On the banks of the mighty Chambal in Rajasthan’s Dholpur district, Devi Jadon is hard at work in a field. The local, marginal farmer, who is a resident of Shankarpur village, has her eyes set on the cultivation of pearl millet—or bajra, as it is familiarly known.

Jadon sows the seeds in the Kharif season–June to September–and welcomes nourishment from the monsoon rainfall in this semi-arid region. The labour she puts into bajra’s cultivation is mainly meant for household consumption in the winter. The leaves and stalks of the harvest are fed to cattle. Only in case of excess production is the crop sold in the local market. Come Rabi season, and she focuses on wheat and mustard. 

Pearl millet is grown extensively in Rajasthan, which is the largest producer of this grain across India. It is cultivated in about 25 villages across the Jhiri and Madanpur panchayats of Dholpur–a district characterised by deep ravines.

Since millets originally evolved in the arid and semi-arid regions–much before modern irrigation– where they are still cultivated, the crops require very little water: 33% less than rice. The pearl millet, in particular, has high photosynthetic efficiency as well as high dry matter production capacity; it can be grown under even the most adverse conditions, like high temperature, and in shallow, infertile soil with poor water retention–regions where other crops like sorghum and maize simply cannot thrive. 

Generally, monsoon showers are adequate for the pearl millet, since the crop–much like its relatives in the millet family–is suitable for dry conditions. “It is able to withstand extreme heat and drought, and can be grown with low inputs,” says Pradeep Kumar, a scientific officer in pearl millet breeding at the Hyderabad-based organisation, International Crops Research Institute for the Semi-arid Tropics (ICRISAT). They conduct research on dryland agriculture, especially millets. 

The pearl millet has short development stages and a capacity for a high growth rate, too. Most millets can withstand the vagaries of climate change, but pearl millet really takes the cake: it requires even less water than ragi (red finger millet). Agricultural experts and researchers like Kumar realise the importance of bajra, which is also grown in the summer in the Jalore-Sanchore belt of western Rajasthan. “It is really the pearl of the whole millet basket of India,” explains Bhagirath Choudhary, the founder-director of South Asia Biotechnology Centre–a non-profit that works in bio-innovation. “In winter, it is a staple food for many.”

Crop for a changing climate

The terrains of Northern India lend themselves suitably to the cultivation of millets (along with some parts of sub-Saharan Africa), and thus it comes as no surprise that India is the largest producer as well as exporter of millets in the world. The pearl millet has the dominant share in this production. In the year 2021–22, the crop generated 58% of the total millet production, followed by sorghum (29%) and finger millet (10%). It occupies around 75 lakh hectares of cultivation area in the country, most of it in the Kharif season. 

Despite lacking ragi’s perceived superior position in the millet family–as well as the popularity of paddy and wheat–bajra has survived.

Besides Rajasthan, where temperatures soar to as high as 50°C in summers, farmers grow pearl millet in western Uttar Pradesh–a region that is unfit for paddy. It is also cultivated in Haryana and Andhra Pradesh; the drought-prone Rayalaseema region of AP is known for bajra cultivation. According to Borra Srinivas Rao, who works at The Buddha Institute and is based in Hyderabad, the policy of subsidised rice has changed millet consumption considerably across India. PV Suresh Kumar, an independent researcher and development consultant who works on millets, explained that paddy is the dominant crop in Andhra Pradesh, which has a significant share of wetlands. “Though bajra was common in the tribal areas, many farmers have now turned to turmeric, chilli and coffee,” he says. 

Also read: ‘Summer ragi’: How Kolhapur farmers’ millet experiment became a success story

An overlooked cereal

Millets, as a family of ancient cereals, garnered notable attention during and after the United Nations declared 2023 to be the International Year of Millets in 2023. However, a bird’s eye view of the promotional efforts and schemes around millets that followed suggests that much of the limelight has been shone on ragi, which is known to be rich in nutrients like calcium. Bajra lagged behind.

Tara Satyavathi, Director of Hyderabad-based Indian Institute of Millets Research, agrees that the pearl millet has not garnered as much attention as ragi. “Whereas bajra is grown on 7.5 million hectares, ragi occupies about 2 million hectares. But the Minimum Support Price (MSP) for ragi is higher than that of bajra. A higher weightage is given to ragi; ragi mudde is consumed in Maharashtra and Karnataka.”

‍This report tracks the rise in MSP of various millets across the last eight years, and shows that bajra’s MSP had a slow crawl compared to ragi. In 2024-25, ragi’s MSP rose by over Rs. 400 per quintal, whereas that of bajra increased only by Rs. 125 per quintal. As an example, the Odisha Millets Mission pressed on massive procurement of ragi over bajra. Even at the centre, the procurement of pearl millet remains lower than that of ragi, at just 1-3% of the total production.

One of the reasons is perhaps that atta or flour derived from pearl millet cannot be stored for a long time. “Bajra atta has to be prepared fresh using the traditional chakki, a hand-driven millstone, at home every two days to make chapatis. It cannot be stored for more than five days, as it turns rancid,” Jadon explains. However, the pearl millet has superb nutritional properties: it is especially high in iron and zinc content. Just like other millets, pearl millet, too, is gluten-free, rich in fibers and amino acids, is non-allergenic and has a low glycemic index. 

Choudhary, a Jaipur resident, points out that though Rajasthan is the largest pearl millet producer in the country, the crop is not procured from mandis or market places by the state government. “It is most unfortunate. In Rajasthan, farmers grow bajra as an important cereal crop. Yet, it has not received recognition. The consumption of pearl millet, however, reflects in the nutrition profile, such as the height and the build of people who regularly eat it,” Choudhary says. 

In Rajasthan, its production occupies about 4.43 million hectares of land. Many smallholder farmers like Jadon depend on the pearl millet, but it is sold at low rates in the market. Jadon gets Rs 20–Rs 23 for one kilo. The minimum support price in 2024-25 for pearl millet stands at Rs. 2,625 per quintal–that would assure at least Rs. 26 per kg, but Jadon is reduced to selling it for a lower price.

The consumption of pearl millet, however, reflects in the nutrition profile, such as the height and the build of people who regularly eat it,” Choudhary says.

A couple of forces come together to tug at bajra’s market price: to begin with, the overall demand for millets remains low. It fell by 67% in urban and 59% in rural areas between 1972-73 and 2004-05, according to this report. Owing to the rise in production (and consequent fall in prices) of staples like wheat and rice, the contribution of millets and maize to the average Indian’s cereal requirements dove from 23% to 6%, by 2011. In the last few years, central as well as state governments have successfully tried and mitigated this, by promoting millets meaningfully.

And yet, a major problem has now arisen: this new value chain of millets is breaking. While new millets-based products have entered the market, they cost more than their maida-based counterparts; this is because the storage and processing cost of millets is higher, and thus the margins in this business are higher. The demand for these products is also inconsistent, and so the processors have to accommodate for this in their costs. The result: these prices do not reach the farmers, and eventually urban as well as rural consumers do not want to pay a high price for millets in the market. The farmers have no choice but to sell their bajra at rates lower than the MSP. 

Though the MSP is fixed by the Centre, procurement happens at mandis which are controlled by state governments. “The state government has to take a stand for pearl millet,” Satyavathi says.

Holding on in the face of adversity

Despite lacking ragi’s perceived superior position in the millet family–as well as the popularity of paddy and wheat–bajra has survived. The crop continues to hold an important place in regional cultures and food habits. It is also common to consume this millet in the form of bajra malt or porridge. From the Anantapur district of Andhra Pradesh, to villages in Rajasthan, pearl millet flour is used to make rotis/chapatis. “My mother still makes bajra chapatis, but it is difficult to prepare them. As bajra is gluten-free, it lacks the elasticity of wheat. Making the dough requires skill,” Choudhary adds. 

Besides chapatis, Jadon makes a dish with jaggery, sesame and bajra atta. The ingredients are mixed into a dough and shaped into small balls–akin to the ‘bati’ in dal-bati-churma. The balls are then roasted in an oven. When guests arrive during the harvest season, Jadon also serves bajra grains roasted in an open fire, as a snack. In western Uttar Pradesh, where the pearl millet is a key crop that thrives in less than even 150 mm-200 mm rainfall, it is valued during the Makar Sankranti festival when people make laddoos from roughly ground flour.

But the story of the pearl millet in India is much, much older. Mughal emperor Jahangir, in his autobiography Tuzk-e-Jahangiri, raves about the delicious ‘lazizi’: a khichdi of boiled peas and bajra that he encountered in Gujarat. Millets also find a place in religious rituals and festivals; while the Kuthiyottam festival in Kerala celebrates the harvest of millets, bajra is offered to gods in Rajasthan. In many parts of the country, millets are associated with fertility and prosperity.

To this day, folk songs in Rajasthan celebrate the bajra. There is a saying that goes like this in Marwari: ‘Jinki khao bajri, Unki bajao haajri’ (if someone feeds you bajra, you must oblige them). 

Bajra contains invaluable nutritional properties–and it is, without a doubt, among the cheapest sources of protein in India. This ancient millet has a well-deserved place not only in our Public Distribution System and processed food value chains, but also in our everyday diets at home.

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

Cover image: Wikimedia Commons/Shanmugamp7

{{quiz}}

Editor's Note: In this series, the Good Food Movement explores composting—a climate-friendly, organic way to deal with waste. We answer questions about what you can compost, how to build composting bins and how this process can reshape our relationship with nature and our urban ecosystem.

Setting up a compost bin from scratch is exciting, but when things go wrong, it can feel like a soggy, smelly disaster. Whether you're composting on your terrace, in your backyard, or using a kitchen composter, it’s normal to encounter these problems. Here's how to troubleshoot the most common hurdles and get your compost back on track:

Tackling stinky situations

A healthy compost pile should smell earthy, like fresh soil after rain. If your compost smells like sewage or ammonia, it's usually a sign of too much nitrogen-rich "green" material (such as vegetable scraps or cooked food) and not enough carbon-rich "browns" (like shredded paper or cardboard). A rotten egg smell, on the other hand, typically means there's too much sulphur and poor air circulation or excess moisture. 

‍The solution: 

A quick way to check compost moisture levels is the fist test: Grab a handful and squeeze. If water runs out, it's too wet—turn the pile to dry by adding more browns. If you see just beads, moisture is ideal. If it's dry, add a little bit of water. Mix well and repeat as needed.

Turn your compost immediately using a garden fork or stick. For every handful of wet kitchen waste, add two handfuls of brown materials—shredded newspaper, cardboard, coconut husk, or dried leaves. Aim for a 3:1 ratio of brown to green materials. If you're using a closed bin, drill more holes for ventilation. Also, stir the compost every few days to aerate it. Lastly, avoid cooked food or dairy unless you're using a composter (electric food recyclers quickly turn your kitchen scraps into nutrient-rich plant food by creating ideal conditions for organic matter to break down and for helpful microorganisms to thrive), which can handle it better.

Also read: Don't dump it, compost it -- Why peels and scraps shouldn't be tossed into your garden

Uninvited guests

Nothing kills composting enthusiasm faster than some uninvited visitors – be it a cloud of flies greeting you every time you lift the lid, or worse, rats. This is caused by exposed food scraps, especially fruit peels or meats, oil or bones. If you see ants trailing through your compost, it is a sign that it is too dry, as ants like to find dry soil for nesting. 

The solution:

‍Always bury fresh kitchen scraps under a layer of brown materials. This smothers odours and keeps the pests away. Keep a container of dried leaves, sawdust, or cocopeat nearby for immediate covering. Avoid adding meat, dairy, or oily foods entirely. 

If flies persist, use some lemongrass spray, or lay a piece of jute cloth over the surface. Use a lid or cover if you’re composting in a bin. A simple piece of cardboard or jute sack will do.

Also read: Setting up a compost bin at home: Do's and don't for feed and airflow

Navigating soggy compost piles 

During monsoon season, outdoor compost piles can turn into a waterlogged mess. Plus, kitchen waste naturally contains high moisture. Too much water can lead to a pile that decomposes anaerobically (without air), leading to rot instead of compost.

The solution: Add more brown materials immediately so the compost pile can absorb excess moisture. If your pile is outdoors, cover it with a tarp or corrugated sheet during heavy rains. For balcony composters, ensure proper drainage. Avoid dumping large amounts of wet or juicy scraps—like melon flesh or overripe fruits—all at once. Chopping vegetable waste and draining liquids before tossing greens into the pile is always a good idea.

Cold compost blues

Waiting months for compost can test anyone's patience, especially when space is limited in urban Indian homes. Oxygen-loving microorganisms break down organic matter in your compost pile, using it as fuel for their cellular processes and generating heat in the process.

Heat is imperative for your waste to eventually turn into compost.

‍
So what causes the compost to not heat up? The pile is too small (under 3’x3’, or 5’x5’ in winter), too dry, low in nitrogen, or lacking in air flow. The most common one is dryness.

The solution: Turn the pile to mix the materials in your compost pile. While turning the pile, add water. Let the pile rest for several hours, then give it the fist test again.

Furthermore, kitchen scraps (containing nitrogen) need plenty of dried materials (containing carbon) to balance things out. Turn your pile weekly, or use a long stick to poke holes for aeration in smaller bins. During winter, place your composter in a sunny spot to warm your compost pile and maintain its core temperature. In summer, provide some shade and maintain adequate moisture by sprinkling water if the pile feels dry. 

Also read: The science of scraps: How to get composting right

Chop your waste into small pieces as they decompose faster. You can also add a compost accelerator, be it a handful of old compost, garden soil, or cow dung.

Most composting problems stem from disturbing the balance of air, moisture, nitrogen, and carbon in the pile. The first step to fixing the problem is to observe which factor is out of place. The more you observe your compost bin, the better you will be able to detect issues that will invariably pop up for anyone composting—whether you’re a novice or a veteran.

Edited by Durga Sreenivasan and Harshita Kale

{{quiz}}

‍Editor's Note: From grocery lists, to fitness priorities, and even healthy snacking, protein is everywhere—but do we truly understand it? In this series, the Good Food Movement breaks down the science behind this vital macronutrient and its value to the human body. It examines how we absorb protein from the food we consume, how this complex molecule has a role to play in processes like immunity, and the price the Earth pays for our growing protein needs.

If you observe a lot of sudden hair loss, or if your nails look dull and chip every time you try to open a jar or can, you may want to sit up and take notice. Brittle hair and nails, if co-occurring and sustained, are often the first indicators of a protein deficiency. 

Protein is part of every activity your body undertakes—the flutter of an eyelid, the contraction of a muscle, or the diffusion of oxygen into our cells. Hair, nail, and skin problems are usually the earliest manifestations of a protein deficiency. Proteins like keratin, collagen, and elastin make up skin, hair, and nails. When the body has limited reserves of protein, it prioritises tasks like tissue repair and is unable to perform other tasks—which in turn, show up as symptoms. In hair, this could result in thinning and hairfall. Similarly, nails could develop ridges and become more prone to breaking. Bereft of nourishment, your skin could become dry and flaky, or prone to acne, and melasma. 

Another sign to look out for is feeling hungrier, especially if you are craving something sweet. Proteins decrease the level of ghrelin—the ‘hunger hormone’ which contributes directly to you feeling full and satiated. Thus, a protein deficiency can allow hunger pangs to thrive unfettered. Our bodies digest protein very slowly. When we consume a meal high in carbohydrates, without consuming enough protein to counterbalance them, our meal gets digested faster, resulting in a spike in blood sugar levels. This sharp spike is followed by a drop, and these fluctuations can make us reach for that bar of chocolate more often. 

If the body's protein needs are consistently unmet through external sources, the body turns inwards towards one of its final reservoirs of protein: our muscles. Unbeknownst to us, our bodies may start breaking down muscle mass for essential functions like creating essential enzymes or repairing tissues. As your body chips away at muscle mass, it saps your strength, leaving you perennially exhausted. This can worsen if, despite using muscle mass, the body is not able to create enzymes important for digestion or nutrient absorption in a timely manner. The fluctuation in blood sugar levels also means that the body is unable to sustain energy levels through the day. 

If the body's protein needs are consistently unmet through external sources, the body turns inwards towards one of its final reservoirs of protein: our muscles.

Some protein deficiencies can also cascade into other ailments. For example, if the body is not able to produce enough globins [a kind of protein involved in oxygen transport], then it is unable to produce sufficient haemoglobin despite having adequate iron. Thus, a protein deficiency can also cause anaemia. In anaemia, the red blood cells do not have adequate haemoglobin resulting in poor absorption of oxygen, and consequently, weakness. 

These reasons—the body tapping into its internal reserves of muscle mass, the untimely production of enzymes, the fluctuation of blood sugar levels, and deficiencies in turn leading to other ailments—merge to result in the most insidious symptom of protein deficiency: chronic fatigue. 

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

Healing, recovery, immunity—compromised

With each step, the body is forced to choose which part of its upkeep to compromise. Beyond hunger, hair, and fatigue, indicators of a deeper deficiency surface, says Mumbai-based dietician Dr. Afsha Sheikh. Hereon, injuries are slow to heal, muscles ache persists, and antibodies find themselves far too outnumbered to oust pathogens. Bone tissue too grows brittle, increasing the risk of fractures from simple acts like jumping or dancing. The combination of slow recovery and poor immune response make the body vulnerable to frequent injuries and illnesses without being able to recuperate fully. 

When broken down chemically, proteins are made up of amino acids. Some of these amino acids are necessary for the production of neurotransmitters. Their absence could result in lesser serotonin and dopamine production. Often termed the ‘happy hormones’, these neurotransmitters help regulate functions like mood and sleep, and their absence affects emotions as well as cognitive function.  

The internet is teeming with advice, and it can be tempting to self-diagnose a protein deficiency. It is important to remember that our bodies don’t process nutrients in isolation, and that the same symptoms can surface as a result of different or overlapping deficiencies. If you spot any milder symptoms—like your hair and nails growing brittle—for over a fortnight, consult a dietician first, says Sheikh. 

Addressing these symptoms rather than writing them off is crucial to catching any deficiency in time. If you already have the more severe symptoms like chronic fatigue and slow-healing injuries, then it is important to consult a physician first, and then work alongside a dietician. 

Also read: Eating healthy: Is take-out cheaper than cooking at home?

‍

{{quiz}}

‍

As a young child, Kerala-based P Bhuvaneswari farmed with her father, Kunjikannan Mannadiyar. She fondly remembered the quiet satisfaction that came from working in the fields, and carried these memories well into her adult life—she knew that one day, she would want to return to tilling the land.

In 1995, Bhuvaneswari’s dream came true, but not quite: her husband Venkidachalapathy came into a share of ancestral property in the Elapully panchayat of Palakkad district. Venkidachalapathy, having served as both a math teacher and principal at the Government Moyans HSS, retired; the couple decided to move from the city to a life of farming. There was one major hurdle: whereas soil in Palakkad usually has a pH between 7 and 8.5, her land was inhospitably acidic, with a pH of 4.8. The land was bone-dry, filled with rocks, and stubbornly refused to nurture plants or yield water.

But Bhuvaneswari would not give up. First, she and her son Sajith cleared the land of stones, weeds, and bushes. Then, she consulted veterinary surgeon Dr Shudhodanan. She learnt that the way forward was to replenish the soil, so she planted some seema-konna (Gliricidia). Gliricidia is a miracle crop that grows rapidly and well, even on degraded soils, and increases soil fertility by around two to three times. While the soil healed, the family had to find a way to sustain themselves in the interim. At this point, a loan came through, providing two cows and a regular source of income in the form of milk. Moreover, cow dung served as organic manure and further enriched the soil. Gradually, Bhuvaneswari began planting mango trees, interspersed with turmeric first, and then ginger. Once these plants had put down roots, she experimented with other plants, including jasmine.  

But she was yet to face her biggest challenge: arranging water for the crops. “When I started this farm, everyone told me it was a foolish idea because I would not get anything from it. ‘There will be no rain or groundwater,’ they said.” The naysayers were not all wrong; Bhuvaneswari dug two to three wells, but to no effect. Eventually, she dug a borewell over a kilometre away from her farm. It worked, and a second borewell soon followed. 

In present times, 65-year-old Bhuvaneswari has adopted a high-density farming technique—not an inch is left uncultivated.

With a water resource in place, it was a matter of patience and faith. Five years were to pass before her persistence was rewarded, and Maruti Gardens came to life. Before long, she was planting two crops of paddy annually, and one crop of sesame, urad dal, horse gram, and moringa in between as cover crops. As her farm thrived, so did her children; they secured jobs in foreign countries. Having watched the happiness their mother derived from farming, they purchased 20 acres of land surrounding the original 4.5 acres for her. 

{{marquee}}

In present times, 65-year-old Bhuvaneswari has adopted a high-density farming technique—not an inch is left uncultivated. Mango, jackfruit, areca, plantain, tapioca and coconut trees line her land, providing bountiful returns. Beyond native varieties of jackfruit, she is also growing the rare Vietnam early jackfruit that bears fruits within a year, as compared to other varieties that take between three to seven years. She also grows dwarf jackfruit trees, interspersing them with turmeric. A dedicated ten-acre space is set aside for rice cultivation, involving both Uma and ASD (Ambasamudram) paddy varieties. It yields upwards of 25 quintals annually.  

Having sustained her farm for five years through dairy, Bhuvaneswari invested amply in animal husbandry. Her farm has cows of five varieties: Kapila, Vechur, Kangavam, Gyr, and a native breed. Hens, ducks, dogs, and goats can also be spotted around Maruti Gardens. Two acres are set aside for two massive fish ponds which rear catla, tilapia, and rohu fish. 

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

A philosophy of toil and generosity

When Bhuvaneswari had nothing but barren land and iron-clad determination, she found direction through a workshop by Subhash Palekar. Palekar is an agriculturist and Padma Shri awardee who propounded the “Zero-Budget Natural Farming” method. In the mid-1990s, it emerged as a low-cost alternative to the input-heavy methods brought about by the Green Revolution.  

To this day, Bhuvaneswari maintains that she owes her farm’s success to her adherence to old farming techniques; that small measures—such as using dry leaves as mulch rather than burning them—go a long way. Having witnessed the results yielded by organic farming, she is pained to see the continued use of fertilisers like urea that hurt soil strength. She prepares her own bio-fertilisers, such as Jeevamrutha, Beejamrutha, and Panchagavya using cow dung and urine. “We grind 16 leaves in a stone bowl and put them in an earthen pot placed inside the soil. We then take the pot out after 41 days, strain it, and bottle the mix before we start cultivation.” This liquid is then applied to all plants as a natural pesticide. She is now an active member of Jaiva Samrakshana Samithy, Kerala's State Biodiversity Board. 

Even in her mid-sixties, she prefers to participate in farming activities rather than merely supervise. She can usually be found up before dawn, engaging in tasks like ploughing the land, sowing seedlings, or even drying turmeric to turn it into powder. She operates a tiller with ease, having learnt to do so from her father. Faced with the issue of irregular farm labour, she also taught herself to drive a tractor a few years ago. 

In 2021, she won the Malayala Manorama’s ‘Karshakasree' (best farmer) award. Beyond recognition and awards, there is a sense of spirituality to how Bhuvaneswari views farming. Every season of sowing and harvesting is marked by a pooja (prayer). Not once will she be caught wearing shoes while walking through her farmland. “With footwear, I feel like I am moving away from nature,” she says. 

Even in her mid-sixties, she prefers to participate in farming activities rather than merely supervise.

When she started selling her produce online, she branded herself as 'Ammachi,' and her store as 'Ammachi's Organic Farm.' Translating to 'mother' in Malayalam, the term ‘Ammachi’ represents the maternal nature of her relationship to all that she grows. Perhaps, it also extends to those she grows it with. "My workers are like family to me, and we always work together on the fields like a team," she says.

Her kindness extends into other avenues: she is a much-loved volunteer at the Sneha Theeram Palliative unit, a local NGO. During the COVID-19 lockdown, she would get a 100 lunches packed every day and place them on her house's compound wall for those in need to collect. “There were many in dire straits in our neighbourhood. By providing them one meal, at least some of them did not have to go hungry,” she says in reflection. She continues to provide relief kits and meals to old age homes and those who are unwell. 

Her affable personality has drawn in people from all walks of life, leading to the establishment of farm tours, as well as farming lessons conducted both online and in-person. 

Also read: Babulal Dahiya makes every grain of rice count

Making agriculture profitable 

“All my life, I’ve heard that agriculture is not profitable. But this is not true in my case,” Bhuvaneswari shares. Profitability comes with strategy, and Bhuvaneswari’s strategy was two-pronged: First, diversify from farm products (like fresh fruits) to farm-based value-added products (like pickles). Second, take ownership of your supply chain.  

Most of the farm’s produce leaves its quarters in an entirely different form. Jackfruit is turned into either papadam (papad) or kondattam (sun-dried fruit that is fried subsequently). Coconuts, for the most part, transform into coconut chutney powder. Some of them, however, get to spend some time in earthen vessels as they become cold- or hot-pressed coconut oil. Plantains are prepared into sharkara varatti (jagerry-coated chips) or plantain powder (a substitute for flour). Rice is made into idiyappam, puttu, idli, and avil (flattened rice). Ghee is a key ingredient for preparing the bio-fertiliser Panchagavya, but any excess finds its way to the store.  Rare as it is, it sells for Rs. 2,000 per kilo. 

Also read: Sasbani’s 'fruits' of labour: Reviving hope in rural Uttarakhand

Mangoes are the one exception to Ammachi’s model, sold primarily as fruits rather than fruit products. Here too, however, she maintains firm control over the supply chain. “I have not given any dealers access to the farm. They would spray Cultar (a plant growth regulator) on its foliage and apply some to the soil near the trunk. That is not acceptable to me,” she asserts. Instead, she packs and ships the fruit independently, earning loyal customers across the country. Any unclaimed mangoes are restyled into mango thoran (a dry vegetable dish) or mango peratt (a type of pickle).  With over 300 mango trees of eight varieties spanning 10 acres, she earns Rs. 9 lakh from mango and mango-product sales alone. 

Although customers can visit the farm premises, the majority of its sales are generated through its website. Ammachi's son, Sajith, who helped her clear the land when she first began farming, supported her in the building of the digital front of the store, along with his brother Sabith. Her daughter Sabitha handles the farm's social media and hosts visitors. Her youngest son, Ani, helps her with the physically demanding tasks on the farm. 

Her independent storefront has seen such booming success that she has never had to sell her produce outside of the farm walls. As a result, she has never even had to avail of Kerala’s paddy procurement scheme, colloquially referred to as ‘Supplyco’. Rather, she earns a whopping Rs. 18 lakh of profit from paddy cultivation, after accounting for initial expenses amounting to Rs. 2 lakh. “Agriculture is not a loss-making venture,” she declares. The proof surrounds her.  

‍

{{quiz}}

Editor’s Note: In this series, the Good Food Movement explores composting—a climate-friendly, organic way to deal with waste. We answer questions about what you can compost, how to build composting bins and how this process can reshape our relationship with nature and our urban ecosystem.

The internet is teeming with backyard composting tutorials. The market offers a dizzying range of compost bins to choose from. If you find composting intimidating, you’re not the only one. But here’s a secret—composting is only as demanding as you make it.

Your compost bin can live on your terrace, or balcony, or windowsill, and thrive equally well everywhere. That said, your compost pile does need good air flow (to welcome the nice, oxygen-loving microbes which break down your food without producing methane as a by-product). Partially shaded corners of a balcony or a windowsill with minimal temperature fluctuations are ideal spots to house your compost.  

Then comes the question of the compost bin: what kind should it be, and what size? Remember, composting is a process of learning. Getting your hands dirty makes you acutely aware of how much food waste you generate, and how it is broken down. It helps, in such cases, to start with a rudimentary bin. Grab a flower pot or bucket. Punch some holes at the bottom, and place it on a plate to collect any liquids that might seep through; the process is similar to growing a plant! Cover this with another lid or a plate, and there you have it: a starter-friendly compost bin.

Also read: Why composting is good for your garden -- and the planet

Levelling up

As time passes, and you grow more comfortable with the process, you can choose to turn one bucket into two, or to invest in a larger container. Much like how a starter for sourdough bread (a live culture of yeast and bacteria) ‘feeds’ and enhances a new batch, your compost bin also needs a base layer from a fellow companion. Ideally, borrow some compost from a friend to fill up the bottom one inch. If you are the torchbearer of composting in your social circle with no one to borrow compost from, fret not – some shredded newspapers, coconut fibre and curd or buttermilk will work the same magic.

Also read: Don't dump it, compost it: Why peels and scraps shouldn't be tossed into your garden

Stirred, not shaken

Finally, you have a bin ready to receive your leftovers and kitchen scraps. But is your waste ready for the compost bin? Composting works best when your scraps are chopped into tiny pieces. This increases the surface area of the waste, and thus the speed at which microbes can nibble away. It is also a good practice to drain the vegetables of all water before tossing them into the compost bin.

Once chopped and drained, your kitchen waste is ready to enter the compost bin. Add in browns (like coconut husk or dry leaves) proportionately—roughly 3-4 times the greens (i.e. vegetable and fruit peels)—and cover the bin to prevent any pest troubles. Stir things up once a week and observe how the contents of the bin change. As the volume shrinks and the pile heats up, your compost will take on an earthy, pleasant smell. Take a moment to appreciate your hard work—your compost is on its way. 

{{quiz}}

On a warm May evening in Kolhapur’s Gaganbawada taluka, we meet Kuldeep Anand Khutale. At 35, with no prior experience of cultivating the crop, Khutale determined that he would grow ragi—which was until recently considered a rain-fed crop suitable only for Kharif season—in the summer of 2024. He cultivated the grain on 15 gunthas of land (one guntha equals 1,000 square feet), and was rewarded with seven quintals (700 kg). No excessive inputs or labour went into this impressive harvest, he claims. “I’m hoping for better returns from this crop—far better than what sugarcane usually offers,” says Khutale, who is a resident of Salwan village.

He is not alone; across Kolhapur, an increasing number of farmers are turning to finger millet (Eleusine coracana)—or nachni as it is known locally—and reaping the benefits. Khutale and his peers are beneficiaries of an agricultural revolution that began in 2018, which was declared the National Year of the Millets by the Indian government. Milind Patil, a farmer from Pisatri village, challenged generations of tradition by attempting to grow ragi as a summer crop. Before he took to farming in his late thirties, Patil worked as a news photographer for a media group. With two decades of experience, he is considered a progressive farmer and has won several awards.

The 18-plus farmers who joined this bold experiment knew the associated pitfalls but wanted to participate, come what may. It was unheard of in Maharashtra, where the vital millet, a nutritional powerhouse, had always been sown with the arrival of the monsoon (June-July) and harvested in autumn (September-October), in hilly regions like Kolhapur, Ahmednagar, and the Konkan. No research institution had recommended or even studied its viability in the dry season.

An unexpected success story

Despite their nutritional benefits, ragi and other millets have historically received less institutional, financial, and policy support compared to other major cereals, such as rice and wheat. The absence of established markets, adequate processing facilities, and supporting infrastructure has limited their growth and profitability. Ragi farming faces a range of challenges, including labour shortages, limited access to technology, weak market connections, policy gaps, and climatic constraints. Experts believe that for the millet cultivation to thrive sustainably, improvements in mechanisation, seed distribution, market linkages, and institutional support are essential.

Yet, resilient as it is to harsh growing conditions, the grain is a staple food in many parts of southern and central India, especially in Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Odisha. Its cultivation is evolving with innovative practices, especially in Maharashtra, where summer cultivation (December–May) has shown remarkable success. 

The first year was fraught with setbacks—excessive moisture at sowing led to crop failure. But Patil was undeterred; he meticulously documented every step, treating his records as the “first rough draft of history” for this new practice.

Patil is joined by 18 farmers from Kolhapur’s hilly regions in this novel venture, cultivating the ‘Phule Kasari’ variety developed by the Mahatma Phule Krishi Vidyapeeth (MPKV), a state university in Rahuri, on 15 acres of land. They sowed the seeds between January and May of 2018 while dealing with scepticism from peers and experts alike.

The first year was fraught with setbacks—excessive moisture at sowing led to crop failure. But Patil was undeterred; he meticulously documented every step, treating his records as the “first rough draft of history” for this new practice. “Persuading the farmers to cultivate ragi, especially in a season when it hadn't been tried before, required considerable effort. They were taking a significant risk, and we had no way to compensate them if the experiment did not succeed," recalls Parag Parit, then Block Technology Manager, Department of Agriculture, Maharashtra government, whose officials and researchers initiated the process, and were present throughout for consultation.

Traditionally, ragi was grown on hilly slopes using minimal tillage and local seeds, depending solely on rainfall. This resulted in yields of only 4-6 quintals per acre. “In the past, with little demand, we grew nachni only as a Kharif crop, mainly for our consumption,” says Patil, whose father was a farmer, “Now, I harvest six quintals from my small plot and sell the produce directly to consumers.”

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

‍Slow and steady

After the farmers agreed to participate, they followed the guidelines and recommendations of the MPKV and received hand-holding support from the agriculture department officials, who regularly interact with farmers, and were the first ones to broach the subject of growing ragi in summer. They received technical support, training, and access to improved seeds and inputs to minimise the risks of summer cultivation. Patil and his fellow experimenters refined their techniques, adjusting sowing times, improving plant spacing, and adopting better input management. These adaptations paid off: in subsequent years, their summer ragi fields of the Phule Kasari variety yielded between 18 and 20 quintals per acre, a significant increase from the 5-7 quintals usually harvested in the Kharif season.

Sixty-year-old Patil’s success is not confined to his fields. He began marketing ragi directly to consumers, building a loyal customer base despite challenges with pricing and limited market access. Recognising the power of collective action, he and his peers formed the Millets' Association of Kolhapur—a hub for knowledge sharing, peer-to-peer training, and resource exchange. Their meticulous documentation and willingness to share experiences attracted the attention of the Maharashtra Ministry of Agriculture, the Maharashtra Millet Mission, and the Agriculture Technology Management Agency (ATMA), Kolhapur. Demonstrations and knowledge-sharing events followed, with Patil and other progressive farmers at the forefront, inspiring replication across the state.

“Ragi is typically cultivated for household consumption with minimal chemical inputs, relying on organic manure and sustainable practices that help preserve soil biodiversity and reduce ecological impact,” says Dr. Yogesh Ban, a plant breeder with the All India Coordinated Research Project (AICRP)—a collaborative research initiative by the Indian Council of Agricultural Research (ICAR), which involves multiple research institutes and disciplines coming together to address specific agricultural challenges. Dr. Ban’s project specialises in small millets at the Zonal Agriculture Research Station in Kolhapur. “Being a climate-resilient crop with its adaptability to various soils and climates, ragi is ideal for sustainable farming systems focused on long-term soil health. Interventions like ‘summer ragi cultivation’ are an earning opportunity for farmers in the rice belt, as an alternate crop that does not affect other crop growing in the neighbourhood,” he adds.

These adaptations paid off: in subsequent years, their summer ragi fields of the Phule Kasari variety yielded between 18 and 20 quintals per acre, a significant increase from the 5-7 quintals usually harvested in the Kharif season.

The rising popularity and strong market demand for this crop have led to an expansion in both acreage and productivity. The global millets market was valued at $15.3 billion in 2024 and is projected to reach $23.4 billion by 2034, growing at a compound annual growth rate of around 4.4%. Remarkably, it thrives in a wide range of diverse agroclimatic conditions. Motivated by the success seen in Kolhapur, farmers in the Khadki village of the Akole tehsil in Ahmednagar started cultivating wari (little millet) and ragi during the summer of 2025. They achieved yields of up to 5 quintals per acre, significantly higher than those typically obtained in the Kharif season.

“Growing nachni in summer has advantages. When grasslands dry, the green stalks and leaves of the plant serve as fodder, unlike the green stalks of sugarcane, which are high in oxalic acid and can lead to calcium deficiency in ruminating animals,” says Parit. “One acre gives four to five tonnes of cattle feed. Farmers also intercrop with sugarcane to increase earnings. White grub (the larval stage of scarab beetles that feed on the roots of ragi plants, leading to their damage, wilting and potentially severe yield loss) infestation does not affect ragi in summer, and most importantly, the irrigation requirement is minimal.” 

Farmers have banded together under the Millets’ Association of Kolhapur and are regularly invited by the agricultural department to share their experiences. The model now has the potential to be replicated in ragi-growing hilly areas, from Thane to Sindhudurg.

Also read: How lemon groves turned Manipur’s Kachai into a citrus empire

The reign of ragi

Ajit Bhangre, a farmer from Khadki Budruk in Ahmednagar district remembers how there was some doubt at first: “In 2021, we received seeds of the Phule Kasari ragi and the Phule Ekadashi little millet varieties for summer cultivation. Over the past two years, our group has harvested 40 quintals from 8 acres,” he says.

What started as a small-scale summer experiment in 2018 in Panhala taluka, Kolhapur, with just 18 farmers cultivating ragi in 15 acres, has grown into a movement. Today, Kolhapur district boasts 150 acres dedicated to unhala nachni (summer ragi). The district’s success with summer ragi has attracted attention from farmers in Raigad, Satara, and Ratnagiri districts, prompting study tours of farmers and researchers where groups from these areas visit Kolhapur to observe ragi fields and learn directly from seasoned cultivators.

This growing interest has also led to the organisation of workshops and field days, often supported by the Maharashtra Millet Mission and local Krishi Vigyan Kendras. During these events, Kolhapur farmers actively share their knowledge and experiences, further promoting the adoption of summer ragi cultivation throughout Maharashtra.

Dr. Ban notes, “Research trials on transitioning the growing season from Kharif to summer are underway at research stations with a rainfall ranging from 450 mm to 2,500 mm, and temperatures between 34°C and 43°C located in Kolhapur, Ahilyanagar, Solapur, Nashik, Pune, Jalgaon, and Dhule to assess the adaptability and sustainability of grain yields. The results are encouraging, suggesting that ragi, foxtail millet, and barnyard millet could become important additional crops across various agro-climatic zones in Maharashtra. Currently, ragi is cultivated on only 0.68 lakh hectares in the state, a small fraction compared to major cereal crops. Therefore, it is essential to expand the area under millet cultivation, boost production, and increase demand for millets as staple foods in the diet.”

Complimenting Kolhapur’s summer ragi initiative, Dr. Vilas A. Tonapi, former Director, ICAR-Indian Institute of Millets Research says, “The efforts of the Maharashtra government to promote cultivation of ragi is a step in the right direction, since the summer cultivation of ragi complements existing cropping systems, thus providing best of the yields.”

The impact of this grassroots experiment has rippled outward. Farmers in other hilly areas of Maharashtra have begun to adopt summer nachni cultivation, increasing both production and the crop’s presence in local diets. The district administration has established a Nachni Procurement Centre in Panhala, further validating the innovation and improving market access for growers.

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

“Post Diwali, traders would bring wheat and jowar, mostly of poor quality. One sack would be exchanged for two or three sacks of ragi. Farmers were giving up millet, but now, ragi is back in the growers’ diet. Interestingly, its green fodder attracts a better price than sugarcane,” says Patil, whose pioneering work has become a model for innovation, adaptation, and community-driven agricultural transformation. “We summer ragi growers are in a win-win situation.”

As more farmers embrace summer ragi cultivation, Maharashtra’s fields are not just yielding better harvests—they’re sowing the seeds of a more resilient and sustainable agricultural future.

{{quiz}}

Editor’s Note: In this series, the Good Food Movement explores composting—a climate-friendly, organic way to deal with waste. We answer questions about what you can compost, how to build composting bins and how this process can reshape our relationship with nature and our urban ecosystem.

Composting is one of the simplest and most impactful ways to cut down on household waste while giving back to the Earth. But contrary to popular belief, not all kitchen scraps belong in your composting bin. Understanding what goes in and what stays out is key to creating a healthy, smell-free compost system that works for your home and garden.

Greens vs browns

At the heart of composting is a balance between two kinds of waste: greens and browns. These categories signify not colour, but nutrient profile. Greens are nitrogen-rich materials like fruit and vegetable peels, coffee grounds and tea leaves. These are soft, moist, and decompose quickly—they feed the microbes that power your compost pile. Browns, on the other hand, are dry, carbon-rich materials that provide energy to those microbes and give structure to your pile. Think dry leaves, shredded newspaper pages, cardboard, coconut husk or even straw and hay.

The ideal carbon-to-nitrogen ratio is about 30:1, but it’s difficult to know the exact amount of nitrogen and carbon each ingredient constitutes to achieve this perfect balance. So, a good rule of thumb is to mix about 3-4 parts browns for every one part of greens. For example, if you add a bowl of fruit peels and coffee grounds, balance it with a few handfuls of dry leaves or torn cardboard. A pile that smells fresh and earthy is well-balanced. If your compost starts to stink, you’re probably adding too much green matter to your compost before it has a chance to break down and decompose. Adding more browns can fix this by restoring the balance in your bin. 

Also read: Why composting is good for your garden -- and the planet

There are, however, several things that should not go into a home compost bin. Avoid meat, bones, fish, dairy products, or any cooked food with oil, salt, or masalas. These items rot slowly, produce strong odours, and attract rodents or flies. Meat also runs the risk of passing along to the compost any pathogens it is infected with. Steer clear of pet waste for similar reasons—transferred pathogens could spread to the soil you add it to. Oily foods, on the other hand, coat other materials and block air circulation, risking turning your compost into a site of anaerobic decomposition. Avoid glossy paper, and paper cups, spoons, and plates—these often have a layer of plastic coating that make them non-biodegradable. You can, however, add eggshells to your compost! Make sure to properly dry them out and crush them beforehand.

To speed up the composting process, chop large items like watermelon rinds into smaller pieces. Tear cardboard and paper to improve airflow. Remember to aerate; keep stirring your compost pile weekly to let oxygen in. Once done, cover it up again. In a few months, you’ll have black gold: healthy, homemade compost.

Also read: Don't dump it, compost it: Why peels and scraps shouldn't be tossed into your garden

Composting is circular living. It’s a small act of care that reconnects us to the planet and helps us give back to it. And it starts in your kitchen, with knowing what to put in your composting bin.

{{quiz}}

Editor’s note: The last two decades have been witness to the rapid and devastating march of unchecked urbanisation and climate change in India’s cities. Among the first victims of this change is freshwater and access to it—from rivers which sustained local ecosystems, to lakes and groundwater which quenched the thirst of residents. In this series, the Good Food Movement examines the everyday realities of neglect and pollution. It documents the vanishing and revival of water bodies, and community action that made a difference.

In the 1950s, Gurugram was just one of many small villages scattered across the tabletop-flat landscape of the Ganga basin. Known as Gurgaon until 2016, the town was only 30 kilometres from New Delhi, but that hardly mattered until the new millennium, when India’s sudden urbanisation transformed Gurugram into a prime example of how reckless city planning can plunder groundwater so quickly that the land on which the city is built immediately begins to die. 

Groundwater is a mostly abstract resource to the millions of urban Indians who drink it every day. It seems like something that will last forever, so long as humans can dig deeper and deeper holes. There is little understanding of how the decline of water under our feet connects to life above ground. Real estate developers who were eyeing Gurgaon in the early 2000s didn’t understand these things better than anyone else, and so, in the absence of even a fledgling municipal corporation to guide them (Gurgaon’s wasn’t founded until 2008), they started throwing up apartment towers without thinking about how those towers would ruin the city’s drainage patterns or be supplied with water. They didn’t know–or care to find out–that they were paving over areas like the Badshahpur drain or the Nathupur drain, which are zones that could recharge groundwater. The residents, they figured, could buy groundwater from tanker trucks. It was cheap. People could use as much as they liked. 

‍

‍

India relies on groundwater more than any other country–230 cubic kilometers per year, which is more than a quarter of all groundwater used globally. Piped water provided by city and state governments is often limited and unreliable, but even if that wasn’t the case, India just doesn’t have enough rivers and lakes to slake the thirst of the nation’s people and crops. Farms drink up most of the groundwater, but an increasing amount is being sucked down by satellite cities orbiting major metros, many of which have flared up around New Delhi over the past two decades in a frantic bid to unclog the planet’s second most populated city. None of them seem more infamous than Gurugram, which is now home to at least 20 lakh people who must rely on groundwater for drinking, showering, cooking, and everything else—a huge reason why the Ganga basin is the Earth’s most exploited groundwater supply, and is rapidly running dry. 

When groundwater levels plummet, the sudden absence of water forms a funnel, according to Abhijit Mukherjee, a groundwater sustainability expert at the Indian Institute of Technology Kharagpur (IIT-KGP). That funnel starts pulling groundwater from anywhere it can, which means that the surrounding area will also start losing groundwater even if nobody is extracting it. Eventually that funnel starts tugging on nearby rivers such as the Ganga, which relies on groundwater to flow well beyond the glacier where it begins. 

“If the water in your backyard is drying out, then your rivers are drying out,” Mukherjee says. 

Also read: Bengaluru is fated to run out of water. When will the crisis hit?

Sign of the times

In 1975, groundwater around New Delhi was 6-7 metres below the surface, but now it’s an average of nearly 40 metres down. Much of the region is pitted with borewells that drill more than 300 metres into the soil; in some areas, groundwater levels are plunging by about 2.5 metres per year. From the 1970s until 2016–according to a 2018 Scientific Reports study co-authored by Mukherjee–sections of the Ganga have lost roughly 59% of their groundwater supply, and the river has shrunk in kind. It’s not hard to imagine what would happen to India if its most vital river disappeared every time it got hot outside.

That problem may seem too theoretical to sound any alarms, but signs of Gurugram’s rampant groundwater extraction are already abundant if you know what to look for. Small local rivers such as the Thivi have vanished, some of which reappear only when torrential downpours flood roads that were paved over what used to be their channels. Shrubs and grasses are shriveling because the city’s soil struggles to hold any moisture. Rain sloughs useless dirt into the street. 

Small local rivers such as the Thivi have vanished, some of which reappear only when torrential downpours flood roads that were paved over what used to be their channels.

It’s easy to imagine groundwater replenishing with the next big storm, but that’s not how it works. Water seeps into the earth at a rate of only 2-3 metres per year, depending on the geology of the region; also, once an aquifer is sapped of its water, the ground that formed it contracts, meaning it probably won’t be able to hold that same amount ever again. Water extracted from the Ganga basin’s deepest borewells has likely been there since 2000-4000 BC. Last year, Gurugram withdrew double the amount of groundwater that it could naturally replenish, extracting over 200% of the permissible limit. 

“When this is exhausted,” says Venkatesh Dutta, a hydrology expert at Babasaheb Bhimrao Ambedkar University, “maybe this area will become like a desert.”

Also read: The intertwined fate of Navi Mumbai’s Kolis and the Kasardi river

An uncertain future

What’s happening in Gurugram and other satellite cities is a warning to the entire country. Nearly 65% of Indians still live in rural areas–compared to about 14% of the US–but India’s rate of urbanisation has soared in the 21st century. Far more is still to come, and if nothing changes, that means much more groundwater extraction.

Satbir Singh Kadian, the chief engineer of the Haryana Water Resources Authority, which oversees Gurugram’s water supply, has struggled for years to rein in the city’s use of groundwater. He insists, though, that Gurugram will soon break its dependency because of two recent developments. 

‍

Part of the problem has always been the city’s never-ending construction. Developers drilled borewells wherever they liked and used the extracted water to mix concrete. This went on until 10th February, 2022, when part of a building in the Chintels Paradiso apartment complex collapsed, killing two people and injuring several others. Haryana had banned using groundwater for construction in 2012, but it was the collapse’s legal ramifications that finally forced developers to listen to the government, which told them the groundwater used to build Chintels Paradiso was so full of pollutants like chloride, that the resulting concrete wasn’t sturdy enough. They convinced construction companies to use the government’s treated wastewater instead, free of cost. 

The government is also about to start building a canal to bring surface water to Gurugram, according to Kadian. It’s been a long time coming, and “of course” has been delayed, he says, but he believes the canal will be finished in two years. If he’s right, it has the potential to transform the city’s ecology. Then the challenge shifts to getting other cities in the Ganga basin to do the same. 

Produced by Nevin Thomas and Neerja Deodhar

Illustration by Prabhakaran S

‍

{{quiz}}

‍

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.

What makes Darjeeling tea truly Darjeeling? How much of its fiery strength does the Guntur Sannam chilli owe to the growers who know just when to pluck and cure it? And without the Konkan’s laterite soil and salt-laden sea breeze, would the Alphonso still be hailed as the king of mangoes?

Geographical Indication tags (GI tags) seek to give a legal form to these entanglements, offering a framework to protect prized traditional products as well as the knowledge and geographic conditions that make them possible. In this column, I examine how GI tags for food and agricultural products operate in practice, exploring both–the promises they hold and the limitations producers face in translating those promises into meaningful gains. 

Whose place, whose gain? 

The idea of a GI tag gestures to the possibility that place-specific products can offer both distinctiveness in the marketplace—and recognition and prosperity to those who sustain them. Yet how this potential unfolds in practice is shaped by existing power structures and inequalities within each production system. 

Darjeeling tea, the country’s first GI tagged product, offers a compelling case. Grown on the slopes of the eastern Himalayas, the tea owes its delicate flavour not only to elevation and climate, but also to the labour of hill-dwelling communities who have cultivated and plucked its leaves for generations. The Tea Board of India, in fact, sought protection for the unique Darjeeling Tea back in the 1980s–long before the Geographical Indications of Goods Act was passed in 1999–by registering an official ‘Darjeeling Tea’ logo in other countries as a marker of authenticity; this protected, specifically, the exports of the tea from counterfeits.

Finally, the Board earned a GI tag for Darjeeling Tea in 2004, cementing a legal and structured relationship between the tea and its planters. GI protection reinforces the connection between terrain and taste, turning the plantation landscape into a site of heritage. At the same time, the legacy of colonial plantation economies remains evident in the structure of production, where estate ownership and export channels continue to shape who benefits most. While the GI helps guard the name ‘Darjeeling’ from misuse, its economic impact on workers—many of whom are landless and excluded from decision-making—remains limited. 

In the case of Goan Feni, a traditional spirit distilled from cashew apples, the GI tag similarly aims to preserve a culturally significant product, anchored in local knowledge and the distinct ecology of the region. Feni’s production depends on skilled artisanal labour: from selecting and crushing ripe fruit to managing natural fermentation and operating small-batch stills made of clay or copper. However, the economic value generated by the GI tag does not circulate evenly. 

Those involved in bottling, branding, and marketing capture a disproportionate share of profits, while cashew farm labourers and small-scale distillers receive far less. This is a newer, inverse development: historically, those involved in manufacturing and producing–not branding–held sway, because it is their skill and precision that impacts the quality of the feni. This disparity reflects broader patterns of access to education, capital, and regulatory literacy. Here, the GI tag solidifies the identity of Feni as uniquely Goan, but it does not, on its own, ensure equitable distribution of its benefits. Nor does it guarantee product integrity or visibility. Many major producers avoid using the GI label altogether, citing regulatory hurdles and the lack of standardisation or monitoring. 

Part of the problem lies in how GI tags are implemented in the country: they are often employed as legal instruments that privilege place as the primary source of value.

The land becomes the defining element of reputation, while the people whose labour, techniques, and histories give that land meaning often remain secondary. Even when human practices are acknowledged, they are absorbed into the language of terroir—romanticised but rarely politicised.  

Also read: Can India's traditional knowledge future-proof its food system?

Biodiversity conservation 

When designed with the purpose of biodiversity conservation, GI frameworks can support the continued cultivation of indigenous landraces, many of which are well adapted to local agro-climatic conditions and require fewer external inputs. In contrast, when GI specifications narrowly favour a single dominant variety or prioritise export-oriented branding, they can inadvertently narrow genetic diversity.  

As of 2024, 32 varieties of indigenous vegetable crops have been awarded GI tags in India. A notable example is the Udupi Mattu Gulla brinjal, cultivated in the coastal village of Mattu in Karnataka. This pale green, thin-skinned brinjal variety with immense cultural relevance to the local community owes its distinctive taste and appearance to the region’s clay loam soils, high humidity, and traditional cultivation practices passed down through generations. Concerned about the potential impact of genetically modified Bt brinjal on their local variety, farmers—supported by the Karnataka Department of Horticulture—mobilised to secure GI protection, which they obtained in 2011. The GI tag has helped preserve the seed and traditional cultivation methods and has prevented imitation by brinjal varieties grown elsewhere under the same name. 

While GI tags alone cannot safeguard biodiversity, they offer a promising entry point—especially when aligned with policies and market systems that reward ecological stewardship. 

Also read: The promises and perils of Indian aquaculture

The geopolitics of GI tags 

Next to being tools for protecting cultural heritage and biodiversity, GI tags are also instruments of geopolitical positioning. A long-standing divide exists between the European Union and the US on how GIs should be regulated. The EU promotes a sui generis model that offers strong, territory-based protection rooted in cultural specificity. The US, in contrast, treats GIs as part of its broader trademark system, allowing terms like ‘Parmesan’ or ‘Feta’ to be used generically for cheese. While often framed as a legal disagreement, this tension reflects broader questions of economic influence and cultural dominance in global markets. For many countries in the Global South, aligning with either model is rarely a neutral choice; it often occurs through trade negotiations and donor-driven policy reforms. 

The ripple effects of this divide are visible across Asia, where GI regimes have often been adopted in haphazard ways, without necessarily being adapted to local agrarian or regulatory contexts. In many cases, GI tags are treated more as branding opportunities or symbols of national pride than as governance tools embedded in functioning support systems for producers. This has led to confusion over ownership, vague definitions of producer groups, and little clarity about benefit-sharing, especially in contexts where supply chains are fragmented or informal. 

India and Pakistan’s dispute over international recognition of the provenance of Basmati rice illustrates the political stakes of GI claims. Both countries claim Basmati as their own, citing centuries of cultivation in the Indo-Gangetic plains. When India applied for exclusive GI protection for Basmati in the European Union in 2018, Pakistan contested the move, seeing it as an erasure of its co-heritage. The controversy highlights how GIs, rather than resolving issues of provenance, can entrench them within frameworks of geopolitical  rivalry.  

This phenomenon is not unique to cross-border conflicts. Similar contestations have emerged within countries, where the boundaries used to demarcate GI-covered regions can result in the exclusion of communities or businesses that produce the same product under comparable environmental and cultural conditions. In India, the dispute between West Bengal and Odisha over the origins of rasgulla exemplifies this dynamic. Both states claimed ownership over the sweet, citing distinct cultural histories and preparation methods. Eventually, they received separate GI tags, but the tussle exposed how questions of authenticity and entitlement are often shaped as much by regional pride and politics as by technical criteria.

Also read: The circular bioeconomy movement can change how we see waste

More than a name 

GI protection is framed as a globally applicable system; until 2023, up to 58,600 protected GIs were in force across the word. But in practice, it privileges legal traditions and institutional logics that originate in Europe. Attempts to universalise these frameworks through instruments like the WTO’s Agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) risk obscuring alternative ways of valuing food and agricultural heritage. In contexts like India, where farming is ecologically diverse and socially complex, the transplantation of these models often leads to mismatches between legal form and local realities. 

Currently, India has 530 GIs according to the World Intellectual Property Indicators Report, 2024. The number pales in comparison to China’s leading 9,785 GIs and even Bulgaria, Bosnia and Herzegovina, all of which have over 4000 GIs. The report attributes this to the lack of protection to Indian GIs through international agreements, but closer to home, aching gaps in the registration policies and processing times for acquiring a GI tag have no less impact.

For GIs to serve as instruments of biodiversity conservation and equitable development, they must be reimagined through frameworks that centre producers' knowledge, ecological stewardship, and collective rights. When coupled with efforts to strengthen market access, ensure fair pricing, and build producer-driven value chains, GI recognition can become a powerful tool for delivering meaningful economic returns to those who sustain these traditions. 

‍

Illustrated by Prabhakaran S

‍

{{quiz}}

‍