The district of Yavatmal in Maharashtra’s Vidarbha region bears a terrible reputation: for several decades now, it has been branded the ‘farmer suicide capital of India.’ In 15 years–from 2001 to 2016–over 3500 suicides were recorded in the district.

This seemingly small chain of events ended devastatingly when, at the end of 2017, over 800 farmers and agricultural workers were hospitalised in Yavatmal–and over 20 farmers died. All of them were detected with pesticide poisoning. Spraying pesticide on towering crops so close to their nose and mouth proved extremely dangerous, and in some cases, fatal. While spraying, the farmers often tied a cloth across their face and nothing more, barely cognizant of just how toxic their crops’ medicine was.  

Hanuman Kawale, now 48 years old, was one of these farmers of Yavatmal. He suffered a severe case of vomiting, and was resultantly hospitalised for two days. “He did not know that he had to use a mask, goggles and socks while spraying pesticides on the farm. We thought the cause of his illness was consuming contaminated food and water,” says Sunita, Kawale’s wife. 

The toxic incident brought to the fore this harsh reality—pesticides meant to protect the farmers’ cotton crops are actually a silent killer. Six years after the incident, Sunita has abandoned using these chemicals in their two-acre cotton crop. "With pesticides, we harvested seven quintals of cotton per acre. Organic farming yields only two, but our cultivation costs have dropped by half,” Sunita says. Confident, she adds, “Our income may be less today, but it will definitely increase in a few years.” 

Farmers and agricultural workers across the country shoulder similar fates. 

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Out of breath

Every farmer’s account of worsening health due to the inadvertent inhalation of pesticides helps piece together the visceral and long-term effects of these chemicals on the body. Their experiences are explained by scientific studies and health experts, who link pesticide exposure to the increased risk of serious health issues, including chronic conditions like diabetes and cancer. In extreme cases, long-term exposure to these pesticides also increases the risk of neurodegenerative disorders such as Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s.

A study from Punjab found that over 93% of the state’s agricultural workers exposed to pesticides showed genotoxic damage, including chromosomal abnormalities. Most of them reported never using protective equipment. A study in Telangana found residues of 28 different pesticides in farmers' blood samples, 11 of which are classified as highly hazardous by WHO guidelines. 

Extremely high temperatures in the summer make this even worse: due to increased volatilisation, these pesticides turn into gas after spraying–resulting in a high risk of inhalation.

These risks are all the more pervasive in India because of the abject lack of strict protocols for farmers, unlike in countries such as the US. “In India, farmers do not even wear gloves,” says Dr Sudha Chepyala, an integrative internal medicine physician, practising in the US and India. She explains why this is crucial for protection against chemicals. “Pesticides enter the human body through skin—the largest organ—and mucous membranes (the nose, mouth and eyes). The toxins enter the bloodstream and damage tissues, resulting in various health conditions. I have seen young people with chronic kidney damage (CKD).” 

Extremely high temperatures in the summer make this even worse: due to increased volatilisation, these pesticides turn into gas after spraying–resulting in a high risk of inhalation. But it’s not just inhalation that puts farmers at risk. Like Dr. Chepyala explains, dermal exposure–basically, absorption of the pesticide through skin–is extremely concerning. Pesticides are designed to penetrate plant surfaces, so they can similarly penetrate human skin. Within hours, you can develop rashes, chemical burning, dermatitis–and then, the chemicals circulate throughout the body via the bloodstream. So, protective gear that shields only against inhalation of pesticide sprays is never enough. 

“After two decades of chemical farming, my family switched to organic because my father developed frequent irritation in his eyes and indigestion from spraying chemicals,” says Vaibhav Ganesh Hemane, a 29-year-old resident of Rajurwadi village in Maharashtra’s Amravati district. Hemane’s family cultivates organic cotton and toor dal on five acres of land. As organic farmers, they now spend only Rs 10,000 per acre–half of their past expenses before switching from conventional farming and chemical usage.

“We harvest about 8-9 quintals of cotton per acre now. Chemical farming would lead to 11 quintals,” he says. Under organic farming, Hemane’s family uses natural inputs such as cow dung, cow urine, Dashparni Ark and Jeevamrutha to nourish the soil and enhance plant health. Earlier, they used insecticides like Coragen and Lancer Gold.

Also read: This farmer collective is fighting for a fairer organic future

Ground reality

Pesticide manufacturers recommend using specialised safety equipment while spraying the chemicals, but for various reasons—including the inability to afford it—this practice is often overlooked by farmers. A 2022 cross section study that assessed 387 North Indian farmers found that 55% of farmers did not read or follow pesticide label instructions, and 80.2% were altogether unaware of banned or restricted pesticides. Factors such as low education levels, advanced age, and label-related issues, like technical language as well as small fonts, contribute to this low engagement with safety information, research indicates. 

India's pesticide regulation is currently governed by the Insecticides Act of 1968, which has faced criticism for being outdated and insufficient in addressing modern agricultural challenges. To strengthen the regulatory framework, the Pesticide Management Bill, 2020 was introduced in the Rajya Sabha on 23 March, 2020. The bill aims to promote biological pesticides, proposes the establishment of a Central Pesticides Board to advise on scientific and technical matters, and most important of all, bestows the powers to issue licenses for the manufacture, storage and sale of pesticides to respective states. 

But this bill, too, has its own criticisms. For instance, the representation of decision-making bodies is said to be inadequate. Critics are also concerned that it does not sufficiently promote Integrated Pest Management (IPM) practices. The bill remains pending in the Parliament, with stakeholders advocating for amendments to address these critical issues.

In 2021, approximately 61,000 metric tons of pesticides were used in India for agricultural purposes, a study said.

As of March 31, 2024, the Indian government has prohibited the manufacture, import, and use of 49 pesticides such as Alachlor, Aldicarb, Aldrin, Benzene Hexachloride and several others due to their potential risks to human health and the environment. ​However, farmers and experts we spoke to said that many of them are widely available. “Even red coded pesticides such as Monophyl are openly sold in India,” says Sangeetha Pradeep, Senior Project Coordinator at Pesticide Action Network, India. 

In fact, India recently opposed the global elimination of Chlorpyrifos, an insecticide toxic to humans and wildlife under the Stockholm Convention on Persistent Organic Pollutants. Instead of a complete shutdown, India requested exceptions to certain crucial crops, citing the lack of alternatives and the threat to overall food security in the country. 

The Indian government promotes chemical-free agriculture through initiatives like the National Centre for Organic and Natural Farming (NCONF), which oversees organic and natural farming nationwide, and Bharatiya Prakritik Krishi Paddhati (BPKP) that provides financial aid and training for natural farming. Both campaigns, though, have relatively limited reach. 

In 2021, approximately 61,000 metric tons of pesticides were used in India for agricultural purposes, a study said. “Their numbers and toxicity are also increasing, posing an enormous threat,” explains D. Narasimha Reddy, public policy expert. “The Indian government, however, is ignoring the deadly impact of pesticide use on humans and the environment. Instead of tightening regulations, it is focusing on liberalising and subsidising pesticide products while incentivising profits.” 

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Working at the grassroots

The small district of Idukki in Kerala is famous for its spice plantations–especially cardamom–and infamous for the excessive use of pesticides in these plantations. This is not a light accusation: in 2023, so much pesticide residue was found in Kerala’s cardamoms (much of which come from Idukki) that the state’s High Court ordered the revered Sabarimala temple to make its holy offering of Aravana without its signature cardamom, for the first time. Tonnes of already prepared Aravana went to waste. The temple and Kerala’s state authorities had to put into place firm regulatory mandates to make sure they can source organic cardamom for their offering next year. 

Local residents as well as farmers of Idukki live with a serious threat to their health, only because of the extraordinary amount of pesticide used. And so, the work of a small movement that has taken root in this district comes as a relief. Pesticide Action Network (PAN) India, a not-for-profit organisation focusing on sustainable agriculture and reducing pesticide use, has begun to educate farmers and campaign for cultivating chemical-free cardamom in collaboration with the Savitri Trust. This project, named the Cardamom Agroecology project, aims to promote a paradigm shift from conventional farming to a more robust, sustainable way to look at the cardamom. More than 300 farmers have switched to organic farming in Idukki, thanks to their extensive educational classes. 

30-year-old Anoop Thankachan from the Konnathady village owns four acres of land, and has begun his switch to organic farming by stripping one acre of it of all chemicals and pesticides. “After spraying pesticides, I used to get skin rashes, a burning sensation in my eyes, dandruff and breathing difficulties,” Anoop says. Across the remaining three acres, too, he has reduced pesticide usage, confining it to mildly toxic potassium. 

The switch has also been economically beneficial. “I used to spend Rs 5,000 a month on pesticides; now, it is just Rs 2,000 on organic sprays. Organic solutions such as pineapple tonic (made with fermented pineapple, neem, jaggery and other ingredients) boosts flowering in cardamom. From the blooms, I can tell this season’s yield will be better," Thankachan says. 

Like PAN India, not-for-profit organisations such as Jaivik Kheti and the MS Swaminathan Research Foundation are working towards promoting chemical-free agriculture in several pockets. PAN India itself is working at the ground level in Yavatmal and Thrissur. In these villages, there are 39 pesticide poisoning monitoring committees, consisting of women farmers and workers. The organisation’s back-to-back training programmes in Yavatmal resulted in 264 farmers (across 300 acres of cultivated land) giving up pesticides altogether. “This victory wouldn’t have been possible without the women volunteers who spearheaded the movement. Few women workers no longer work in the fields that practice chemical farming—such extreme steps are the need of the hour,” Sangeetha Pradeep says.

In December 2024, India’s first protective suit—the Kisan Kavach—was introduced to safeguard farmers from pesticide exposure. In 2020, Bengaluru researchers introduced a skin gel called poly-Oxime which, when applied on the skin, deactivates toxic pesticides. These are useful preventive measures, but their impact remains negligible on the ground: the Kisan Kavach costs Rs. 4,000, rendering it unaffordable for small and marginalised farmers; many others just remain unaware of the gel. 

The transition to organic farming after facing the brutal effects of pesticide usage is often rocky. The change in cultivation techniques leads to an initial decrease in crop yield, as the soil undergoes a period of detoxification and adjustment. The productivity of the crop will suffer, too. But with a consistent routine of using organic materials and practices, experts assert that the yield gap can be reduced.

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Editing and additional inputs by Neerja Deodhar and Anushka Mukherjee

Yangmiso Humao emerges from the bustling crowd at the village ground in Manipur’s Kachai with his usual sense of urgency. Every step he takes is premeditated, and there is little time to waste. “All the formalities and interactions that are part of organising the lemon festival aren’t something I’m cut out for. I’d rather be working hard at my lemon groves,” he quips, as we break away from the crowd that has gathered to celebrate the 21^st Kachai Lemon Festival. A short drive takes us to his grove, which lies on the western side of the village ground. Away from the cacophony of the festival, the mountains echo with the distant calls of great barbets and the cheeping of black bulbuls, who peer down at us from the wild walnut trees. 

Yangmiso eases up now; the deliberateness in his gait is gone. He walks between the trees—touching their barks, feeling their leaves, and plucking a few lemons from stray branches. His bond with the trees is unmistakable—rooted in care, instinct, and two decades of quiet devotion. It’s little surprise he’s counted among the finest lemon farmers in the village, and was awarded the ICAR Best Farmer from Manipur in 2023. The mountainside he has patiently transformed into a thriving grove unfolds along a gentle slope, dappled with thousands of sunlit lemons. From a distance, it feels as if autumn has arrived early in the village, a golden hush settling over this corner of the hill.

Yangmiso is just one among hundreds of farmers who cultivate lemons in Kachai, a small village in Manipur’s Ukhrul District. These lemons are believed to be among India’s finest—renowned for their exceptionally high ascorbic acid content and antioxidant-rich nature. Known locally as Kachai Champra, this variety of lemon also holds the distinction of being the first in the country to receive a Geographical Indication (GI) tag. 

The village’s unique microclimate and terrain has turned the fruit into the lifeblood of the local economy. Kachai experiences humid temperatures during the day, and fog and mist at nights and in the early mornings. Locals believe that the precipitation from the mist acts as drip irrigation for the lemons, enhancing their quality. The 500 household-strong village grows over 2,00,000 lemon trees, producing approximately 400 tonnes of lemon each year.

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The Shillong connection

Though they are grown and cultivated industriously in this small, unassuming village on NH 102, these lemons have roots in Shillong, the capital city of Meghalaya. In 1947, S. Paisho, an early Christian pioneer from Thikhor Kachai encountered an accident that nearly blinded him in one eye. With his condition worsening and no immediate medical treatment available, Naga revolutionary leader and fellow missionary Suisa Rungsung offered to take him to Jorhat, Assam for surgery. But when the duo arrived, the doctors on duty refused their request, insisting that Paisho’s eye was beyond repair.

The 500 household-strong village grows over 2,00,000 lemon trees, producing approximately 400 tonnes of lemon each year.

Suisa, who was cognizant of the shifting political currents in North-East India on the eve of Independence—including debates on autonomy in the hill regions—decided to proceed to Shillong. Shillong was the administrative capital of then undivided Assam, which included the Naga Hills. Paisho followed Suisa, banking his hopes on a local healer.

To everyone’s astonishment, Paisho made a miraculous recovery. A local healer treated his eye with an indigenous herb. And when he returned to Kachai, he came back with more than just his sight.

Though they are grown and cultivated industriously in this small, unassuming village on NH 102, these lemons have roots in Shillong, the capital city of Meghalaya.

Among the things he brought from Shillong were five lemon seeds, a gift from Suisa. These were seeds of the Khasi lemon—larger, juicier, and far more balanced in flavour than the wild Lam Champra (Citrus indica) that grew in Kachai. It was these seeds that quietly altered the course of the village’s future.

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When life gives you lemons—grow them!

Of the five seeds, two grew into fruiting trees. By the 1950s, the first fruits were harvested. Recognising the fruit’s potential, the villagers began planting lemon trees in their backyards. In 1976, the Kachai Fruit Farming and Processing Co-operative Society was formed by the villagers to unify and expand this endeavour. Every household in the village became a member of the society and was required to grow at least 50 lemon trees.

This spirit of community transformed Kachai into a lemon powerhouse, and demand for its lemons began to surge. Over time, support from the Manipur branch of the Indian Council of Agricultural Research (ICAR), through the Krishi Vigyan Kendra, empowered local Self Help Groups to explore value addition—enhancing income opportunities while also reducing fruit wastage.

“The great thing about the Kachai lemon is that there is zero waste. Every part of the lemon can be used for something, be it making pickles, candies, or extracting zest,” says Dr. Solei Luiram, a scientist at KVK (Krishi Vigyan Kendra), Ukhrul. 

Inheriting—and—building a legacy

Yangmiso also comes from a family of lemon farmers; his grandfather was among the village’s first lemon cultivators, and the family’s old grove is now maintained by him. In 2014, he started a new grove on the other side of the village which now had over 500 fruiting trees.

“Our grandfathers didn’t have these terraces in their groves,” he explains, sitting down at the edge of one of the terraces. “"Adding terraces to our lemon groves has helped in nutrient retention. The compost from a higher terrace is deposited onto the next, creating natural organic manure. It also makes it easier for us to harvest the lemons systematically,” he adds.

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This evolution in farming practices is just one of many techniques the farmers of Kachai have developed over generations to boost yields. In recent years, pest attacks and environmental changes have taken a toll on production. Subtle changes in the flowering and fruiting season of the lemons have made it harder for farmers to predict what’s to come. Yet, they remain undeterred—constantly adapting, whether through traditional knowledge or with scientific support and interventions provided by the State government and the Horticulture Department.

“Lemons are our livelihood and we will continue to do everything we can to ensure they continue to grow and prosper in our village,” Humao says with conviction. For him and many others, lemon farming is not just tradition—it is sustenance, pride, and the promise of a better future.

A return to the village and a glass of refreshing lemonade later, we met RK Mayasang, Chairman of the Kachai Fruit Farming and Processing Co-operative Society. Standing under the shade of a fruiting lemon tree, Mayasang reflects on the transformative power of the humble lemon. “There is so much optimism,” he beams, envisioning a future where Kachai, thanks to its citrus wealth, might one day boast the highest per capita income in Manipur.

As the sun sets over the western slopes of Kachai, bathing the village in a soft golden glow, one is drawn back to another moment in time—when, at the dawn of India’s independence in 1947, a man named Paisho quietly planted the seeds of Kachai’s economic freedom. With nothing but faith, hope, and five lemon seeds in hand, a future was sown that continues to bear fruit.

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Sasbani, a small Kumaoni village tucked into Uttarakhand’s Dhari tehsil, is no stranger to encounters with the wild. Monkeys raid farms in broad daylight; wild boars dig up fields overnight. In 2023, the forest department even proposed increasing the fox population to keep their numbers in check. “They ruin so much,” says Mamta Nayal, 52, who moved back to Sasbani, her native village, in 2017 after nearly two decades in Delhi. “It wasn’t like this before.”

Nayal and her husband had left Sasbani in the early 2000s, soon after they married. This village in Nainital district, home to over 1,200 voters, is connected by a partially paved road. There are no colleges nearby. Nayal was starting a new life and had dreams of educating her children; the couple had four over the following years. “We wanted them to study, go to college,” she says. “That didn’t seem possible here.” So, they settled in Delhi, hoping for a more stable life and better livelihood opportunities.

Things changed when her in-laws passed away, and none of the extended family was willing to tend to their share of the farmland. In 2017, Nayal returned with her two younger children—a girl and a boy—while her husband, a mechanic, stayed back in Delhi to support their older daughters through college. “Education also needs money. And farming isn’t easy or enough.”

With little local government intervention to help with improving the situation, crop losses piling up, and the family split across two homes, farming alone wasn’t enough. She needed extra income. It was hard to come by, though. Opportunities are slim in Sasbani: Farming and cattle rearing remain the main sources of livelihood. Until recently, locals say, the only shop—part dhaba, part grocery, part vegetable stall—stood at the junction of Letibunga, Gahna, and Sasbani. A few more have opened in the last few years. For Nayal, it was even harder to find an alternate income source with no formal education beyond primary school. Apart from occasional cooking gigs at nearby homestays—mostly during peak tourist season—there’s little she could fall back on.

Life has taken a similar route for Champa Melkani, who had spent over a decade in Haldwani, the biggest city in the Kumaon region, until the COVID-19 pandemic struck in 2020. “During the pandemic, we had to move back,” she says, seated beside Nayal on the rooftop of the Sasbani Gramya Haat on a clear afternoon. Together, they slice galgal (Citrus pseudolimon Tanaka) and mix spices to make pickles. “Farming also suffers because of water scarcity,” says Melkani, who is in her mid-40s. “Only during the monsoon months do we get a proper harvest. Otherwise, it’s just potatoes and peas.”

In the last few years, the Sasbani Gramya Haat has begun to change this difficult reality. A modest shop perched on a hillside lined with ancient step terraces, it has quietly become a lifeline for women trying to rebuild their lives. Set up in 2021 by Neha Shah, a corporate worker-turned-entrepreneur, the Haat buys excess local produce—often wasted due to poor transport and storage—from local farmers and turns it into jams, pickles, oils and more. It has created opportunities for villagers to earn, learn new skills, and regain control over how their produce is used and valued.

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The beginning of a dream

In 2021, when the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic was still being felt, many like 32-year-old Shah were nudged to reassess their life choices. Shah’s ancestors migrated to the Western Himalayas during British rule. But she grew up in Haldwani, the gateway between the plains and the hills. Unlike her forebears, who were traders, she and her two siblings were raised in a service-class household.

Even after studying law and working briefly in Gurugram, Shah held on to two dreams. “One, to live in the hills. Two, to start something of my own.” In early 2019, she visited Sasbani following a tip-off about a land deal. Like many others, she and her then-fiancé (now husband) were hoping to build a small homestay.

During one of these visits, something she saw shook her. Farmers were dumping ripe plums and apricots into earth pits beneath their trees. “In Gurugram, I was paying a premium for the same fruits,” she says. “It wasn’t much different in Haldwani either. And here, they were being thrown away.”

“What else could we do?” Nayal says. “We can’t always send our produce to city markets in time without better transport systems. If the fruit gets overripe—and often does—it is unusable.”

India loses an estimated 4.6%-15.9% of its fruits and vegetables every year due to outdated harvesting methods and poor cold chain infrastructure, according to the Ministry of Food Processing Industries. Shah began looking for ways to salvage the waste. The idea was basic: make jams and preserves. “I’ve never even liked jams,” she laughs, sipping rhododendron tea in her cosy rented shop. “But I knew this could work. I wanted to use what’s being wasted, support local farmers, and build a sustainable business.”

"All my dreams were coming together—and coming true,” she says with a smile.

Above them, the Panchachuli peaks of the Himalayas stand tall, and the air carries a sharp, citrusy smell. The snowcaps, they all agree, have thinned. As they work, they talk about how the oak, pine, and rhododendron forests have changed with rising temperatures. 

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Ground realities

The village has also not been spared the region’s worsening water crisis. Naini, one of Nainital’s main lakes, reported a drop in water levels to 4.7 feet this year, the lowest in five years. The Times of India had reported that it was 6 feet 10 inches in 2020. Apart from systemic negligence, experts blame the decline on rapid urban growth, unplanned construction, and encroachment on recharge zones resulting in disrupted ecological balance.

Poor, unpaved roads have also kept tourists away from the village, unlike nearby Mukteshwar, known for its chic resorts and cafés. “Tourism was picking up 15 years ago,” recalls a local contractor. “But the Kedarnath floods in 2013 slowed everything down.” Still, he admits that an influx of city dwellers keen to build homestays or retirement homes post-pandemic has helped revive the local economy.

“It’s a travesty, though,” says Prahlad Singh Bisht, 84, a former sarpanch and village elder. “When these city folks come, all they think about is building concrete structures.” He points to a nearby plot where new construction is underway.

Bisht’s house sits about a kilometre downhill from the Sasbani Gramya Haat, which has been offering a quieter, more sustainable response to the village’s shifting landscape. In her visits to the farmers and long conversations with them, Shah discovered that most had surplus produce, and not just fruits, but rather grains and pulses that weren’t immediately perishable: rajma (kidney beans), bhatt ki daal (black soybean), haldi (turmeric), and ragi (finger millet).

First steps

When she began the business, Shah invited them to sell directly at the shop. “Most were hesitant,” she says. “They thought I wouldn’t buy small quantities. I had to reassure them that I’ll buy it at the market rate, even if it's just 5 kilos.”

At home, her husband wasn’t convinced. “Ab tu rajma-haldi bechegi? (You’ll sell kidney beans and turmeric now?)” he mocked. For Shah, his doubt was a driving force. She started small—four bottles each of plum, apple, apricot and other jams. Today, the shop stocks not just jams, preserves and pickles, but also fruit nectars and massage oils made from cold-pressed leftover apricot seeds, among other things. Everything is made locally by villagers, using manual processes and hand-operated machines. The business sells at fairs, exhibitions and through online platforms.

When Shah receives large corporate orders or curates gift hampers with local produce, she turns to other regional ventures for support. For instance, she initially sourced pisyu loon, a hand-ground mix of rock salt, herbs, and spices found in kitchens across Uttarakhand’s hills, from another micro business in a neighbouring village. Now, she is trying to create her own variations. “It always helps to have partners and allies. The idea is to grow together,” she says.

Today, the shop stocks not just jams, preserves and pickles, but also fruit nectars and massage oils made from cold-pressed leftover apricot seeds, among other things. Everything is made locally by villagers, using manual processes and hand-operated machines.

Her business took flight while the couple’s homestay was still under construction, which finally wrapped up last year. That, she admits, is “yet to pick up.” Then, with a mischievous grin, she laughs about teasing her husband: “I tell him now, in jest, ‘Arre, tere guests kahaan hai? Meri dukaan toh chal gayi.’ (‘Where are your guests? My business has picked up.’)”

She wants to do much more and scale up the Gramya Haat concept. She’s reached out to local government bodies to set up establishments that could benefit more villagers, though the idea is yet to gain traction. For now, she’s training a few management students in running a village-level enterprise from time to time.

Villagers have embraced her initiative, though. Bisht’s granddaughter Manju, in her mid-20s, migrated to Pune for three years after college. She returned during the pandemic and now works full-time with Shah. “We need such ventures in the villages,” Bisht says, “so that our younger generation doesn’t have to migrate for work to other cities and states.”

Also read: How the 'makrei' sticky rice fosters love, labour in Manipur

Employment back home

In a 2024 news report, social activist Anoop Nautiyal, founder of the Social Development for Communities Foundation (SDC), warned that the migration crisis in Uttarakhand is deepening. Between 2008 and 2018, over 5 lakh people left the state, averaging at roughly 50,000 annually. But from 2018 to 2022, nearly 3.4 lakh people migrated, raising the yearly average to almost 84,000. In rural areas, the crisis is so severe that in 2017, the state government was compelled to set up the Rural Development and Migration Prevention Commission (now Migration Commission) to address it.

For Manju, "nothing could have been better than to be a part of and see something grow from scratch while being closer to family." Nayal echoes these sentiments. “I started at ₹3,500 a month, now I earn ₹7,000. It’s flexible, too, so I can pause during sowing or harvest times. And I’ve learnt so much—we never knew fruit could be used in so many ways. It’s good to have something beyond farming.”

The admiration is mutual. Shah says she perfected an apple jelly and a lemon pickle thanks to recipes the women from the village generously shared. Though permanent staff is rare, as most return to farms during harvest season, she’s built a steady, seasonal team. “It works well,” she says.

As Shah walks a village trail, 60-year-old Malti Devi stops her. “Neha, aur galgal le rahi ho? (Neha, are you still sourcing galgal?)” Malti asks. “Only the ones that have ripened on the branch, Aunty,” Shah replies. Malti shows her the still-unpicked fruits on the tree. It’s a simple exchange, speaking volumes of the bond and mutual respect Shah now shares with the community.

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Devi Singh is a very happy man today—but he never predicted that he would be. A farmer from Rajasthan’s Karauli district, Singh lives in a remote corner of the Rawatpura village with his wife and children; he enjoys very few amenities. Still, he is content: until very recently, nearly half of his total farmland remained uncultivated. But today, rows of green crops dot almost all of his land. Most fortunately, he’s also able to cultivate two crops a year.

His joy is shared by many other farmers in this village, who have experienced progress of a similar, exponential kind. Subabai, a fellow resident of Rawatpura, says, “Though I have generally eaten wheat rotis, I had never seen wheat growing in a field. Now, I can see—and harvest—so much of the crop.”

A journey across dozens of such widely scattered villages and hamlets across the Karauli district revealed why farmlands had lain barren for so long: these are dusty, dry and remote areas, where the absence of irrigation had made it impossible for farmers to cultivate a significant part of their land. 

This is when Self-Reliant Initiatives through Joint Action (SRIJAN), a voluntary organisation, stepped in. To find a solution, the organisation sought the traditional wisdom of local residents. This led them to set up ponds in several villages. In Rawatpura village alone, nearly 13 ponds were built, while 13 existing ones were repaired and renovated. As a result, around 200 acres of new land gradually started being cultivated, thereby boosting productivity from existing cultivated land.

In the Makanpur Swami village of the Karauli district, farmers are bound by another constraint over and above land being in short supply: a lot of the land that they do have access to, is rocky and uneven. Additionally, mining has also degraded some portion of the land. To address these specific problems, SRIJAN–in consultation with the local residents–embarked on a three-dimensional approach. First, the available irrigation source was de-silted and cleaned, which helped enhance its water retention capacity. Then, the fertile silt obtained from the irrigation source was spread on the land to make it fertile. Finally, land levelling and bund-creation activities were taken up, both to make the land cultivable and to conserve rainwater on it.

Slowly but surely, this meant that a lot of land that absolutely could not be cultivated earlier was now fertile. Ballabh, a middle-aged farmer and father and local to this village, points proudly to a field full of flourishing crops, along with a few trees and flower plants—the same rocky land that had earlier been given up as uncultivable.

In addition, natural farming–the practice of growing crops with low-inputs and naturally available resources–has also been promoted here. This has helped increase the quality of the farm produce, as well as improved soil. Farmers like Ballabh are able to get better prices for their healthier farm produce. The result of these efforts is felt in several other villages in Karauli, such as Teen Pokhar, where farming conditions were adverse up until the recent past.

‘This land is your land’

While the transformation of previously degraded or abandoned land certainly benefits from the nourishing and rejuvenating initiatives that have been undertaken in these villages, another factor is central to this issue: land rights. When it comes to land rights, it’s the most marginalised sections of the farming communities that suffer. And this is evident from the ground reality in the Manikpur block of Chitrakoot district, Uttar Pradesh. 

Here, a large number of the Dalit and Kol tribe community households had been allotted land by the government in the 1950s–but under the feudal dominance of powerful landlords, they could not occupy it for several years. While some of this land was illegally encroached upon and cultivated by those in power, a lot of the other lands simply remained uncultivated. The people who had been awarded allotments were either not aware of the exact location of their plot, or were simply prevented from cultivating it. It’s also possible that the absence of proper irrigation systems had posed a hurdle, even if they wished to farm the land. Resultantly, a lot of land remained uncultivated.

While the transformation of previously degraded or abandoned land certainly benefits from the nourishing and rejuvenating initiatives that have been undertaken in these villages, another factor is central to this issue: land rights. When it comes to land rights, it’s the most marginalised sections of the farming communities that suffer.

It was only in the 1980s that Akhil Bharatiya Samaj Sewa Sansthan (ABSSS), a Chitrakoot-based voluntary organisation, came in. It mobilised the affected and took up advocacy with the government to demarcate and allocate land very clearly to the marginalised households. They followed up with several water conservation and minor irrigation efforts, creating check dams, tanks and other structures to make land available to these households, largely from Dalit and Kol tribal communities.

In this manner, not only did a lot of land become cultivable–adding to food production of the country– but this was also achieved on the farms of the poorest of the community; those most vulnerable to hunger. Their food security was also assured.

Also read: The fall of the Mathania Mirch in a thirsty desert

Co-operation and community

This change is also afoot at the household level. When this writer visited several such households in the Dalit and tribal community hamlets of villages like Harijanpur, Sukhrampur, Mangavaa and Tikariya in Uttar Pradesh, first-generation farmers spoke of how their food security had improved significantly after they started cultivating their own land. 

In the Talbehat block of Uttar Pradesh’s Lalitpur district, a stretch of nearly 150 acres had been left uncultivated due to lack of irrigation. It was abandoned with such little care that people were afraid to venture into this land after dark. However, owing to the efforts of village residents, the administration and a voluntary organisation named Parmarth, well-constructed check dams could provide much-needed irrigation—a boon for local farmers. 

Sarkunwar, an activist and mother local to the village, contributed significantly to this success by ensuring that the check dams built were of durable quality. In the Bamauri village of this block, a similar cooperative effort created enough irrigation potential that several farmers devoted themselves to cultivating their neglected land.

Efforts like these reveal the potential of reviving lands which had once been abandoned for any number of reasons. They also prove that there is no one-size-fits-all approach: different kinds of intervention may be needed to bring different lands under cultivation. 

It may seem more difficult to extend this outreach to the most affected and impoverished households, but this challenge should be taken up, because ultimately, when the goal is food security, it is the needs of the most vulnerable households that take precedence. Further, when voluntary organisations and local administrations have been able to work together, better results have been achieved.

Also read: India’s mushroom moment: Rural and urban farmers are betting on fungiculture

Impact at the margins

Stories of successful interventions aside, it is important to understand that not all land is suitable for crop cultivation. In such cases, the plot can still be made optimal for sustainable livelihoods by developing it as pasture and grazing land. 

In some places, including hilly areas, there is greater scope for promoting the growth of several indigenous species of trees. This can be carried out in cooperation with the marginalised and landless households; this makes it possible to then provide them with rights over the minor forest produce. Initially, they can be paid for the planting and protection work; soon enough, when the trees have grown, they can earn from collection of various minor farm produce. Additionally, they can also carry out some animal husbandry, dairy farming and intercropping activities.

The Plate and the Planet is a monthly column by Dr. Madhura Rao, a food systems researcher and science communicator, exploring the connection between the food on our plates and the future of our planet.

Can a rapidly expanding industry feed a nation without compromising its ecosystems or its people’s health? Aquaculture—which involves farming fish, shellfish, and aquatic plants—has become central to this question, especially in countries like India where fish is both a dietary staple and an important source of livelihood. Unlike capture fisheries, which rely on harvesting wild fish, aquaculture is a controlled process that allows for increased production and a steady supply of seafood.

Although aquaculture has existed for centuries, it is now gaining greater attention and benefiting from technological advancements due to declining wild fish stocks, growing concerns over food security, and the need for a more sustainable way to meet rising seafood demand. Over the last few decades, it has emerged as one of the fastest-growing sectors of the food industry, playing a key role in global food and nutritional security. For countries like India, where fish is a staple for millions, aquaculture holds immense economic, dietary, and employment potential.

Where does India stand?

India is the world's second largest aquaculture producer, contributing approximately 8% to global fish production. The country’s total aquaculture production reached 10.2 million tonnes in 2022, up from 8.6 million tonnes in 2020. This growth is largely driven by freshwater aquaculture, which refers to the farming of fish in inland water bodies such as ponds, lakes, rivers, and reservoirs. The expansion of freshwater aquaculture was driven by various technological and fish breeding innovations, including induced breeding using hormonal or environmental triggers. Alongside this, polyculture and composite culture practices—raising a mix of native and exotic carp species together—have enabled more efficient use of resources and higher yields. In India, carp (rohu, catla, mrigal), catfish, freshwater shrimp, and tilapia are the most popular aquaculture species and the states of Andhra Pradesh and West Bengal are the leading producers.

India is the world's second largest aquaculture producer, contributing approximately 8% to global fish production.

Although freshwater aquaculture dominates, other types of aquaculture also exist in India. Brackish water aquaculture, which takes place in coastal estuaries and lagoons with a mix of freshwater and seawater, is widely practised in the Sundarbans for shrimp farming. Marine aquaculture, or mariculture, which involves farming species directly in the sea, is still limited but growing, with coastal states currently exploring the potential for commercial mussel, oyster, and seaweed farming. Additionally, integrated aquaculture, which combines fish farming with agriculture or livestock rearing, is practiced in some regions to improve efficiency and resource use.

Read the first edition of The Plate and the Planet: The circular bioeconomy movement can change how we see waste

Amplifying rural development 

With aquaculture accounting for nearly 75% of India’s total seafood production, its expansion has created new economic opportunities in states with strong freshwater fisheries. One of the key contributions of aquaculture is income diversification, particularly for smallholder farmers and landless workers. Unlike seasonal agricultural crops, fish farming can provide year-round earnings, making it an attractive livelihood option, particularly when integrated with existing farming systems​. 

Another area where aquaculture has shown potential is women’s participation in rural economies. In states such as Odisha, West Bengal, and Tamil Nadu, government-supported aquaculture projects have encouraged women’s self-help groups to engage in community-managed fish farming, improving household nutrition, and financial independence. However, social and cultural barriers continue to restrict women’s full participation in the sector, particularly when it comes to decision-making in commercial fish farming operations.

Additionally, high initial costs, fluctuating market prices, and frequent disease outbreaks can reduce market access and profitability for small-scale producers, particularly in regions where access to organised fish markets is limited. Infrastructure gaps also pose a major challenge to aquaculture’s rural development potential. However, despite these challenges, the sector has significant potential for growth. With targeted interventions such as capacity-building programmes, improved access to credit, and infrastructure development, aquaculture can continue to strengthen livelihoods, generate employment, and contribute to sustainable rural development. 

Also see: Small catch: Deep in muddy water, traditional fisherfolk nimbly catch clams and karimeen with their bare hands

The question of safety regulations

Unlike wild-caught fish, which are exposed to naturally fluctuating water conditions and diverse ecosystems, farmed fish are raised in controlled environments where stocking densities, water quality, and feed composition directly impact their health and thereby, their safety as food. In some cases, contaminants such as heavy metals, antibiotic residues, microplastics, and pathogens can accumulate in farmed fish due to polluted water sources, overuse of veterinary drugs, or insufficient disease prevention and hygiene practices. 

However, as aquaculture has expanded to meet growing global seafood demand, food safety standards and regulations have also evolved. The increasing commercialisation of farmed seafood, along with the influence of large retailers and supermarket chains, has played a major role in strengthening food safety requirements across national and international markets. Many countries have adopted stricter hygiene protocols, improved regulatory frameworks, and established training programmes for fish farmers to ensure compliance with evolving standards. In the Indian context, however, these changes have largely benefitted aquaculture produce that is exported.

Seafood intended for export is subject to stricter regulation, meeting international food safety standards such as those set by importers like the European Union and the United States. Processing units approved for export must comply with strict hazard analysis protocols, residue monitoring plans, and microbiological testing, ensuring that farmed shrimp and fish exported from India are free from contaminants. In contrast, regulations are not as strictly enforced for fish sold in domestic markets, with studies noting weaker cold storage infrastructure, a higher likelihood of microbial contamination, and more frequent detection of antibiotic residues​.

Since high-value aquaculture products, particularly shrimp, are prioritised for export, lower-quality fish tends to remain in the domestic supply chain, raising concerns about food safety for domestic consumers.

Also read: The perilous future of Kashmir’s once-abundant trout

Environmental impacts

The rapid expansion of aquaculture in India has raised concerns about its environmental footprint, particularly regarding water pollution, habitat degradation, and resource use. The conversion of ecologically sensitive areas, such as mangroves and agricultural land, into aquaculture ponds has been a significant issue. While the expansion of shrimp and fish farming has contributed to economic growth, it has also resulted in the loss of wetlands and coastal vegetation, which are critical for biodiversity and climate resilience.

Water pollution is another concern. The discharge of untreated wastewater from fish and shrimp farms, containing high levels of nitrogen, phosphorus, and organic matter, has led to eutrophication of water bodies – a process where excessive nutrient buildup depletes oxygen levels, leading to uncontrolled algae growth and disruptions in aquatic ecosystems. In high production states like Andhra Pradesh, effluents from shrimp ponds have increased salinity in adjacent agricultural lands, reducing soil fertility and limiting crop productivity.

While the expansion of shrimp and fish farming has contributed to economic growth, it has also resulted in the loss of wetlands and coastal vegetation, which are critical for biodiversity and climate resilience.

Despite these challenges, aquaculture remains one of the most resource-efficient ways to meet the world’s growing protein needs. Studies show that compared to land-based livestock farming, aquaculture requires significantly less feed and land while producing lower greenhouse gas emissions. The expansion of farming low-impact species such as bivalves and seaweed offers additional environmental benefits, as these organisms can be farmed without external feed inputs and even help improve water quality. 

Meanwhile, innovations such as Integrated Multi-Trophic Aquaculture (IMTA) and Recirculating Aquaculture Systems (RAS) provide more sustainable alternatives to traditional fish farming. IMTA mimics natural ecosystems by cultivating multiple species such as fish, shellfish, and seaweed in the same environment. In such a system, waste from one species becomes nutrients for another, reducing pollution and improving resource efficiency. RAS, on the other hand, uses advanced filtration and water treatment technologies to recycle and purify water within closed systems, minimising waste discharge and land use. 

The way forward

The future of Indian aquaculture depends on sustainable intensification, stronger governance, and improved infrastructure. On the policy front, the Pradhan Mantri Matsya Sampada Yojana (PMMSY), launched in 2020  is laying the groundwork for a structured and modernised approach to fisheries management. However, stricter enforcement of environmental regulations, improved disease surveillance, substantial investment in cold storage infrastructure, and better coordination between central and state agencies are needed to ensure long-term sustainability. State-specific management plans, particularly for brackish water aquaculture and reservoir fisheries, could help optimise production while mitigating habitat degradation. 

With targeted improvements in technology, safety regulations for the domestic market, and farmer support, aquaculture can become a stable and sustainable food production system that provides economic security to rural communities while reducing pressure on wild fish stocks and live-stock farming. A more scientifically informed and socially sensitive approach will be essential to ensuring its role in India’s food security and environmental sustainability in the years to come.

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Once a lifeline of Rajasthan’s arid landscape, the village of Mathania stood as a beacon of agricultural prosperity. Known for its fiery red chillies and its crucial role in water distribution across the state, Mathania was more than just a village—it was a symbol of sustenance and economic strength. But today, it tells a different story.

Much like Comala in Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Páramo, Mathania has now become a shadow of its former self since the 1980s. Where bustling farms once painted the land red with chilli fields, parched soil now stretches endlessly, cracked and lifeless. The wells that once nourished entire regions have dried up, leaving behind only the echoes of a past when Mathania dictated the pulse of Rajasthan’s agricultural trade.

Much like Rulfo’s protagonist Juan Preciado’s experience upon entering Comala, visitors to Mathania today are surrounded by silence, broken only by the distant whispers of those who remember its past. But unlike Comala’s ghosts, Mathania’s decline is not a supernatural mystery—it is rooted in exploiting its most precious resource, water. The taste that once defined it, now overpowered by an extra spiciness.

Also read: The tree that keeps the Thar alive

Start of commercialisation

“The Mirch is best known for its role in Rajasthan's famous laal maas,” says Dhani Chand, a local of Mathania village. But its culinary influence doesn’t stop there. “It’s also a staple in chutneys and pickles, adding a depth of flavour that’s hard to match,” he adds. “What truly sets it apart is its mild pungency compared to other chillies, yet it is so rich and addictive that once you start, you won’t want to stop,” says Jodhpur resident Rajesh Dave.

Mathania’s agricultural landscape is undergoing significant shifts due to rapid commercialisation. When the authors of this report visited Mathania to check the cost of powdered chilli, we were taken aback: a single packet sells for a staggering ₹500-₹600. No wonder farmers once made significant profits from its cultivation.

Insaf, a tea shop owner in his fifties, explains that these days chillies from other states [like Andhra Pradesh] often flood the local markets, making it harder for authentic Mathania chillies to compete. “Nowadays, mathania chillies are so expensive that we can’t even afford to consume them,” he adds, seated at his small establishment in the village. 

The rising demand for Mathania chillies has put mounting pressure on local farmers, triggering a domino effect of environmental and agricultural challenges. Over-extraction of groundwater to meet production targets has led to severe water scarcity in the region. This, in turn, has stunted the growth of vegetation, reducing the availability of fodder and water for cattle. As livestock numbers declined, so did the production of manure, a crucial input for cultivation further deepening the crisis for farmers and disrupting the delicate balance of the local agro-ecosystem.

The area under red chilli cultivation in Rajasthan has dropped sharply, from a decadal average of 41.5 thousand hectares in 1987–97 to just 12.7 thousand hectares in 2007–17.

Michael Goldman, a sociologist from the University of Minnesota, highlighted this alarming rate of groundwater extraction in the region in his 1988 paper, The “Mirch-Masala” of Chili Peppers: The Production of Drought in the Jodhpur Region of Rajasthan. “Some farmers were extracting as much as 50,000 gallons (of water) per day, irrigating their fields 40 to 60 times over a nine-month growing season,” he writes. This depletion rate, where water extraction far exceeded natural regeneration, stood in stark contrast to the modest 4-10 irrigations per season required for most staple food crops, added Goldman. 

Further, to fulfil Jodhpur city's water demand, the state's Public Health Engineering Department in 2001 identified and developed a few potential groundwater sources, including Mathania. Locals say this action by the government authorities has led to severe water shortage for irrigation, crippling chilli production and drastically altering the village’s agricultural landscape. “There is no water for irrigation in the village,” says 49-year-old Mahinder, a resident of Mathania. “Farmers are increasingly shifting to cash crops like ajwain and jeera [cumin] to sustain their livelihoods, since growing chillies in the fields demands considerable irrigation.” 

Mathania chilli business is seasonal, with the harvesting cycle beginning in August, when farmers sow the seeds, and culminating at the end of February or March, when the chillies are harvested. Low temperature is one of the necessary conditions for Mathania chillies, which is why the harvest cycle is winter-dominated.

As per a research paper, Changes in cropping pattern in Rajasthan: 1957 to 2017, the area under red chilli cultivation in Rajasthan has dropped sharply, from a decadal average of 41.5 thousand hectares in 1987–97 to just 12.7 thousand hectares in 2007–17. In contrast, cumin cultivation has surged more than eightfold during the same period, rising from 37.8 to 328.8 thousand hectares. Similar increases are seen for other spices like fenugreek, coriander, and ajwain, reflecting a broader shift in cropping patterns as farmers adapt to water scarcity and changing economic realities.

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

Long shadow cast by climate change

Shifting climate patterns are also increasingly affecting Mathania's agricultural landscape since the 1980s. From 1984 to 1988, the severe drought brought Rajasthan to its knees, leaving 7,942 villages, including Mathania, without a structured water supply, according to Goldman’s paper.

As per research by the Tamil Nadu Agricultural University, chilli can be grown successfully as a rain-fed crop in areas receiving an annual rainfall of 850–1200 mm.  However, Jodhpur, where Mathania is located receives only around 323 mm of rainfall annually. The region's annual rainfall, fluctuating between 5 and 20 inches, has proved insufficient for the sandy soils that retain little moisture. Groundwater, crucial to life in this desert expanse, is often saline or brackish and can lie buried up to 600 metres beneath the earth.

Between 1975 and 1986, chilli production in Jodhpur district surged from 5,700 tonnes to 14,600 tonnes, with the cultivated area expanding from 5,830 to 10,860 hectares. Yields also increased from 9.5 to 13.67 quintals per hectare, but this growth came at a cost. Chilli farming demanded frequent irrigation, exacerbating groundwater depletion.

Ajmal Dhaka, a farmer from Jodhpur, described the immense water demands of Mathania chilli cultivation. “Over four months, an acre of land needs to be irrigated 12-14 times,” Dhaka says.

Farmers constructed frames to hold water to meet this need, ensuring the plants received adequate water. This labour-intensive method underscores the water dependency of these vibrant red chillies. The ideal amount of rainfall needed for these chillies to grow is around 850-1200 mm.

A report by the Central Ground Water Board in 2023 confirmed a continued decline in groundwater levels, noting a drop of 1.2 metres annually over the past decade. The Rajasthan State Action Plan on Climate Change (SAPCC) in 2022 further predicted heightened water stress due to erratic rainfall and prolonged dry spells in the coming years.

The most affluent Mathania chilli producers claim to maintain a steady 50 per cent profit rate, despite the rising costs of agricultural inputs. However, ecological degradation has intensified these challenges. 

One significant factor is the depletion of organic manure, a vital input for chilli farming on the region’s sandy soils. “With the advent of chemical fertilisers, the quality and taste are changing,” says 37-year-old Manga Ram, one of the farmers.

The loss of ground vegetation, including grasses, shrubs, trees and common pastures, has led to the mass starvation of cattle, reducing the local livestock population by nearly half over the past four years.

With fewer cattle, farmers face a scarcity of organic manure, forcing them to rely on chemical fertilisers. However, improper use of these fertilisers has exacerbated soil degradation. Lacking the technical knowledge for balanced application, many farmers inadvertently harm their fields, further lowering yields and profitability.

Also read: The world is going nuts about makhanas

The decline

Agriculture has long defined Mathania's identity, especially its renowned chilli pepper. However, the shift from rain-fed crops like jowar, bajra, pulses, and oilseeds to intensive chilli cultivation placed immense pressure on the region’s water reserves. 

One major factor is Anthracnose, a plant disease that causes leaves to curl and twist into a condition often called “leaf curl”.

The decline of the Mathania Mirch is not just a story of water scarcity—it is a complex crisis with multiple factors at play. “The degradation of underground water quality has significantly reduced production,” says Dr. Rahul Bhardwaj, an assistant professor at the Agriculture University of Jodhpur. But water alone isn’t the culprit. He outlines challenges that have pushed this once-thriving chilli to the brink. One major factor is Anthracnose, a plant disease that causes leaves to curl and twist into a condition often called “leaf curl”. Bhardwaj explains that this disease has severely impacted chilli farming, weakening plants and reducing yields. But the problems don’t stop with diseases. 

The unorganised chilli market of Rajasthan has further dented production. “Because of the lack of a structured market, there is no consistent demand. Many farmers have abandoned chilli farming, and with competition from chillies like Guntur Mirchi from Andhra Pradesh, the situation has worsened,” says Bhardwaj. 

It leaves local farmers without protection or incentives. “Without structured intervention, cheaper chillies from other regions flood the market, falsely labelled Mathania Mirch, and erode its authenticity,” mentions one farmer.

However, the situation for this traditional crop may change through the bid for a geographical indication (GI) tag. As per a News18 report, an application by a farmer producer organisation (FPO) named Tinwari Farmer Producer Company, supported by the National Bank for Rural Development (NABARD), has been accepted by the GI Registry and is now in the objection phase. 

This step is crucial because rising demand has pressured farmers to overuse groundwater, causing water scarcity, loss of livestock, and lower manure availability—all hurting farming and the local environment. The GI tag could help restore balance and secure farmers' rights.

When we asked Bhardwaj about any solutions provided by the Jodhpur’s Agricultural University, he explained, "We have developed RCH1 hybrid seeds, which are slightly different from the original, with a little more pungency and shorter in height. These seeds are offered to interested farmers. However, there are still very few farmers who are willing to adopt these new hybrid seeds." In addition to these factors, when we inquired about cross-pollination, Bhardwaj mentioned, "Cross-pollination is less than 30 per cent, which is not significant in Mathania Mirch." 

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Paneer holds a cherished place in the Indian diet. For many, it’s not just a delicacy but also a versatile staple—a reliable source of protein that seamlessly fits into both everyday meals and special festive spreads. Think about it: this dependable cheese makes for a rich addition to curries, a great centrepiece as appetizers and also softly crumbles its way into the stuffings for rolls, burger patties, and koftas. Paneer also happens to be, often, the first choice for vegetarians who want to consume a hearty alternative to meat–it’s perfect for those particular about meeting their protein intake in a meat-free diet. Paneer has also come under the scanner for being an extremely adulterated product in the Indian market.

Recently there’s been a new kid on the block: analogue paneer. Experts and social media users have raised an alarm over how this imitation product is often sold to unknowing consumers as real, fresh paneer.

What exactly are we eating, and how is analogue paneer different from the real thing?

What is analogue paneer, really?

According to the Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI), dairy “analogues” are products where milk constituents are replaced wholly or partly with non-dairy ingredients. The end product is designed to look, feel, and act like the original.

Milk-based paneer–the kind we make at home, or buy from local dairies or dairy companies–is made by curdling milk with an acid (like lemon juice or vinegar). The curds are separated from the whey, and pressed into the all-familiar paneer block. 

Analogue paneer, on the other hand, uses a cocktail of vegetable oils, starch, milk solids, and emulsifiers—less cow, more chemistry. Here’s the thing: to make real paneer, whole milk with lots of good fat is used, because paneer is about 20-25% fat, and this is what gives this cheese its rich, buttery texture. To imitate it, you need an oil that solidifies at room temperature, much like milk fat or butter…but of course, cheaper. That’s where vegetable oils like palm oil come into play. This oil is mixed with milk solids to mimic the milk fat and milk protein combination; emulsifiers help blend this oil with water and other moisture, and then starch is added to this mix, to mimic the firm texture of paneer, as well as make sure that this product holds structure when heated or cooked. 

But even with these extra ingredients, analogue paneer is cheaper than the real deal. Much cheaper!

A kilo of real paneer might cost around ₹400. Analogue paneer? About ₹200–250. That 50% discount comes with ingredients that are far more budget-friendly—and sometimes, body-unfriendly too.

Also read: AI or A2? India’s milk dilemma explained

Criticisms of analogue paneer

At first glance, slabs of real and imitation paneer may look identical. But when it comes to nutrients, they’re not even close. Real paneer packs approximately 18–20g of protein per 100g. Analogue paneer often falls short, delivering only 7–10g, depending on its formula. For vegetarians who rely on paneer to fill their protein intake, this swap could mean a slow deficit over time.

Another serious concern, when it comes to analogue paneer, is trans fats. Real paneer contains 20–25g of fat—mostly natural saturated fats. Analogue paneer has 15–20g, but here's the catch: a significant portion of it can be trans fat—the type linked to heart disease, diabetes, and bad cholesterol levels (LDL). This is because to mimic the nature of milk fat, which stays solid at room temperature (think about butter in your cool kitchen), manufacturers need to use hydrogenated vegetable oil–a variant which introduces a lot of trans fats into the oil. Other than this, analogue paneer can also cause bloating, acidity, nausea, and even diarrhoea.

Also read: Whey to go: A complete guide to protein

How to spot analogue paneer

If you're shopping for packaged and branded paneer, be sure to check the label. FSSAI mandates manufacturers to either declare the word “analogue” on the paneer packet, or at least print the phrases “Contains oil (or other substitutes)” or “Contains no milk.” It’s good to be cautious: analogue paneer packets may not even contain the word–but they will always have an ingredient list. Check the list to see if instead of milk fat, you see vegetable oil and starch. Real paneer’s ingredient list will not have these constituents. 

Analogue paneer will also cost less—if it's too good to be paneer, it probably isn't. If a paneer dish in a restaurant, or a packet of unbranded paneer in a store costs much less than usual, you can ask the chef or the shop owner for a clarification.

Already have some paneer at home? Here's how to play detective:

1. Taste test: Real paneer tastes fresh and milky. Analogue paneer feels rubbery, and may melt easily when heated.
2. Drop test: Dunk it in hot water, and observe. Real paneer stays intact. The analogue variant may fall apart or release oil.
3. Pan test: Heat up your paneer on a pan. If it melts and oozes oil, it’s not your usual dairy delight. Real paneer should stay firm and turn that familiar, toasty shade of brown on the outside. 
4. Iodine test: Boil the cube in water and add iodine. If it turns blue, then you have analogue paneer on your hands. The iodine detects the presence of starch. 
5. Powder tests: Mix cooled boiled paneer with arhar (pigeon pea) or soybean powder. A red tint indicates adulteration.

Restaurant food is, of course, tougher to test. There is one trick: press the paneer between your fingers. Real paneer holds its shape when mashed gently. Analogue paneer, on the other hand, crumbles very quickly.

Also read: Detox teas: Slim claims, heavy consequences

The ethics of analogue paneer

The debate over “fake” dairy products isn’t a new one. The use of vegetable oils in “frozen desserts” has also come under the scanner before–in fact, “frozen desserts” is also a regulated analogue dairy product.

However, the question still remains: are analogue paneer and frozen desserts merely products on offer, or a deliberate effort by giant corporations to deceive consumers? The words “analogue paneer” or “non-dairy” may be very easy to spot on labels in kirana stores, supermarkets and quick commerce apps, but these labels are entirely missing in restaurant menus. Even though they are required to, many restaurants don’t disclose their usage of analogue paneer over dairy paneer to achieve higher profit margins.

Moreover, India isn’t a label-sensitive market. Although consumers may read labels, a survey conducted by the National Institute of Nutrition across five cities found that this is mostly to look at brand names and expiry dates. In fact, only 9% of those surveyed made sure to read the nutritional value index (which includes sugar, fats, trans fat, calories, carbohydrates, protein) every single time. 28% of the group read it sometimes, and 63% didn’t read it at all. Where India is sensitive, is price. Paneer is generally considered an expensive ingredient, which is why analogue paneer has emerged as a popular alternative for those players who believe it can serve the same purpose as an ingredient.

Analogue paneer also poses a threat to dairy farmers. When the consumer can so easily confuse milk-based paneer for analogue paneer, it forces dairy farmers to enter into an unfair price competition with the makers of its analogue counterpart. 

The rise of wellness culture in India has seen the Indian consumer become more and more interested in what they are consuming. In order for the paneer segment to serve this consumer fairly, manufacturers, FMCG giants and restaurants must commit to transparency, ensuring that those who opt for analogue paneer are doing so purposefully and with awareness.

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On a balmy February morning, white clouds hung over Pherlin Ripnar’s farmland spread across two hectares of land in Patharkhmah village of Ri-Bhoi district in Meghalaya. Inside one of the polyhouses, Ripnar carefully looked at his mushroom cultivation—most of the mushrooms had emerged from the substrate. “These will be ready to be sold in the market in the next 2-3 days,” Ripnar says.

In Ripnar’s village, there are frequent power cuts, but he has been able to continue farming thanks to the solar panels installed on his farmland.

Ripnar learned the ropes of farming from his father when he was young. Growing up with 13 siblings, he had to contribute as an extra hand to support his parents. After finishing class 12 as an arts student, he opened a small paan shop in his village to earn a living. When he was around 28 years old, he met the founders of MOSONiE—a non-profit that works in the Ri-Bhoi district of Meghalaya—who encouraged and motivated Ripnar to adopt sustainable solutions for livelihoods.

With the help of MOSONiE and Selco Foundation—a large solar non-profit—Ripnar started a small solar-powered photocopy and printing business in the same place where he used to run his paan shop. “Electricity is a big problem in our village. We are sometimes without it for days,” the now 38-year-old Ripnar says. (MOSONiE and Selco Foundation have also been key to helping Pherlin and his peers access devices like solar panels and solar-powered rice hullers.)

Also read: No monkeying around on this kiwi farm

Ripnar’s interest has always been agriculture, so he continued to practice organic farming at home on his land. In 2023, he bought his current land from his cousin sister on lease, to begin working on a larger scale.

As Ripnar has been using solar technology for about a decade now, he knows how solar panels can help him and his farm compensate for days without electricity. Ripnar explains that the solar panels give the farm an uninterrupted electricity supply. He also does not have to use torchlights, mobile phones and candles at night to check on his farm. As the farm is isolated, Ripnar installed three street lights on the uphill pathway that leads to it in 2023. The solar panels ensure that these street lights also operate throughout the night. “Solar-powered lighting can better protect farms from wild animal attacks and thefts,” Ripnar notes.

It also means Ripnar and the caretaker in his room have more consistent electricity. This helps them have a good night's sleep after a hard day at work. “We feel comfortable,” he says.

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Solar innovations

The farmer has also been using solar dryers to dry vegetables, grains and fish. “We grow a lot of ginger and turmeric here to make pickles, or to sell in the market. I used the dryer mainly to dry ginger and turmeric,” he says. Solar dryers help preserve agricultural products for longer periods, reducing the risk of spoilage and waste post-harvest.

MOSONiE, run by a group of women from northeast India, has been linking farmers with banks and other lenders, such as non-banking financial companies, for financial assistance in purchasing solar panels and other solar-powered machines.

With the help of MOSONiE, Ripnar took a loan from the Meghalaya Rural Bank (MRB) in 2019, which he has now repaid, to install the solar panels in his farm. “I was also able to purchase solar batteries (which can help store sunlight during the day),” Ripnar adds.

On his farm, Ripnar grows local brown maize, paddy, and three varieties of pumpkins, yams, mushrooms, tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage and other vegetables. He said that with support from the Government of Meghalaya’s Horticulture Department, he is also growing orchids inside the polyhouses, which has been profitable.

Also read: This farmer builds his own tools—and upskills others, too

Solar-powered nooks

Solar is a fast-growing, useful and cost-effective option for addressing electricity challenges, especially in Meghalaya's remote, hilly and forested areas, where the electricity supply can be erratic. “Solar energy can help farmers in various ways by powering their farm equipment and appliances,” says Ringbila Pungding, one of the co-founders of MOSONiE. “We support farmers like Pherlin by identifying their needs and challenges, and tailoring solutions to meet their specific energy requirements,” Pungding adds.

Ioanis Kurbah from Nartap village in the Ri-Bhoi district of Meghalaya is another case. Kurbah has been using a solar-powered rice huller machine since 2022. These machines are capable of cleaning, husking, polishing, grading and managing rice and its by-products. “Earlier, I was involved in cultivating paddy, bamboo and broom grass. But now I have moved on to managing the rice huller machine in my village,” says Kurbah.

Every household in Nartap village is engaged in paddy farming, and most of the farmers were using the old machine, which ran on diesel, required more water and wasn’t eco-friendly, Kurbah noted. “It is also very costly, makes a lot of noise, produces dust, and affects the health of those who operate the machines. Besides, the machine could simply grind the paddy—it could not separate the husk from the rice. Farmers need to return home and remove the husk from the rice, which requires about 3 to 4 hours,” Kurbah explains.

Out of 92 households, about 85 families now get their rice processed through Kurbah’s solar-powered rice huller machine. “The farmers are absolutely happy, and I, too, can support my family now,” Kurbah says.

Kurbah adds that even to run his poultry farm, “We need constant electricity. Our area is extremely prone to frequent power cuts. During summer, electricity is gone for a week or so. Solar panels help us manage the poultry farm, which needs to be cleaned regularly, and chickens need to be fed food and medicines.” He said that his poultry farm now runs entirely with the help of two solar panels, which have been a lifesaver for him.

Also read: One Odisha woman’s mission to preserve taste, tradition through seeds

Nagesh Rao, a senior programme manager at Selco Foundation, explains how many farmers post-harvest depend on selling the raw materials directly in the market. “Sometimes, if they don’t have the means to process the raw material, they give it at a throwaway price. With the solar-enabled rice huller machines, they can process the paddy and sell it at a higher margin. The machine helps them access energy at their doorstep without depending on other sources for electricity.”

According to Binit Das, programme manager, renewable energy unit at the Centre for Science and Environment in New Delhi, solar technology could help farmers from the effects of climate change in mountainous states like Meghalaya. “When it comes to electricity, people staying far away from cities and towns face many transmission and distribution challenges. In case of extreme weather events like landslides and heavy rainfall, the centralised available sources of power will get affected, which will then impact the day-to-day lives of farmers and their families,” Das says, adding that decentralised renewable energy (DRE) can be a game changer for communities who live in remote areas. “If DRE is made available for communities, then there will be less impact from extreme weather events.”

In Patharkhmah village, when asked what kind of facilities might help farmers in Meghalaya, Ripnar laments how there are no review meetings that farmers can have with the government’s agriculture and horticulture departments and banks regarding loans, schemes and subsidies. “If the government can conduct monthly review meetings with our farmers to share grievances, especially for those in remote areas of the state, it could benefit us.”

But, for now, Ripnar says he is just thankful that he and his farm have constant access to lighting.

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Before his stint at the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT-Madras), before fatherhood, and before agroforestry became his everyday pursuit, Dinesh SP—like many of us—was clueless about carbon emissions at an individual level, and the long shadow they cast. Once he became aware about their impact on the environment, however, life would never be the same. First, he calculated his own emissions using the United Nations carbon footprint calculator.

Alarmed by the number before his eyes, Dinesh committed to making the switch to eco-friendly ways and means. Better yet, he decided to offset his emissions voluntarily and those of his soon-to-be-born daughter, Aadavi. The approach he picked? Planting trees. 

The first step

In 2022, Dinesh resigned from his position at IIT-M and, after thoughtful discussions with his wife, Janaganandhini, they decided to plant trees on farmland. They chose Janaganandhini’s native village, Sivalingapuram—a rain-fed area near Krishnagiri in Tamil Nadu—as their starting point. Aware of the mistrust among small landholding farmers due to previous experiences with fraudulent schemes, they began by persuading 15 of Nandhini’s relatives to participate in the first plantation drive. Dinesh sourced saplings from local nurseries, selecting native, low-maintenance, and commercially viable species to help landowners generate supplementary income.

In September 2022, six months before the birth of his daughter Aadavi, Dinesh began planting trees. By March 2023, when she was born, he had planted 6,000 trees—including teak, chikoo, mango, lime, sandalwood, coconut, areca nut, and guava—at a density of 300-800 trees per acre. Following consultations with tree-planting experts and organisations, he selected saplings suited to the local ecology, and proximate to water sources. They were planted at 10-foot intervals between crops to avoid disrupting the existing agricultural cycle.

On average, an individual’s annual carbon emissions amount to approximately 3 to 4 tonnes. This figure is calculated by accounting for electricity consumption, dietary habits, and transportation-related emissions. During the initial two years, each tree absorbs only 5 kilograms of carbon, amounting to a total of 30 tonnes over that period. As the trees mature, their carbon absorption capacity increases significantly. These calculations are validated by the UN calculator and are consistent with other recognised international standards.

Beyond Sustainability, a carbon emission audit firm in Coimbatore, reviewed the tree-planting records and confirmed that Aadavi’s lifetime emissions had already been offset. To acknowledge Dinesh’s achievement, the United Nations Sustainable Development Council conducted a survey and validated the records for the Asia Book of Records, which recognised Aadavi as the world’s first carbon-neutral baby in 2024.

Looking to scale the model, Dinesh initially partnered with hospitals in Chennai, planting a tree for every newborn. Media coverage led to individuals approaching him to offset their children’s emissions, while some organisations sought similar efforts as part of their ESG commitments.

In response, Dinesh and Janaganandhini founded Seerakku in 2022—a Chennai-based NGO dedicated to carbon-neutral initiatives through agroforestry. Rather than purchasing seeds, Seerakku sourced them from farmers across Tamil Nadu, raised saplings, and transplanted them at designated sites.

Also read: The tree that keeps the Thar alive

How Seerakku works

Seerakku’s interest lies with small landholding farmers, who owned even up to 10 acres of land but worked for other, bigger landowners, and invested their earnings in farming—especially in areas like Krishnagiri, where farming is carried out for only six months a year. Their extent of cultivation depended on the financial resources they had. They left the rest of the land barren. In fact, out of the 4 lakh trees Dinesh and his team have planted so far, working with more than 500 farmers, 3 lakh are in Krishnagiri and 1 lakh of them are spread in Tiruvallur, Chengelpet, Kanchipuram in Tamil Nadu, and Chithoor in Andhra Pradesh. 

Seerakku approached the farmers, and after getting their consent, the team planted the saplings on their lands. In the first two years, Seerakku’s local team visited the plantation sites, checked on the plants, and offered guidance on maintenance. Farm equipment such as tillers, brush-cutters, weeding machines, and natural fertilisers were given to farmers free of cost or on daily or hourly rentals.

Team Seerakku has planted about 2,500 areca nut, coconut, rose apple and lemon trees on the three acres owned by Panchali, a 45-year-old farmer in Sivalingapuram. After her husband’s passing, Panchali and her two children have been living off the income from farming. “Like others around here, I was confined to cultivating ragi and paddy, along with pigeon peas and fava beans for rotational purposes. All these years, we were struggling to recover our initial investment. Now, the lemon trees planted by Seerakku are getting ready for harvest. We expect at least ₹2 lakh in a year as additional income from them,” Panchali says. 

Also read: A man dreamt of a forest. It became a model for the world

Cashing in

Income from Seerakku’s agroforestry initiative can range from ₹1 lakh to ₹3 lakhs, depending on the tree species and harvest cycles—for instance, lemon trees bear fruit year-round, while mangoes are seasonal.

In Sivalingapuram, the NGO has planted a total of 2,000 areca nut, lime, and guava trees on farmer Sakthivel’s 6-acre plot. “I’ve already begun harvesting guavas, yielding around 40 kilos a month, which I sell locally for ₹8,000 to ₹10,000. This will increase once the lime trees begin fruiting,” he says.

“Agroforestry benefits farmers without disrupting their primary crops. The additional income strengthens livelihoods and discourages the conversion of farmland into residential or commercial plots. With the right intellectual and financial support, farmers can adopt it successfully,” notes Dinesh.

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Long and short-term challenges

Some of the farmers the organisation encounters are dedicated agriculturists who have fought the odds to persist. This, in turn, can shape their perspective towards agroforestry missions. “It is very difficult to get farmers’ consent and cooperation to get work done on the trees,” Dinesh says. 

When it comes to executing Seerakku’s objectives, pest attacks that turn the trees’ leaves yellow and delay fruiting are widespread. Dinesh explains this as one of the predominant challenges the team faces and deals with. Bio-remedies, from neem sprays and meen amilam or fish amino acid (for growth regulation) to neem oil cakes as natural compost for plants, are recommended to control attacks. For those low-income farmers who cannot spend, the team pitches in and takes care of pest prevention.

However, the impact of climate change has taken more severe forms. The team observed that the soil had lost its biodiversity and fertility in several areas, and water sources were inaccessible. In response, they began creating farm ponds across 10-20 cents of land in affected villages. Additionally, disused water bodies—often turned into garbage pits—are now being cleared to allow rainwater to percolate and help recharge depleted water tables. Drip irrigation systems have also been installed across farmland.