Agriculture is pivotal to the curriculum at Vidyakshetra, a Gurukul-inspired school in Bengaluru established in 2016. It imparts life lessons through direct experience. Tending to crops teaches children patience, perseverance, and the resilience to face growth and loss. Whether in moments of abundant harvest or unexpected setbacks, the students are taught enduring values with every seed sown and nurtured.

“Belagene kushi!” (Kannada for starting the day with joy)—that’s how Mohit, the agriculture teacher of Vidyakshetra, explains the enthusiasm of the children working on the school farm every morning. After the morning prayers and chanting, the students and teachers begin working with seeds, soil, natural fertilisers and pesticides. For the younger kids, between the ages of four and nine, it’s more of a play. They sing songs and get their hands and feet dirty, while for the elder ones—between the ages of 10 and 21—it’s serious business, as they are trained to think and act like farmers.

Kalindi (name changed on request), a 13-year-old student at the school, says, “I feel great satisfaction to see the seeds grow. Earlier, when our crops failed, I used to feel bad. Now, I will ask why they failed and what we can learn from this failure.” With this mindset of discovery and experimentation, children learn the play of the seasons, multi-layer farming or intercropping, permaculture, mulching, composting and more. They have discussions to decide when to plant and what to plant. If children who grow up in the cities are reluctant to touch mud, here, the children aren’t squeamish about making fertilisers using cow urine and cow dung. In fact, Vamana (name changed on request), a 12-year-old student, says he loves the process of making organic compost and natural fertilisers like Jeevamrutha, a manure made with ingredients like cow dung, cow urine, jaggery, pulse flour, soil, and water. The school’s goshala or cow shelter—currently home to a cow and a bull—enriches their farming experience by allowing the students to engage with farm animals and understand their role in local agricultural ecosystems.

Also read: Tarachand Belji is turning farmers into eco-warriors

‘Eat what you grow’

The pedagogy and curriculum are built on four pillars: the self and the family, society, environment and spirituality. The school blends traditional Indian learning with contemporary subjects. One will find children practising yoga, kalaripayattu and dances that focus on improving their inner vital energy. Then there is agriculture, handloom, house construction, pottery, weaving, and woodworking, which focus on working with the hands. The students’ intellects are stimulated through experiments in the sciences, derivations of mathematics, and concepts of economics delivered through the school's entrepreneurial initiatives. These initiatives include the school making products like handloom cloth, pickles, soaps and incense sticks as a community activity, in which teachers, parents and children participate. Additionally, children in classes 10 and 12 also prepare for The National Institute of Open Schooling examinations, which are equivalent to the other state or central board examinations taken across the country.

When we feel connected to something or someone, we don’t exploit them; instead, we treat them as part of ourselves and show them respect. A child who grows rice will not waste rice.

Children between the ages of four and 10 go on weekly nature walks for ‘prakriti parichaya’ or to understand nature. This constant exposure to nature, observing insects, the weather, flowers, animals and water bodies, allows them to appreciate the interconnectedness of everything and engage with nature more profoundly. “When we feel connected to something or someone, we don’t exploit them; instead, we treat them as part of ourselves and show them respect. A child who grows rice will not waste rice”, says Muneet Dhiman, founder of Vidyakshetra.

These tiny hands are trained to grow tomatoes, lady’s fingers, chillies, leafy greens, and small portions of grains like ragi and turmeric. Like professional organic farmers, they pluck their produce and give it to the school’s kitchen. The children get to eat what they produce. Having seen and participated in the growing process, they have a respectful relationship with food.

The kitchen at Vidyakshetra is fully organic and runs according to the principles of Ayurveda. Since the school farm can meet only a small portion of the needs of the 135-children-strong school plus its teaching community, the kitchen also sources vegetables and groceries from other organic farmers. But insistently, whatever goes on every child's plate is grown organically and sustainably. The teachers and parents of the school also come together to make Indian sweets and snacks for the school community once every month. Everything is made by hand in unrefined, cold-pressed oil or organic ghee.

Also read: Salomi’s green revolution starts in the classroom

A way of life

Kishore Chandra, a parent of two Vidyakshetra students, says they hardly order in food from outside, as they prefer to make everything at home. His 14-year-old daughter dabbles in the kitchen, making delicacies from scratch using homemade ingredients. The school’s philosophy of conscious consumption—‘making’ and ‘growing’ more than ‘buying’—seems to have become a larger way of life for its students.

Chandra’s son, in fact, wants to become a farmer, and the school is keen to support his interests. However, the rationale behind including agriculture in the curriculum is not necessarily to create farmers but to nurture individuals who can work with their hands, grow their own food, and work with nature rather than against it.

The children embody “nidhaana”—or “unhurried calm” in Kannada—which Mohit says is one of the most valuable lessons students take away from his krishi classes. But why should they slow down? “When they slow down, the learning becomes deeper,” says Dhiman. With more profound education comes “viveka” or wisdom—the discretionary power that constitutes well-rounded individuals.

Currently, Vidyakshetra has only 135 students, but it adds 15 to 20 students every year. The institute is not in a hurry to scale up. Instead, it focuses on supporting interested individuals who want to start Gurukul-based schools across the country. It aims to create 108 such schools in the next 20 years.

(Banner image: https://vidyakshetra.org/)

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Sarjapura, a small town in the suburbs of Bengaluru city, was once a green, harmonious belt – over 150 years ago, it sat as a long stretch dotted with small villages of the erstwhile Sarjapur Taluk, an area now called Anekal. Small as it was, this town hummed with activity; it was a trade centre for cloth, most famous for its muslin and variety of silks. Every Sunday, the Sarjapura town would hold a fair to display its linens, muslin, silks and even cotton carpets. 

The town thrived, away from Bengaluru city’s clamour–until private institutions started setting up tents. Brutal concrete buildings cropped up in open spaces, followed by sprawling closed gate townships. As the area developed, the monetary value of the land shot up. One by one, the local residents decided to put their land up for sale. It was lucrative, with Sarjapura being eyed as a prime location, until the government put a cap on the market price–a move that upset the farming land-owners, who could not earn as much on their prized patches. The erstwhile ragi fields of Sarjapura were followed by greenhouse sheds, and finally by tall, grey buildings that remained under construction for years.

And so, the green treasures of Sarjapura have quickly turned into a buzzing concrete jungle. This had ripple effects on the local residents. Their entire lifestyle changed–including their eating habits. One of these habits, lost in this gentrification, was foraging in the wild for plants like Arru Nela Danthu (a type of Amaranth), sweet potato, Gongura, and Garganakka (a local variety of Bhringraj). “Traditional lake beds used to be the most interesting places for foraging. The water brought a lot of seeds and vegetation diversity,” recalls Suresh Kumar G., an artist-cum-farmer from Sarjapura who loves food and finding it in the wild. Conditioned to say ‘I am going to the city’ while travelling to central Bengaluru, Kumar believes that if you stay in a village or in a forest and a city comes to you, you still have to call it a forest.

Six years ago, he realised that somewhere between his ancestors and him, he had forgotten how to identify plants by their names, their distinctive smells, or discern which parts of them can be used as food or medicine. To relearn the art of gathering the food at his feet, Kumar moved back to Sarjapura after living in central Bengaluru during his childhood years. Thus began his engagement with the local women here, who forage regularly. 

Typically, foraging is seen as an activity exclusive to forests and green pastures. Kumar sternly disagrees with the notion. In the countryside, a lot of the land is used for cultivation, which means that the soil is disturbed every now and then. Conservationists are also focused on saving the tree canopy, an approach that disregards grasslands and their biodiversity. Urban areas, thus, offer an environment that the countryside doesn’t.

Kumar has seen the rarest of things — such as red manathakkali (nightshade) and Kuppamenia (Indian Nettle) — while foraging for plants in urban areas. “Some of them survive on the highways because they are hardly disturbed,” he explains. “Six years on, I am still learning. Every time I step out to forage, I am surprised by something new,” remarks Kumar.

Also read: Mindful eating: A wellness tool, or trendy byte?

Back to roots

Foraging, which started out merely as a quest, has turned into a purpose for Kumar. To impart this knowledge further–especially to the younger generation, whom he believes to be the torchbearers of food’s future–Kumar has started conducting a course on foraging at Azim Premji University. During a recent session, Kumar and his students harvested and cooked rice with wild greens to serve to roughly a hundred people. Some greens left from the batch were packed and delivered to customers who buy produce from Kumar’s own farm as well as other nearby farms.

He points to the remnants: a mix of Gongura, spinach, mustard leaves, sweet potato creeper and manathakkali (black nightshade), noting that during monsoon, the variety of produce increases by a number of times. These are called wild edible plants or WEPs–plants with at least one edible component that grow in their natural environments without any human intervention. While Kumar and others like him forage for these plants on the side, WEPs are actually the primary source of sustenance for people in many regions of the world.

Also read: Salomi’s green revolution starts in the classroom

Kumar’s consumers often send him screenshots scanned by Google Lens claiming some of the plants – like Nightshades – he sent to them are poisonous. “That’s in the European context,” he clarifies, “Traditionally, Indians have been eating these species for a long time.” The absence of this traditional knowledge on the internet as well as among urban dwellers is the gap Kumar is hoping to narrow.

Alongside the packets of foraged plants, Kumar takes an extra step to share recipes on WhatsApp groups that champion these plants. The idea behind his work is to change people’s larger perspective on these wild edible plants. He refrains from seeing them as merely medicinal; instead, he wants people to inculcate the habit of foraging and eating wild plants in their daily lives. Just like their usual veggie fare.

The urbanscape

Bengaluru is rich with diverse botany, and many of the city’s residents have joyfully learnt to sift through it to gather food. One of them is Janet Orlene, a climate crisis documenter, who has been experimenting with foraging since she was a very young child. “In my mind, there's no clear beginning to this journey. From hunting for Singapore cherries to climbing star gooseberry trees or mango trees in the summer, my childhood was filled with adventures in foraging throughout,” she recalls.

I'm always fascinated by exotic garden plants whose edibility is often overlooked. It brings a smile to my face to see people hurriedly buying vegetables while their well-tended gardens are full of edible bounty.

During the pandemic, she experienced a more formal reintroduction to this way of collecting naturally growing foods around: something she now understands as "foraging”. The pandemic months were brutal on most, and boring on others. Orlene, like many, started exploring a new hobby. She embarked on a quest to understand edible flora in metropolitan cities. “I quickly compiled a database of over 500 species, researching their edibility through academic papers, ancient manuscripts, renowned encyclopedias from various eras – and, of course, (understood) the associated risks,” she elaborates. She wanted to learn about the taste profiles of the plants and their cooking possibilities, rather than the recipes themselves. “I'm always fascinated by exotic garden plants whose edibility is often overlooked. It brings a smile to my face to see people hurriedly buying vegetables while their well-tended gardens are full of edible bounty,” she says.

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Orlene finds Bengaluru's edible landscape fascinating, with plants like Rosella (Hibiscus sabdariffa) that bloom in slightly unmanicured areas, Sessile Weed (Alternanthera sessilis) carpeting most of the city, and various floral varieties like marigolds, roses, and jasmines; there are even old recipes for rasam made with fragrant jasmine blossoms (the full recipe can be found at the end of this article). Other edible ornamental varieties include the rhizomes of the Canna indica. “And of course… where this ends, begin the various soppus,” she rightly states.

Chasing soppus

Normally, we may think of nature as a distant escape from cities. Seema Mundoli and Harini Nagendra, faculty at Azim Premji University, disagree. The duo decided to take an interest in the nature present right here in urban India and study the way people engage with it. Along the course, they discovered that many locals use a lot of resources that are found in public spaces–like lakes, empty plots of land, or parks. In Bengaluru, the sprawling Lal Bagh or Cubbon Park host green pastures as well as lakes to forage from.

The pair then published Chasing Soppu, a wild plant guide of 52 species that are used for food, medicinal and cosmetic purposes–that we often categorise as weeds. People are also known to collect viable firewood for heating water, because LPG can be expensive.

Mundoli pointed out these local foragers are most predominantly women from highly marginalised communities who reside in slums or in small huts. They have ties to the local lake and grazing areas, and when they see some soppu, they collect it. The authors found that these women collect the leaves and pods of the drumstick tree, so that on days when they can’t afford to buy vegetables from the market, they can swirl the foraged produce into their sambars, adding great nutritional value to their meals.

Similarly, they collect Onagana Soppu or Alternanthera sessilis from lake beds (which is used in sambar as well) instead of buying spinach. “The choice between both of these is made based on their needs. If you have no food to eat that day, then you will collect, clean and use the soppu. Since space is congested, people are looking at other options like rooftop gardens where one can grow creepers and wines,” explains Mundoli. 

Nature is not wild and food is not something that only a farm grows.

Foraging requires a certain level of expertise, as many distinct leaves can end up looking quite similar. It's important to be cautious–the wrong ones could be poisonous. Mundoli advised that this practice often comes naturally to grandmothers, who have a knack for identifying and gathering plants. "I used to forage with my grandmother," she adds. However, in cities, people no longer engage in foraging as much. While they may recognise certain plants, they often don’t know where to find them.

Passing on this knowledge can be difficult, since foraging as a ritualistic part of one’s daily life goes back a few generations. Mundoli mentions that the university has consciously included the intersection of sociology and ecology in its courses. “Science is necessary, but it is not sufficient enough to know about things like foraging,” says the researcher. “The kids who come here never knew of it as a practice unless they had a grandparent who took them foraging.”

She believes that children need to be taught early in their lives that “nature is not wild and food is not something that only a farm grows.”

Food sovereignty 

It wasn’t until her late twenties, while working in Telangana and Andhra Pradesh, that Shruti Tharayil felt a missing link to nature. As she spent more and more time with farmers from rural communities, she began to develop a connection with the land.  “During my time with women farmers, I became fascinated by how they interacted with the plants in their ecosystem, especially the uncultivated ones,” Tharayil recalls. “It was then that I began documenting how they cooked these so-called weeds, exploring the realities of food sovereignty that played out in their daily lives.”

After six years, Tharayil returned to the city, wanting to reconnect with nature in an urban context—having realised that nature wasn’t confined to rural landscapes. “I started paying close attention to my surroundings,” she says. “Patches of wild greens and shrubs were growing along roadsides, footpaths, even on road dividers. Nature finds its way, no matter how much we try to concretise our landscapes.” 

This led Tharayil to begin foraging in urban settings, a practice that took shape as Forgotten Greens in 2018. What began as a Facebook page to share wild plant knowledge and recipes, evolved into a larger platform encompassing urban foraging, decolonising food systems, and traditional knowledge.

Also read: Andhra Pradesh bets on AI to beat superbugs

The reality of Indian cities is that foraging along roadsides isn’t rewarding. There’s so much garbage, that you can’t forage freely. When I visited Cape Town, I was struck by how clean the roadsides were—clean enough to pluck and eat greens without hesitation.

Her work highlights another aspect of foraging: wild foods represent food sovereignty–the right to control what we eat and where it comes from. 

At a recent foraging walk in Bengaluru’s Lalbagh Gardens, a small patch of land yielded 15 edible plants, which were enough to feed 25 people. We underestimate the abundance around us, she believes. But she’s quick to clarify: “The reality of Indian cities is that foraging along roadsides isn’t rewarding. There’s so much garbage, that you can’t forage freely. When I visited Cape Town, I was struck by how clean the roadsides were—clean enough to pluck and eat greens without hesitation.”

Tharayil’s foraging has dramatically transformed her relationship with food. “I’ve become more mindful about what I eat and where it comes from,” she says. “Living in the city no longer feels like a barrier to connecting with nature. I hear people say they need to drive to a forest or trek on weekends, but I don’t feel that way. For me, nature is not ‘out there.’ It’s an integral part of our cities.”

Mallipoo rasam recipe:

Steam jasmine buds (preferably unopened ones) in an idli pot. Strain and reserve the water used for steaming. Soak tamarind in warm water and extract pulp-less juice from it. In a mortar and pestle, lightly mash whole peppercorn, cumin seeds, garlic cloves, green chilies, tomatoes, turmeric, salt, and herbs (coriander and curry leaves) by hand. Heat ghee in a pot/pan, temper mustard seeds in it, and add chili powder and crushed ginger. Stir in the tamarind mix and bring to a boil. Add the prepared jasmine water, boil briefly, and turn off the heat. Garnish with coriander leaves and serve.

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Read more:

Suresh Kumar G.’s farming project, Sarjapura Curries

Seema Mundoli and Harini Nagendra’s Chasing Soppu

The Forgotten Greens community on Facebook and Instagram, hosted by Shruti Tharayil

In India, where tea is more than just a beverage—it’s a ritual—detox teas have emerged as the latest wellness fad. They are sold as the ultimate shortcut to glowing skin, weight loss, and overall vitality. Influencers and celebrities have made them a part of their daily routines, claiming that a few sips can help you “flush out toxins” and cleanse the body.

Celebrity endorsements largely propel India’s wellness industry in the age of social media. As a result, many celebrities are taking to the internet to discuss their favourite detox drinks.

Celebrities alongside online fitness influencers have become major brand voices in India's wellness industry, particularly on social media, where many share their favorite health trends. One such trend is the use of natural ingredients like fenugreek seeds (methi) and apple cider vinegar, both promoted for their purported health benefits. Methi seeds are often soaked overnight and consumed in the morning, with claims that they help improve digestion and detoxify the body by flushing out toxins. Similarly, apple cider vinegar is widely touted by celebrities for its potential to support weight loss, improve metabolism, and aid in digestion. These natural remedies have gained traction as part of a broader movement veering towards health detoxes, with many stars incorporating them into their daily routines and vouching for them online.

While such an approach to detoxing might be less chemical- or drug-led, it fits into the larger cultural obsession with "quick fixes" and "miracle" products for health and beauty—especially detox teas. Similarly, many celebrities and social media influencers have contributed to the global—and Indian—detox tea craze, promoting products that promise weight loss, clearer skin, and a sense of rejuvenation. These endorsements, often posted with images of their toned physiques and glowing skin, propagate the idea that detox teas are a shortcut to wellness. But a much darker and complex reality lies behind the glamorous testimonials and influencer culture.

Unboxing detox teas

Detox teas, which promise toxic expulsion and improved digestion, often contain plant-based ingredients like herbs and spices. While these ingredients possess some herbal value, the reality is far from simple.

One common ingredient is senna, a natural laxative made from the leaves and fruits of the senna plant, which is commonly grown in India. While it may temporarily relieve constipation, excessive use of senna can lead to dependence and acute dehydration because senna forcibly clears out the large intestine to combat constipation. Gastroenterologists caution against the frequent use of senna, as it can disrupt normal gut function and lead to electrolyte imbalance.

Iman Hariri-Kia—a recovering bulimic—in her essay for Teen Vogue, underscores how senna-infused teas are a “form of bulimia”. She discusses how senna is viewed as a “natural remedy”, but the truth is that these teas are well-marketed laxatives. Regularly consuming these teas, even for the sake of detoxifying the body or going on a “cleanse,” poses fatal risks to the human body.

Also read: Traditional plant wisdom meets modern health needs

Caffeine, another frequent component of detox teas, offers a potent energy boost. However, caffeine consumption risks the disruption of digestion, and is a well-known cause for anxiety. Nutritionist Rujuta Diwekar highlights how caffeine is a stimulant, and consuming it in excess through detox teas can lead to more bloating and discomfort. Similarly, dandelion root, often added to these teas for its diuretic properties, seeks to reduce water retention and lend one a fleeting moment of lightness. However, contrary to popular myths purported by wellness brands, it does not aid in weight loss. Nutritionists have also noted that using diuretics like dandelion root may lead to fluid loss and dehydration, which can harm your body in the long run.

Ginger and peppermint are both ingredients in vogue, known to aid digestive issues. While it’s undeniable that some of these naturally occurring ingredients are a net positive for one’s health, do they actually fulfil the far-reaching, outsized, enticing promises of the brands selling them? While the consumer is entitled to a quick energy boost and improved moods, the vague promise of “immediate weight loss” packed as a quick fix is far from the truth.

While consumers may be enticed by the idea this kind of marketing pushes, these claims rarely reflect scientific consensus and can sometimes mask serious health risks. In the short term, such products might cause serious side effects like dehydration, heart palpitations, and painful digestive issues. Over time, reliance on these quick fixes can lead to more severe health problems, such as nutritional deficiencies, metabolic imbalances, and a slowed metabolism. Moreover, the weight lost here is often unsustainable, leading to a cycle of temporary short-lived results followed by a cycle of regaining weight, which can often contribute to a distorted and debilitating relationship with your body and fitness. 

Overdependence and duplicitous marketing

The allure of making detox teas a staple lies in its marketing as a quick hack to wellness. For a long time, the Indian diet has incorporated concoctions and brews of hibiscus, lemon balm tea, and cinnamon. Traditional teas like matcha, known for their high concentration of antioxidants and ability to boost metabolism, offer genuine medicinal benefits when consumed in moderation and as part of a balanced diet.

However, the problem arises when industries mislead consumers into believing they can ‘hack’ their health with one product. The way these teas are marketed in the public domain seldom includes precautions and moderation. For instance, the packaging of these ‘wellness teas’ claims to ‘reduce stress and anxiety’ and ‘promote overall mental wellness’. The credibility of these claims, however, is unsubstantiated.

Also read: The surprising culinary uses of jasmine flower

Nutritionists like Meera Bangera from Talwalkars, a chain of health clubs in India, have repeatedly pointed out that the ‘weight loss’ people experience is usually just a loss of water, not fat. As soon as the consumer cuts down their consumption of the tea, their weight tends to return. This illusion of the ‘miracle fix’ fosters an overdependence on these teas, creating a cycle of rampant consumerism, when in reality, these teas provide little to no sustaining health benefits.

Many teas contain laxatives like senna, which force out water and waste but are intended only for short-term use. Prolonged consumption of these teas can disrupt the body’s natural processes, leading to dehydration, nutrient malabsorption, and even dependence on laxatives. Detox culture further exacerbates this issue by perpetuating myths about the body’s ability to cleanse itself. Claims that the colon harbours "toxic sludge" or that detox products can resolve every ailment—from diabetes to fatigue—have no scientific basis. Our bodies already have highly efficient detoxification systems, including the liver, kidneys, and skin, which function far better than any commercial solution. Experts warn that these social media-famous detox teas and colon cleanse products often cause more harm than good, with risks such as dehydration, kidney damage, and even infections from invasive procedures like colonic irrigation, an invasive process that involves cleansing the bowel to prevent further constipation. 

When users become reliant on the tea to maintain regular bowel function, they are more likely to continue purchasing it, effectively turning dependency into a profitable cycle for the industry.

In a society that prizes thinness over genuine well-being, the growing popularity of weight-loss-focussed commodities reflects a troubling trend. Products like detox teas embody the allure of quick fixes, driven by the wellness industry’s push for immediate results over sustainable health solutions like food security and balanced nutrition. Often rooted in unproven claims, these fads have been known to prey on disordered eating habits, worsened by an obsession with idealised body images. Instead of promoting holistic health, they perpetuate a cycle of superficial solutions, neglecting mental well-being and sustainable practices that only serve a hyper-consumerist culture. 

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

‍(Image Credits: Anandhu M, Manoj M)

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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