I used to earn is now what I pay my five-member staff,” he said. To him, it is not merely about profit and loss. “When I started, it was a passion for me to see how the seeds grew,” he said, “I also believe these are natural plants, and therefore, good for human beings. We can address malnutrition issues with them. So, there is a social commitment.”

Ajay believes plants communicate in their own way. “If the water is less, or the plant needs more light, its leaves might droop,” he said, “And if we forget to switch off the light, the next morning its leaves will look tired. Through experience, I’ve learned to notice these signs.”

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About three kilometres from the Gir forest in Gujarat, in a village called Bhalchhel, lies a 12-acre farm where the Jhariya family grows over 300 types of mangoes. This "live mango museum" is the fruit of three generations' labour. Among the varieties that can be found here are Rajwadi mangoes such as the dudhpedo, with its whitish-yellow pulp, and the kohitur—so delicate, it must be rested on a bed of cotton instead of a table. There's also the sonpari, a relative of the Alphonso, and 14 baramasi types that bear fruit multiple times a year.

Some mangoes are sweet and sour, others are intensely sweet, and there are also low-sugar varieties. The Jhariya farm features red mangoes, giant ones weighing up to five kilos, apple-shaped mangoes, banana-shaped mangoes, and even mangoes that taste like guavas, pineapples, or ones that have a hint of lemonade.

Humble beginnings

The story of this museum took root in the early 1980s, when patriarch Noor Ali Jhariya bought a piece of land and decided to grow mangoes, as they were popular in the area. Before his foray into the fruit, Noor Ali grew crops like peanut and wheat. In 1985, he planted trees largely of the Kesar variety, and there was no looking back.

Red soil, which allows for the quick spreading of roots and percolation of water, is preferred for the fruit. The Jhariyas’ first challenge was the earth itself: Their land is surrounded by mountains, with the village lying below. The Hiran river flows right beside the farm, and its rainwater often causes washouts. The black soil predominant in the area is known to hold moisture well, which makes roots vulnerable to infection. Mangoes are drought-tolerant, meaning they can grow even during dry spells, but too much water isn't good for them. To solve this, they farm on raised beds—about a foot high—so the soil drains naturally, and use drip irrigation to control how much water each plant receives.

In the early 1990s, Noor Ali's son Shamshuddin expanded the venture, establishing a mango nursery and a two-room farmhouse. He travelled across India, collecting varieties such as the langra from the north and the banganapalle from the south, and began cultivating exotic mangoes. In 1992, he acquired Sindhu, a high-pulp, thin-seed variety released by Maharashtra’s Dr Balasaheb Sawant Konkan Krishi Vidyapeeth. Over time, Shamshuddin sourced new varieties from institutions like the Indian Agricultural Research Institute in Delhi, the Central Institute for Subtropical Horticulture in Lucknow, and the Indian Institute of Horticultural Research in Bengaluru.

Also read: Inside one of India’s biggest mango markets

Delicious experiments

Sumeet, Shamshuddin’s son, built on this growing collection by travelling overseas; one of his destinations was Japan, which grows Miyazaki mangoes—fruits that sell for Rs 2.75 lakh per kilo, making them the most expensive mangoes worldwide. Although a medium-sweet variety, their demand stems from their sweet aroma, bright colour and the sustained fascination around their high price point. The country has built greenhouses to grow the fruit, since its climate is not ideal for mangoes. "Even if it's 0 degrees outside, the temperature inside [these greenhouses] is about 25 degrees," Sumeet explains. This drives up production costs. At the Jhariyas’ mango museum, the fruit is grown outdoors.

At the end of the day, it’s a mango. If the climate is suitable for one type, there’s a 99 per cent chance it will be suitable for the others too. We treat all varieties the same.

Much like India, Japan, too, holds auctions. When mango season begins in India, the first boxes of mangoes are sold at very high prices. Normally, a box of Kesar mangoes costs Rs 100-150 per kilo, but during auction weeks, it can go up to Rs 1,000-1,500 per kilo. "This boosts farmers’ morale, and the money goes towards good causes, such as donations for a cowshed," Sumeet says. The same phenomenon plays out in Japan, with the price reaching up to USD 3000 at initial auctions. A Miyazaki tree is now growing on the Jhariya family’s farm, which has around 4,500 trees.

Growing various varieties isn’t as complicated as it may seem. “At the end of the day, it’s a mango. If the climate is suitable for one type, there’s a 99 per cent chance it will be suitable for the others too. We treat all varieties the same,” the third-generation mango farmer says. Essentially, the only difference is the ripening time. For example, a mango variety native to the US normally ripens in November or December, but in India, it ripens in June or July. The underlying logic is that the plant needs cold weather and water stress (periods when the supply of water dips below the demand for it) to flower. In India, this happens around December or January. Then, the plant needs heat for the flower to turn into fruit; it is this heat that makes the mango go from sour to sweet, and in India, this happens around April or May. "It simply adjusts to the climate where it is growing," he explains.

High-density farming, a newer approach to mango production in India, is widely applied across the Jhariyas’ farm. Normally, mango trees are planted 30-40 feet apart, and can grow as tall as 40 feet. In these orchards, yields start after 15 years. Under high-density farming’s principles, trees are planted 10-12 feet apart and begin producing in about 10 years. “The main thing is pruning. We cut off the top after the mango season. We harvest the produce and reduce the branches,” Sumeet says. This method results in not just better-quality fruit, but also improved quantities. While a traditional Kesar mango orchard produces six to 12 tonnes per hectare, high-density farming can yield up to 20 times that, and at an earlier age. “This is perfect for India because farmers here have smaller land holdings, allowing them to maximise earnings,” he adds.

Also read: The tell-tale apple trees of Thanamir

Mangonomics 1.0

Mango farming presents several challenges, one of which is that a tree can produce fruit quite different from the parent tree in taste, keeping quality, and yield. This happens because mango trees have both male and female flowers, meaning the offspring can be completely different from the tree that produced them. To solve this problem, farmers use grafts, which create a clone of the original tree.

Grafting calls for two essentials: first, a good quality wild mango seed, because wild seeds are naturally suited to the local climate and have good disease resistance. After about four to eight months, when the plant is approximately three feet tall, its top is cut off, creating what’s called the root stock. Second, a new branch from a tree that produces good fruit. These two branches are joined in a ‘V’ shape, called a scion. If the grafting is successful, new leaves will appear within a month. If it dries up, the graft has failed. “With commercial varieties we get an 80 per cent success rate. And with exotic varieties it’s a 20-30 per cent success rate. But when it does succeed, the fruit of the scion is of the same quality as the parent plant,” Sumeet says.

A farm like the Jhariyas is a long-term investment. When buying new varieties, they begin by investing in the initial plant. It can take up to three to four years before the plant bears fruit—a sign that it is genuine (or not). Then, they have to wait 3-4 years before the plant starts to bear fruit. If a plant fruits too early, it’s best to cut it off, so that it is encouraged to grow stronger. After this laborious wait, even if they harvest good-quality fruit, selling it can be tough if consumer awareness is lacking. “These exotic varieties go for double the price. But there’s no demand for them; everyone just wants local varieties,” Sumeet explains, adding that he hopes to combat this issue through this YouTube channel.

Despite these challenges, the Jhariya family runs a successful mango “museum”, driven forward by innovative solutions. Today, their income comes from fruit sales, plants sold via their nursery, and an agritourism homestay; what began as a two-room farmhouse has grown into a 30-room resort. In their success lies the promise of richer mango offerings for their dedicated customer base.

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Nagaland’s remote villages are a world few know. Hidden in the lush, green folds of India’s northeastern corner, these places remain largely unexplored. The landscapes are captivating, rich with culture, yet often hard to access. Without the burden of mass tourism, it’s nearly impossible to find a guide online to navigate these wild, untamed lands.

After Thanamir in Kiphire District, the Good Food Movement team ventured towards another pristine, nearly forgotten village in this wild eastern expanse. Salomi, located less than 20 kilometres from Nagaland’s apple capital, is the most populous village in the district. Yet it’s largely overlooked, known only for its limestone caves.

Travelling through Nagaland is no easy feat. The state’s roads are infamous for their ruggedness, winding through terrain that remains untouched by industry. Situated between Assam and Manipur, the region has a history of conflict, dating back to the 1800s when the British sought a direct route to expand their tea trade. Today, the state is home to 407 documented Community Conserved Areas (CCA), including Salomi.

Education with a purpose

Without private schools in the area, a government senior secondary school is teaching students about sustainability. The students are focusing on a skill often missing from standard curriculums: growing their own food. The school offers well-maintained classrooms for lessons and two extra rooms for non-academic activities, but it lacks computers for teaching purposes.

The village council, alongside the student union, has embarked on an ambitious conservation effort, inspired by local environmental programmes and the work of NGOs in the region. The initiative is part of a larger wave of community-led conservation across Nagaland, particularly in Kiphire–an area bordering Myanmar that has some of the state’s most pristine forests.

Here, the students are more than just learners; they are the village’s stewards of conservation. They’re not only tasked with preserving the environment, but also with cultivating the food their community consumes. Meanwhile, the village council plays a more hands-on role, guiding the decision-making process and ensuring the success of the conservation efforts. Every winter, the council and the student union come together for their annual meeting, reflecting on past efforts, addressing challenges, and setting new goals for the year ahead.

Organic farming

As part of the Samagra Shiksha programme, Ningtithong Yimchunger has joined the government school to teach children about farming, with a focus on organic practices. During a meeting with village elders, he asked for organic seeds to take the lessons further and give the students practical experience in organic farming. His request was approved, and now the students are learning to grow crops in the Kharif, Rabi, and Zarif seasons, combining both theory and practice.

Initially, the idea of a kitchen garden was unfamiliar to the villagers. However, over time, they gradually adopted the tools and techniques of farming, growing crops in their own backyards. Today, those who once knew nothing of soil or spades proudly call themselves farmers. They now rely solely on homegrown produce, turning what was once a foreign concept into a symbol of pride and self-sufficiency.

In Salomi, the school plays a crucial role in teaching young minds the essentials of local botany, the rhythms of cropping seasons, and the skills necessary to grow food right at home. Children are not only introduced to the basics of farming, but also to the value of manure and the various ways it can be sourced and used to enrich the soil.

Learner to farmer

“I find deep satisfaction in farming because it brings me a sense of security about what I can harvest and eat each month,” says Alum, a resident of Salomi. Before the CCA was established, Alum never imagined herself as a farmer. Now, each year, she starts by sowing maize in February, followed by her favourite crops–kidney beans and cabbage.

Like Alum, other residents also believe that NGO involvement is crucial for scientifically exploring their forests and resources. They stress the importance of organising seminars and educational programs at the village level to encourage biodiversity conservation. Additionally, they highlight the need for financial and livelihood support to sustain conservation efforts in the area.

Groundbreaking shift

In Nagaland, communities fiercely uphold their customary laws, which can vary dramatically from tribe to tribe, and even from one village to another. At the heart of this governance lies the village council, the highest authority in decision-making. This council is composed of gaon burrahs (village elders) and elected members, all guided by an appointed chairman. Historically, women have had little to no role in these councils or in broader decision-making processes within Naga society. However, in recent years, a quiet but powerful shift has taken place. Women in Nagaland and surrounding regions are stepping into leadership roles, creating bridges between the fields and kitchens, and challenging centuries-old societal norms.

In the villages, farming takes many forms–some work in backyards, while others manage larger plots of land. What unites them is their active involvement in forging a deeper connection between what they grow, eat, and protect. The people of Nagaland are increasingly realising the link between the food they cultivate, and the stewardship required to sustain it, much like Alum.

Khejri (Prosopis cineraria), known as the Kalpavriksha or tree of life in Rajasthan, has been a cornerstone of the desert ecosystem for centuries. It provides nutrition, livelihoods, and environmental stability to the region's people.

The tree covers two-thirds of Rajasthan's geographical area and thrives in extreme conditions. Its deep roots tap into underground water reserves, making it a vital lifeline in a region with minimal rainfall. “This tree is more than a survivor; it is a provider,” says Sriram Bishnoi, standing under its shade on a sunny afternoon.

Bishnoi says the tree’s pods, called Sangri, are a protein-rich dietary staple. They are a key ingredient in traditional Rajasthani dishes like Ker Sangri, Panchkuta, and Kadhi. Its leaves feed livestock, and its wood serves as fuel for households.

“Sangri embody the resilience of desert communities,” says Gajjer Singh, a farmer and shop owner from Jheepasani village. "They have sustained us for generations, not just by filling our stomachs but by fortifying our health," Singh adds.

Nutritional treasure

Traditional Rajasthani cuisine is renowned for its bold, vibrant flavours, yet its true essence lies in its deep connection to local farming practices and its exceptional nutritional value. One of the region's most cherished dishes, Panchkuta Ki Sabzi, made with Sangri as a key ingredient, embodies this connection.

“Panchkuta offers limitless health benefits as it’s made from the seeds of Kumat, fruits of Ker and Khejri, Khachri, and Goonda. All of these ingredients are organic, grown without a single bag of fertiliser or pesticide,” says Singh.

The leaves of Khejri, locally known as loong or loom, are highly valued for their protein, fibre and carbohydrate content.

A study by researchers Natasha Yadav and Monjoy Kumar Choudhary found that Sangri pods are highly nutritious, containing 40–58% carbohydrates, 8–20% protein, 24–28% dietary fibre, 3.2–4.1% fat, and 5.4% ash.

The study also highlighted that Sangri are rich in micronutrients, providing calcium (0.33%), phosphorus (0.44%), and trace minerals such as iron (208–639 ppm), copper (13–16 ppm), manganese (22 ppm), and zinc (13–16 ppm).

In addition, Sangri have a high-quality amino acid profile, making them an important source of protein in arid regions.

Urban appeal

Once a humble rural staple, Sangri has now become a sought-after delicacy at urban weddings, symbolising both its cultural and nutritional value. 

In cities, eateries have begun featuring dishes like Panchkuta and Ker Sangri, both made from the pods of Khejri, on their premium menus. Despite their steep prices, these traditional dishes have garnered a new following, particularly among tourists. While dining at one of Jodhpur's upscale restaurants, Hritik, a tourist from Madhya Pradesh visiting Rajasthan, tried Ker Sangri for the first time. "I first heard about this dish from a Rajasthani friend, and I've wanted to try it ever since—I really enjoyed eating it," he says.

Other Sangri-based dishes, like Sangri Kadhi–a tangy, creamy preparation made with curd and mustard oil–as well as pickles, are also growing in popularity.

“These dishes are not only delicious but also packed with nutrition,” says Mahipal, a farmer from the Karwar village in Jodhpur, who has been consuming Khejri for years. “Our households have been enjoying it for generations,” he adds.

According to researchers Yadav and Choudhury, the pods have shown the presence of compounds such as linoleic acid, flavone derivatives, and polyphenols, which promote muscle health, enhance metabolic functions, and offer therapeutic benefits. The study also highlighted the tree's ecological contributions, including nitrogen fixation and soil enrichment, underscoring its importance in sustainable agriculture.

Livestock sustenance

"Fodder for small ruminants has long been a challenge in Rajasthan's arid region, as crops are only grown during the rainy season. After the Kharif season ends, fodder shortages arise, prompting cattle rearers to turn to Khejri, as its leaf-fodder can be easily stored and used year-round," says Dr Dheeraj Singh, principal scientist and head of the integrated farming division at ICAR-Central Arid Zone Research Institute in Jodhpur. "The leaves of Khejri, locally known as loong or loom, are highly valued for their protein, fibre and carbohydrate content."

A study by scientists at Bikaner’s ICAR-Central Institute for Arid Horticulture has found that Khejri leaves contain 12 to 18% crude protein, 13 to 22% crude fibre, 43 to 45% carbohydrates, 2.9% fat, 0.4% phosphorus, 2.1% calcium, and 6 to 7% trace elements, with a calorific value of 5000 kcal.

“It is one of the most nourishing fodders for our goats. We depend on it greatly,” says Ram Dayal, a cattle rearer from Jheepasani village of Jodhpur. 

Thar Shobha

Khejri trees take 10 to 12 years to grow and produce fruit. Their pods grow high on the tree, and the presence of thorns makes it difficult to harvest the fruit or collect the leaves for fodder.

To address these challenges, scientists at Bikaner’s ICAR-Central Institute for Arid Horticulture developed a hybrid variety called Thar Shobha. “It produces high-quality pods on shorter trees, making harvesting much easier for farmers. It also starts bearing fruit faster than traditional Khejri trees,” says Dr Singh.

This [Thar Shobha] variety yields more and is easier to harvest, being shorter than the traditional Khejri. On average, it produces 10 kilograms of Sangri, while the traditional variety yields a maximum of 7 to 8 kilograms.

In response to the threats posed by rapid urbanisation, the Gahari Foundation, a non-profit based in Rajasthan’s Jodhpur, is spearheading the Khejri Sahejo campaign to protect the Khejri tree. The foundation has established a nursery with over 100,000 Khejri plants in Miyasani village.

“With the deforestation of Khejri, we are working to protect this vital tree using the Thar Shobha variety developed by scientists,” says Baldev Gora, chairman of the Gahari Foundation. “This variety yields more and is easier to harvest, being shorter than the traditional Khejri. On average, it produces 10 kilograms of Sangri, while the traditional variety yields a maximum of 7 to 8 kilograms,” he adds.

Medicinal benefits

Beyond its nutritional value, Sangri offers a wide range of medicinal benefits, too. The pods are rich in phytochemicals like tannins, flavonoids, alkaloids, and steroids, giving them antioxidant, antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, and antihyperglycemic properties. “Traditional medicine uses Sangri to treat gastrointestinal and respiratory ailments, skin diseases, and chronic conditions such as diabetes and rheumatism,” notes the study by Yadav and Choudhary.

It also points out that the tree’s bark and leaves have healing properties used to disinfect wounds, treat skin conditions, and address illnesses like leprosy and bronchitis.

Dr Singh also highlighted the significance Sangri has in traditional medicine. He explained that dried Sangri is used to relieve menstrual cramps, manage diabetes, treat coughs and skin disorders, and even address complications such as miscarriage. He described Sangri as a medicinal boon, noting that it not only enriches local diets but also supports the livelihoods of desert communities through its therapeutic properties.