In Gudalur, a misty mountain town in Tamil Nadu’s Nilgiri district, the Kattunayakan tribe looks forward to the period from April through August. To them, these months denote venturing deep into forests, to carry on an age-old practice of honey gathering. It’s hard work—the tribe must gear themselves physically and mentally for their sojourn in the wilderness.
The Kattunayakan honey harvesters are adept at predicting from the ground level whether a hive 60-80 feet up in a tree contains honey. This shrewdness helps them assess whether the climb is worth it. While harvesters keep one eye on the task at hand, their other is on the lookout for bears and elephants. Their children stand beside them to watch and learn.
It is said that on a honey-harvesting trip, the only things the Kattunayakans carry with them are a knife, the items needed for the puja, rice to eat and a tin for the honey.
Call them ‘honey hunters’ and they don’t like it. They prefer being referred to as ‘honey harvesters’: they wait for the right time, when taking the honey will cause the least harm to the bees and their young inside.
There is a sacredness to the process of gathering the honey. Before the tribe can venture into the forest, a puja (religious ceremony) is performed. The goal is to seek the protection and blessings of their ancestors and the spirits of the forest. This is followed by asking for pardon from the bees, and giving them thanks. It is said that on a honey-harvesting trip, the only things the Kattunayakans carry with them are a knife, the items needed for the puja, rice to eat and a tin for the honey.
“At the centre, we weigh the collected honey and check that its quality is good, with a particular focus on the presence of dust or any other contaminants,” says Jaya M. After this initial check, the honey is sent to a Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI) lab. The centre she refers to is the Ippimala Third Share Collection Centre in Srimadurai, also located in Gudalur. In the last season, she says they managed to collect 3,000 kg of wild honey—a bountiful harvest by the tribe’s standards. Jaya, who is 57, has been a staff member with the Action for Community Organisation, Rehabilitation and Development (ACCORD)—the implementation partner of Ippimala Third Share Producer Company—since 1995. She has always marvelled at the deep reverence that Adivasi communities like the Kattunayakans harbour towards nature. Today, this marvel is mixed with relief that they are finally being fairly compensated for their efforts. The inflection point, she observes, was the inception of the Ippimala Third Share Producer Company in February 2025.
It is owned and governed by its producer-members who are organised into village producer groups. It now comprises 886 farmers from 106 villages. Aside from honey, it collects coffee, honey, pepper and tea directly from producer-members’ homes. Produce is weighed on the spot, so producers carry no transport costs or deductions. Prices are set against newspaper-listed market rates rather than the inferior offers made by traders. This way, no one can coerce them into settling for a lower rate, explains Stan Thekaekara, the co-founder of ACCORD. Honey prices are agreed upon with the producers before each season. Since the company is owned by the Adivasis, all profits belong to them as shareholders.
The establishment of this model rested on a dual purpose: to enhance market access for producer-members, and to bring in a shorter value chain to ensure self-reliance for the Gudalur tribes. The past they were accustomed to involved selling produce to the buyers they could seek out, and often getting cheated in the process. “We wanted to give them bargaining power in a market economy,” says Thekaekara. “The idea evolved from wanting to help the Adivasis become part of mainstream society on their own terms—in a way that they would not be subjected to exploitation by local landowners or employers.”
The establishment of this model rested on a dual purpose: to enhance market access for producer-members, and to bring in a shorter value chain to ensure self-reliance for the Gudalur tribes.
Since honey harvesting is the primary source of income for the Kuttanayakans, the conception of a small honey collective was proposed a decade ago. “That led to people saying, why don't we do the same thing for coffee, tea and pepper harvested by the Paniyas, Kattunayakans, Bettakurumbas and Mullukurumbas (all of which are classified as Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups)? That’s when we launched ‘Ippimala’ and created the Third Share brand,” he explains.
The mention of the ‘third share’ in the company’s name stands for a promise that the Kattunayakans made long ago to the forest: they have an unsaid but consistently honoured pact with the bears of the forest, to leave behind the beeswax for them to lick. In this way, the first share (the beeswax) is for nature. The second share is for the people who depend on nature, such as the children who will consume the honey. And the third share is made available to the consumer.
Also read: In Bundelkhand, century-old ties with mahua trees are being severed
‘Ippi. Ippi.’ Growing up, 29-year-old Madhu M. would often exclaim the word when startled. It’s a common expression among the Paniya tribe, to which he belongs. Loosely translated, it means ‘Oh gosh!’. The reasons for Madhu’s startle could be: a snake in the forest; tripping on a twig; or spotting something really beautiful. After all, the forests of Gudalur are home to a kaleidoscope of diverse flora.
The name Ippimala takes from this word/expression. Mala means mountain. Thekaekara adds, “The Paniyas were happy with us using the term, because they don’t want their children to forget it. ‘Ippimala’ is a way of making it permanent.”
The deep-rooted, ancestral ties of the Gudalur tribes to nature were disrupted during colonial times. The Indian Forest Act of 1865 allowed the British Government to establish state control over forest resources. Control was fortified by the Indian Forest Act of 1878, which commercialised timber extraction and restricted local community access. Thekaekara says the Wild Life (Protection) Act of 1972, which banned the hunting of wild animals, further drew firm boundaries around the forest and the rights of Adivasi communities. They continued to be displaced and disenfranchised: cut off from the forest physically and culturally, and no longer free to act upon the forest that was theirs.
How the profit is shared is decided by the Board at the time; it could be paid as a percentage of profits, or in proportion to the produce each producer supplied through the company.
“They lost easy access to its resources and to the places that mattered to them. These limits grew over the years. In 2007, Mudumalai was declared a Tiger Reserve, and access to the forest was curtailed even further,” he explains. Mudumalai, which borders Gudalur, had been a sanctuary since 1940. After it was declared as a tiger reserve, the families living in the region— Kattunayakans and Paniyas among them — were relocated in phases.
“This changed their food, their access to forest resources and their cultural spaces.” Thekaekara also adds that the Forest Rights Act of 2006 “brought a real improvement.”
He explains, “For the first time, their rights to the forest were recognised again. It helped communities regain some of what they had lost, such as honey collection and other non-timber forest produce, but not all of it. The change is still in progress.”
But during colonial times, the stress on the forests meant the Paniyas were reduced to bonded labourers; the tribes were considered encroachers on land which was once their own. They were pushed to the margins of society.
The Ippimala Third Share Producer Company builds on ACCORD’s foundational work in the representation of Gudalur’s tribes and their rights. Padmini, a 42-year-old farmer from the Bettakurumba tribe, says the biggest boon is no longer having to scout for buyers for their products. “Previously, we had to take our produce to the market. Now, after picking and drying the cherries, we inform the company, and they send their personnel to our doorsteps, along with a weighing machine, so we can weigh our produce and are paid the amount against the weight. The amount is Rs. 10 higher than the market price,” she shares.
Beyond the improvement in convenience, the access to broader markets beyond the forest has been a boon. The farmers’ trust in Ippimala has deepened because of the transparency of its workings. “The good part is that the people of the community are involved in every step,” Madhu shares. Every producer is a shareholding member of a producer group, and each group is a shareholder of the Producer Company. Directors are chosen from among the members to represent them on the Board of the company.
A group's shareholding is based on the number of its members. Each member of a group represents Rs. 1,000 of shareholding, and the shares are issued to the group as a whole, in shares of Rs. 250 each. A group of 10 members holds Rs. 10,000, which is 40 shares of Rs 250. A group of 15 members holds Rs. 15,000, which is 60 shares. A group's stake in the company grows with its growing membership. As in any producer company, all the shareholders are producer groups, so any profit the company makes goes back only to them. How the profit is shared is decided by the Board at the time; it could be paid as a percentage of profits, or in proportion to the produce each producer supplied through the company.
Currently, online sales are facilitated through the company’s website, while offline sales take place at exhibitions and stores in Tamil Nadu and Bengaluru.
When the idea of a producer company was first pitched, the Adivasi communities were not particularly keen or confident. A troubled history with outsiders was to blame. But, as Subhash Gautam, the CEO of Ippimala Third Share Producer Company shares, trust was earned by following up on promises. “Initially, the community told us that local traders were giving them a comparable price to what we were offering them. And so they did not want to get into this [arrangement]. So we said, ‘If at some point you feel that the market is not paying higher than this, let us know.’ Promptly, within a month, they called us and said that they were not being offered a fair price for bulk orders,” Gautam says. “That’s what led us to set a benchmark price in the market. We saw the producer company as a force that could safeguard the interest of the community.”
However, entering the mainstream market was not without challenges. But Gautam emphasises that they let the products speak for themselves. “In February 2026, the coffee produced by Ippimala Third Share along with Binny Varghese, co-founder of Barista Training Academy which has workshops uniquely crafted for the Indian coffee industry, secured the third position at the India International Coffee Festival in Bengaluru. That has helped boost sales. Then there’s also the fact that the coffee market is slowly growing; there is space for experimentation, people are willing to try new flavours, tastes and lots from different regions.”
While coffee has been a space for experimentation, tea remains mired in hurdles.
Thekaekara, who moved to the region in 1984 with his wife Mari–both driven by a deep commitment to the well-being of Adivasi communities–says, “We found that all the Adivasis, except the Mullukurumbas, had lost their land. The members of the other tribes were landless labourers. So we started a successful tribal land rights campaign to help them get the land back. But they only had physical possession, not the title.” Planting tea, the region’s mainstream crop, became a way to change that: as a permanent crop, it served as proof of possession and gave families an income of their own, loosening the landlords’ hold. But, Thekaekara says, “The people who exploited them all these years figured out how to exploit them in a new circumstance by buying the leaf from them.”
But tea is no longer lucrative. Since liberalisation, cheaper imports from countries such as Kenya have undercut Indian tea, and Gudalur’s leaf has become what the trade calls a “filler tea”, used to add strength to blends. Costs have risen while earnings have fallen, and small Adivasi growers are hit hardest. “What they are losing is the independent livelihood that tea was meant to give them,” Thekaekara says. Many young, educated Adivasis now end up as labourers. It was their frustration, and their wish for enterprises of their own, that led to the producer company. Ippimala hopes to make a change, Thekaekara says. “ By bringing together the tea that producers already grow, and by finding new value-added tea products, we hope to raise the income of Adivasi families who have tea farms.”
Also read: The meagre morsels swallowed by Assam’s tea workers
A community-owned model is not new to India, Gautam reasons. Brands have implemented them, with success. “The question is whether the farmers and the producers are benefiting from being shareholders, and whether that benefit can be generated by going up the value chain.” At Ippimala, benefit is viewed through a dual lens: the company benefits farmers by collecting produce directly from their homes, ensuring accurate weighing and eliminating transport costs and other deductions. For coffee, this approach alone enabled them to pay Rs. 8–10 more per kilo. The second benefit is that the company returns profits to farmers through in-kind support, including farming tools, baskets and tarpaulins for drying coffee. However, the most significant benefit lies in farmers’ ownership of the enterprise, allowing them to share in its success rather than remain dependent on middlemen, Gautam shares.
The question is whether the farmers and the producers are benefiting from being shareholders, and whether that benefit can be generated by going up the value chain
For a moment, we pan our gaze to the Paniyas of Wayanad. Despite being promised compensation under the Forest Rights Act, 2006 (FRA), which aimed to redress historical injustice against tribals and forest dwellers, a 2017 report from Current Conservation records that in fact, they weren’t thrilled—and viewed it as ‘a piece of paper’ since they felt community rights were not vested. Another recent study explores how the economic life of the Paniya community in Wayanad has historically revolved around the vallippani system, where workers received valli (paddy) as payment instead of cash. This barter system entrenched subsistence and dependency, forming part of a trifecta of trauma marked by economic exploitation, social marginalisation and generational poverty.
The harsh realities faced by Paniyas in other areas explains why the community in Gudalur may have been mistrustful of any new models. But Gautam credits their works and investment in the area; this includes the setting up of the Gudalur Adivasi Hospital and community health programme (ASHWINI), and the Vidyodaya School and village education programmes.
Also read: This women-run milk cooperative transformed a Kumaon village
In urban India, it is believed that forest communities live life at a slower pace, but that is far from the truth. Padmini wakes up with the sun. “The first thing we do after waking up is cook. After that, we collect water on days when it is available. Then we go to work at the self-help group (SHG) where we make lantana elephants (hand-crafted Asian elephant sculptures made from Lantana camara, an invasive flowering shrub), which are then sold. We work in the forest until 6 pm and then return home to cook again,” she shares. She adds that after sundown, they stay indoors, for fear of wild animal attacks.
Padmini adds that while the forest always provides, the quality of its produce is dictated by a number of variables. “In the case of coffee, if the area receives adequate rain before flowering season, only then will the crop be good. If it doesn’t rain at the right time, we don’t expect anything! It’s the same with cherries. Where we could have harvested 2 kilos of coffee, there is a chance of earning only 1 kilo, if there’s no rain.”
Madhu, who also works in the forest, grows sentimental each time he enters it, as he recalls the stories his parents told him as a child. “In those days, we depended on the forests for food and most of our daily needs. We rarely needed to buy anything from markets. I feel fortunate to have grown up with such a close connection to the forest,” he says. In his stories are strands of shared memories across the tribal communities of Gudalur, who can now envision a new future in a mighty but familiar forest.
Edited by Anushka Mukherjee and Neerja Deodhar
Cover image by Gokul Gopi
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On a hot, humid day in September, the monsoon has enveloped the mountains and trees in Madhya Pradesh’s Chhatarpur district in a veil of green. After a bumpy climb up a mountain, the road to the village of Pathapur unfurls in an expanse of grassland and forest. Even through the heat-induced haze, the grey-brown-barked, wide-canopied mahua (Indian butter tree) is impossible to miss: rising like a sentinel from the tall grass, its crown and branches outstretched to the sky, the tree marks the landscape long before Pathapur comes into view.
This is not a sight unique to Chhatarpur. Mahua is a familiar presence across Central and Eastern India, where it is native. The deciduous tree is particularly abundant in the forest belts of southern Chhatarpur and eastern Panna (an adjoining district in Madhya Pradesh), which are home to the Panna Tiger Reserve, a critical wildlife sanctuary.
Even if you do not catch sight of the tree, you’re likely to encounter the fragrance of its flowers wafting towards you from a few feet away.
Even if you do not catch sight of the tree, you’re likely to encounter the fragrance of its flowers wafting towards you from a few feet away. During its flowering season, from March to April, it sheds most of its foliage, and blooms with fleshy, cream-white to pale gold blossoms clustered densely on bare or newly sprouting branches. These scatter to the ground overnight, filling the air with a honeyed sweetness. The flowers are collected at dawn, if langurs, monkeys, fruit bats and parakeets don’t get to them first. The early bird catches the shower of mahua petals. The tree then bears fruit between May and June.
Mahua (Madhuca longifolia) has been likened to Central India’s kalpavriksha—the tree of life omnipresent in the livelihoods and culture of the Adivasi communities here, including the Gonds, Baigas, Murias, Mundas and Santhals. For them, mhowga (the consonants always softened in Bundeli) is not simply a tree. Nearly every part of it is sold, consumed or revered: its flowers are food and a source of income; its fruit is eaten and seeds are pressed for oil; its bark has medicinal properties; and the tree itself is woven into rituals, worship and everyday life.
This age-old relationship now hangs in the balance, as fear, rage and uncertainty loom large over Chhatarpur. Fourteen of its villages will be submerged over the next 8 years for the Ken-Betwa Link Project (KBLP). This controversial project, which was first proposed in 1995, has been pitched as a solution for water-stressed Bundelkhand which will reportedly transfer ‘surplus’ amounts of water from the Ken into the Betwa. These rivers are vital arteries of the region, and eventually drain into the Yamuna. Hydrologists have contested the effectiveness of the project and have pointed out its massive costs to ecology and local communities.
The ongoing story of imminent displacement in Chhatarpur and other districts like it is a tragic story of the disruption of ancestral livelihoods, and the loss of a kinship with this region’s land and forests, for trees like the mahua have sustained entire communities for centuries.
The census village of Pathapur, comprising almost entirely of the Adivasi Gond community, has neither piped gas nor water connections. Timber collected from the surrounding forests is sold and used as cooking fuel. Residual rainwater from the previous night’s downpour sluices off roofs fashioned from handmade flat bricks and tiles called khaprail.
This age-old relationship now hangs in the balance, as fear, rage and uncertainty loom large over Chhatarpur.
In the absence of roads, the women make their way through the slush with ease and gather at the chabutara—a raised platform built under a massive banyan tree—where villagers meet to worship, rest and discuss public matters. Today, they are visibly worried. “Jungle mein hamare paas sab kuch hai, didi. Mhowga hai, charwa hai. Ab yahan se bhag jaayen, toh kaa karenge batao?” (The jungle gives us everything we need and more. Mahua and chironji trees are plentiful. If we are forced to flee, what will we do?)
Outside tribal hamlets, mahua is perhaps best known for the eponymously named liquor brewed from its flowers. Until the late 1800s, the tree was considered as produce from the commons, and indigenous forest communities like the Gonds, Baigas, Bhils and Santhals were free to collect and store it. It was after the advent of the British that the tree was seen as a threat to public health and morality. The State deemed mahua to be a dangerously intoxicating ‘country liquor’ and imposed a crackdown on not only the spirit’s distillation, but also how and in what amount the tree’s produce could be harvested. The British Raj had a second ulterior motive hidden under the guise of what was ‘civilised’—to monopolise alcohol revenue and mahua trade. Criminalised at home, it began to be shipped to Europe.
While its colonial associations with infamy linger, the space it holds in the communities we met is very different. For generations, mahua has been lovingly harvested and ritually conserved in Madhya Pradesh. “In the month of Chaitra (March-April), we get up early and carry our baskets to the forest. We have to act fast, because the flowers start cascading at dawn. On a good day, we are able to bring back a few kilos,” Gyaan Rani, a woman in her 30s, says. “We did not plant these trees, we inherited them from our parents and grandparents. They are at least 150-200 years old. This is our peoples’ work, and our ancestors have been doing this for as long as we can remember,” she adds.
We did not plant these trees, we inherited them from our parents and grandparents. They are at least 150-200 years old.
Over 75 lakh Adivasi people are engaged in the trade of mahua, which is classified as a minor forest produce (MFP). Pathapur is surrounded by forest land, and its people rely on the adjacent village of Kharyani for land ownership and farming rights. They sow a variety of crops, including wheat, chana, urad dal, arhar dal, sesame and mustard. Ordinarily, they sell the mahua flowers to local traders for Rs. 150–200 a kilo, earning each household a few lakhs over the season. Most flowers are sold to intermediary traders who aggregate the mahua and take it onward to larger markets, for distilling into local wines and alcohol. These earnings enable them to prepare their fields for the kharif season, and pool savings for important occasions like a birth or a forthcoming marriage.
News of the displacement has come as a shock to Pathapur. Chand Rani, who is only in her 50s, but who appears to be a village matriarch, has been rocking her grandchild, quiet all this time. A question about whether they have been compensated as is required under Right to Fair Compensation and Transparency in Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation and Resettlement Act, 2013 sets her off. Until 2025, she alleges the villagers had only been notified of Kharyani going underwater. “We were devastated that our fields would be washed away, but also relieved that our forests, at least, would not be taken from us.” That relief was short-lived; a few months ago, she claims, officials arrived at Pathapur to notify them that it, too, would be taken over by the government. The result is that multiple sources of income have been shorn simultaneously, with the people left to unsuccessfully seek recourse at the nearest panchayat of Kupi, which is 25 km away.
Mahua has tided communities over during long famines and droughts. Historian Vinita Damodaran writes about what was once the Chotanagpur plateau (modern-day Jharkhand, Chhatisgarh, Bihar, Odisha and West Bengal): “Not only were the fruits made use of as articles of food, but the fleshy corolla constituted a staple article of diet for the poor for several months of the year.”
Many people sought refuge in Panna district’s Tara village after their homes were bulldozed in Dondi, Khamri, Marha, Majhauli, Koni, Kathari Bilhata, Gahdara and Kudan. Their land has been reportedly acquired as compensatory afforestation for the near 8000 hectares of the Panna Tiger Reserve’s core and buffer zones which will be swallowed by the dam.
It is part of the food reserve that allows households to ride out a bad harvest—the dependable friend who never leaves your side.
These displaced individuals reminisce about the many gifts bestowed upon them by the forests that surrounded their villages. Mahua is never absent during conversations like these. It is part of the food reserve that allows households to ride out a bad harvest—the dependable friend who never leaves your side. “Temperamental monsoons and pest attacks would dramatically influence crop yields during some years,” says Harbai Adivasi, a 56-year old Gond woman from Gahdara. “We would always make sure to stock up on mahua produce. Boiled flowers and gulli [seeds] would fill our bellies during these times,” she adds.
Unripe mahua fruits are sauteed and eaten as a vegetable. Their seeds are pressed to extract oil, used for cooking and lighting lamps, and to relieve aches and illnesses. The flowers are also mixed with wheat, jowar and rice flour to make chapatis, puris and porridges. The women talk over each other, rattling off a long list, and yet the many uses of the miracle-tree don’t end.
Mahua trees have outlived generations of people who depended on them, making the loss of a tree difficult to measure in the language of compensation. For them, neither is the KBLP an abstract water-transfer scheme, nor their relationship with the forests quantifiable on the yardstick of ‘dependence.’
Mahua reproduces naturally, its seeds easily dispersed by the wind, birds and insects. However, it takes nearly three decades for a newly planted tree to bear its first flowers. For this reason, trees usually remain rooted to their native clusters, and cannot be easily transplanted elsewhere. “What use will it be by then? We’ll already have been forced to migrate to a city or become daily wage earners. The trees gave us so much, and it is now in this foreign land that we feel their absence more,” says Pirwa Rani, a 27-year old Gond woman from Gahdara.
Back under the banyan in Pathapur, the women light up when I ask to see the mahua flowers. They bring large fistfuls of the blossoms and chironji (Buchanania lanzan)—another important forest produce, used as a dry fruit in traditional Indian sweets like kheer and halwa. The mahua flowers, sun-dried and shrunken in size, are velvety and have a faint, heady aroma. Gyaan Rani chuckles and swats my hand away when I try to taste one “Arre, you can’t eat them right now! We still need to roast them to preserve and use them further.”
We go into the forests and pray to the mahua and chironji trees on this day. We also pray to our cows and buffaloes. These are our providers, our gods
Chand Rani, who was, until a half hour ago, in the vulture grip of a fever, energetically starts pounding the chironji with a large rock. The dried purple-black shells split open to reveal tiny seeds which taste mildly nutty. Our profuse requests asking them to stop feeding us are only met with a “Kha lo beta, Amma ke haath ka phir kab milega?” (Eat to your heart’s content, when else will you get to eat something made by an old woman like me?) “This is the snack we crush and pop into our mouths whenever us ladies gather. Our hands are used to the rhythm now!” Chand Rani adds. The traditional Gondi godna on their hands—tattoos which depict different flowers, plants and animals–catch my eye.
Forest produce like mahua and chironji routinely find their way into Gond festivities. One such Bundelkhandi festival is Halchhat, celebrated two days before Janmashtami. “We go into the forests and pray to the mahua and chironji trees on this day. We also pray to our cows and buffaloes. These are our providers, our gods,” Mugdha Rani, 46, says.
Pathapur’s women offer us a traditional delicacy prepared on Halchhat called ‘murkha’, made by roasting mahua, chironji, sesame, coconut and ghee, served in a bowl stitched from mahua leaves and twigs. It is deliciously fudgy. In my naivette, I ask whether they used sugar or jaggery. “We don’t keep either in our homes! Mahua is a natural sweetener which we use in everything, from tea to sweets,” Gyaan Rani says with a chuckle.
Mahua is also inextricably tied to other occasions in the ritual calendar—including birth, marriage, death, harvest, village worship and relationships with ancestors. “We offer the first mahua flowers of the season to the forest before venturing inside to forage,” says Sumitra Rani, a 74-year old Gond of Kudan village, Panna. “[The tree] is with us from the time a child is born. When the umbilical cord is cut, we preserve it in mahua [liquor] and then bury it. We also apply the liquor to the newborn’s navel—it acts as an antiseptic and heals the wound. We carry the leaves when we take a marriage proposal to the groom’s house,” she says.
The forest is also the place where all the women from the village used to gather and rest after a long day in the fields. “While keeping a look out for wild animals, of course!” Sumitra Rani adds. “We don’t know if we’ll ever be able to go back to our forests again. I don’t want to accept that that was the last time.”
In a bid to protect the status of mahua as an indigenous tree, the Madhya Pradesh government declared it a ‘heritage liquor’ in 2021. Modern brands, chefs and entrepreneurs are reinventing it—incorporating it into cocktails, foods and deserts, or positioning it as an ‘artisanal superfood’ and premium craft spirit. But for Adivasi communities, the problem is increasingly more basic: access. Across mahua-growing regions, collectors who need immediate cash or lack storage infrastructure and access to markets can be forced to sell their harvest cheaply, only to buy the same flowers back later at a higher price.
The forest has nourished us like her children. We don’t have to buy anything except salt and the clothes on our backs.
Adivasis have historically had to give up their land to make space for the industrial development nexus, from dams to mining projects. What does it mean for an ingredient rooted in Adivasi economies and labour to become more valuable elsewhere while the people who have sustained those traditions are increasingly unable to reach it? The threat to the mahua and the communities it nourishes is manifold. One of these threats is that climate extremes are accelerating—such as untimely rains which rot the delicate flowers, or temperature variations which alter its phenology (flowering schedule).
Gyaan Rani grows misty-eyed as she shares how, amid the hardship of having to collect water and firewood every single day, they feel most themselves in the forests. They have already had to bid goodbye to the homes of their birth in another village. Does another separation await them? This time from the forest that has raised them, fed them and held their lives in its fold? “Mahua-charwa mein hi palat rahe hai didi. Namak aur kapda, bas itna hi khareedna padta hai. Yahan azaad lagta hai. Sheher mein mar jaayenge.” (The forest has nourished us like her children. We don’t have to buy anything except salt and the clothes on our backs. This is where we feel free—we won’t be able to survive in the city.)
Additional edits by Aathira Konikkara
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Winter is fast approaching, and rising air pollution levels are a significant concern across India during this time. In December 2025, Delhi experienced an Air Quality Index (AQI) of 433 (out of 500), exposing its population to ‘severe’ air quality and placing it among the top 10 most polluted cities in the world. Other Indian cities were not far behind in terms of chronic air pollution.
While the impacts of air pollution are often discussed in the context of the alarming morbidity associated with it and its effects on overall health and wellbeing, another major public health concern lurks in the shadows—anaemia.
A deeper understanding of this has emerged recently. In a 2025 study published in Environmental Research: Health, global researchers examined the association between long-term AQI exposure and anaemia: they combined the air pollution data for key pollutants such as PM2.5 (fine particulate matter that measures about 30 times less than human hair), nitrogen dioxide and ozone, and stacked it up against the recorded cases of anaemia in Indian women. The researchers found that long-term exposure to multiple air pollutants was associated with higher anaemia prevalence among Indian women of reproductive age (15-49 years). AQIs are communicated on a scale of 0 to 500, and based on data from the National Family Health Survey, NFHS-4 (2015-16), the research revealed that for every 10-unit increase in AQI levels, anaemia prevalence increased by 5.2% among Indian women of reproductive age.
Other studies have also established associations between ambient PM2.5 pollution and anaemia prevalence in Indian children (less than five years of age), as well as the impacts of indoor air pollution and anaemia among pregnant women in India.
A cursory search on why anaemia is so widespread in India will point to menstrual health nutritional gaps and plant-based diets as reasons. While these are crucial factors to consider, the recent interest within the research community to broaden the discourse on anaemia highlights that there is more to the blood disorder than meets the eye. Or, in this case, the iron.
A medical condition caused by a shortage of red blood cells (RBCs) or haemoglobin (iron-rich protein inside the RBCs) in the body, anaemia can be the result of a deficiency of iron (iron-deficiency anaemia) or of vitamins and minerals such as B12, folic acid, copper and zinc (vitamin-deficiency anaemia); a breakdown of RBCs faster than the body can replace them (haemolytic anaemia); the body’s inability to produce enough RBCs to begin with (aplastic anaemia). Inherited blood disorders such as sickle cell disease and thalassaemia also lead to anaemia. While iron deficiency anaemia is often considered to be the most widespread cause, studies have shown otherwise. A venous-blood analysis (diagnostic procedure wherein blood is drawn from the vein) of populations across eight Indian states revealed that iron-deficiency was associated with less than a third of the anaemia prevalence with varying proportions across demographic groups.
There is more to the blood disorder than meets the eye. Or, in this case, the iron.
Anaemia impacts oxygen delivery to various tissues in the body. Short-term symptoms include fatigue and shortness of breath, but over time, it can cause cardiovascular, respiratory and neurological complications, and affect maternal as well as fetal health. According to the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation, University of Washington, dietary iron deficiency is among the top 10 causes of death and disability combined, across age groups in India.
India’s battle against anaemia–a long and complicated one–began with the National Nutritional Anaemia Prophylaxis Programme (NNAPP) in 1970. Over the decades, the government has introduced various other programmes, each time modifying beneficiary groups and altering the dose of iron and folic acid (IFA) supplemented through these interventions. In 2018, a broader approach to combating anaemia was initiated with the Anaemia Mukt Bharat (Anaemia Free India, AMB) programme that introduced a 6x6x6 strategy–six beneficiary groups, six interventions and six institutional mechanisms to implement and monitor the progress.
Beyond IFA supplementation and building awareness about dietary diversity, the AMB programme also emphasises the need to monitor and screen non-nutritional causes of anaemia, including malaria, fluorosis and haemoglobinopathies. These conditions impact the structure and production of RBCs.
In June 2026, the Union Health Ministry added a seventh pillar to the programme and launched the 7x7x7 strategy; ‘low birth-weight babies’ was added as a beneficiary group, along with the intervention of ‘eating right’ and the institutional provision of digital monitoring of anaemia.
On paper, it looks like India’s battle with anaemia has intensified with time. As reported by NFHS-4 & NFHS-5 (2019-21), anaemia continues to affect more than half of Indian women, adolescent girls and children (aged 6-59 months). India registered a decrease in anaemia percentage between NFHS-3 (2005-06) and NFHS-4. However, NFHS-5 data registered an increase in anaemia prevalence across demographics. The most recent survey, NFHS-6 (2023-24), excluded anaemia from the list of parameters measured, owing to concerns about the testing methodology.
It might be time for India to look beyond the plate to find answers for its anaemia conundrums.
A 2022 research paper on the challenges faced by India in combating anaemia aptly summarises the state of affairs: “Over 50 years of national policy on anaemia can be best described as shooting shadows, with overemphasis on food fortification and IFA supplementation and little heed to the complexity surrounding the incidence of anaemia.”
It might be time for India to look beyond the plate to find answers for its anaemia conundrums.
Also read: The meagre morsels swallowed by Assam’s tea workers
“Anaemia is a complex public-health problem and cannot be attributed to a single factor,” says Dr. Sagnik Dey, Professor, Centre for Atmospheric Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi. Dey is also one of the co-authors of the air pollution and anaemia study. “Nutritional deficiencies, infections, sanitation, socioeconomic conditions, and other factors all contribute to its prevalence. Environmental exposures may represent an additional risk pathway, and therefore they need to be considered alongside these established determinants,” he explains.
Anaemia prevalence increased with higher AQI even within the same AQI category, highlighting the need for a more nuanced look at air quality communication and associated health risks.
While the authors in the paper highlight that the mechanism by which air pollution impacts anaemia is not clear, chronic inflammatory responses due to pollution exposure may have a role to play. It is well-established that during inflammation, the body pushes resources to manage it–RBC production is slowed down and iron availability is restricted in response, leading to an anaemic state. Dey and other researchers also found that anaemia prevalence increased with higher AQI even within the same AQI category, highlighting the need for a more nuanced look at air quality communication and associated health risks.
The impacts of air pollution on anaemia have gained some attention. Another research study conducted by the International Institute for Population Sciences, Mumbai, reveals the links between desertification and land degradation and anaemia prevalence across 75 districts in India. The study found that 56.2% of women aged 15-49 in desertified districts and 49.8% in degraded districts across India were anaemic. Similar results were also observed for children aged 6-59 months (61.7% in desertified districts and 41.8% in degraded districts), highlighting an association between land desertification/degradation and anaemia.
“Environmental factors receive little attention in anaemia policy. Our own findings make that gap hard to ignore. Across 75 drought-prone districts, we found that desertification and land degradation were themselves significant, independent predictors of anaemia,” shares Dr. Sayeed Unisa, who is currently a Professor and ICSSR Senior Fellow at the School of Public Health, DY Patil University, Mumbai. Unisa is a co-author of the land degradation study.
India's anaemia strategy remains almost entirely a health ministry conversation: IFA supplementation and dietary counselling, while land degradation sits with the agriculture and environment ministries.
“India's anaemia strategy remains almost entirely a health ministry conversation: IFA supplementation and dietary counselling, while land degradation sits with the agriculture and environment ministries,” she adds. “The two rarely meet in policy design, largely because the causal chain is indirect: degraded land drives poverty, poor sanitation, reliance on firewood, and heavier workloads for women fetching water and fuel, and it's these downstream effects, not the land itself, that get measured and targeted.”
For vulnerable populations, like the indigenous communities of India, the interactions with their immediate environments also play a crucial role in the onset of anaemia, as highlighted by the Chiguru Cohort Study. A multidisciplinary study initiated by various research institutions in Karnataka, the Chiguru Cohort primarily aims to understand the impacts of substance use on child growth and development in the indigenous communities of Karnataka’s Chamarajanagar district. However, both maternal health and women’s health parameters are also being monitored in the study.
In a policy brief published as part of the study, researchers highlight that addressing anaemia in these regions requires aligning relevant programmes with the “geographical realities of forest peripheries.” The brief explains that the remote location of these communities adds challenges such as access to healthcare and anaemia outreach programmes. Another study from the cohort also emphasises the role of culturally appropriate dietary diversity in improving anaemia rates among the community. This includes encouraging and supporting the foraging and cultivation of green leaves such as drumstick, colocasia and amaranthus, as well as wild legumes that are widely consumed by the community members. Additionally, the policy brief and other research articles also highlight the patchy implementation of the Forest Rights Act (FRA), 2006, as an impediment to indigenous communities’ access to forest resources.
Also read: Mess on my plate: India’s students are fixing their college diets
Considering the growing evidence on how environmental factors impact anaemia, Dr. Suparna Ghosh-Jerath, programme Head–Nutrition and Food Policy, The George Institute for Global Health, New Delhi, states that a comprehensive assessment of anaemia is vital as we move forward.
Ghosh-Jerath explains that the AMB, with its ‘Test, Treat, Talk and Track’ approach, recognises the multifactorial aetiology (study of all causes and origins) of anaemia and includes strategies for screening, treatment, management of non-nutritional causes, deworming and behaviour change. However, the very scale of implementation often makes the programme uniform across diverse contexts.
“Further gains will therefore require a context-specific, localised, and data-driven approach that will assess the relative contribution of factors such as where the affected population lives, how food in the region is cultivated/consumed, prevalence of chronic infection, inflammation or genetic haemoglobin disorder, and the presence or absence of water security and other environmental, socio-economic stressors,” she adds. “All these will aid in a contextual understanding of anaemia and allocation of resources towards the most relevant determinants of anaemia in specific populations and geographies.”
With the Chiguru study, the researchers found that the prevalence of anaemia was 60% among reproductive women in the region, as opposed to the 46% stated in NFHS-5 data for Chamarajangaar district. While testing methodologies varied between the two analyses, the Chiguru study was able to place these findings in the context of forest-dependent communities for a better understanding of the disorder.
While these frameworks are being built, the researchers also call for some immediate intervention and policy measures to address the high rate of anaemia in Indian populations. Both Ghosh-Jerath and Unisa point to the overlaps between anaemia, soil health, and water security to establish preventive measures.
Bundling iron-folic acid supplementation with watershed and drinking-water schemes in these specific 75 districts would address cause and consequence simultaneously.
“Soil and water conservation works directly on the same pathway that produces anaemia in degraded/desertified districts—poor drinking water, poor sanitation and poor food security. Bundling iron-folic acid supplementation with watershed and drinking-water schemes in these specific 75 districts would address cause and consequence simultaneously,” shares Unisa.
Dey stresses the need for interventions that focus on reducing exposure to major environmental sources of indoor and outdoor pollution and integrating these measures with existing anaemia control programmes. “From a research perspective, we also need better longitudinal studies to understand the biological mechanisms through which environmental exposures may contribute to anaemia,” he adds.
Ghosh-Jerath adds that the bottom line is examining the multifactorial aetiology of anaemia through a cross-sectoral lens. “Anaemia may not be solely approached as a nutrition problem. Only food and nutritional supplements may not solve it,” she says.
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In Andhra Pradesh’s Parvathipuram Manyam district, change is afoot. Farmer Arika Ramesh no longer sees his one-acre holding in Kariguda village as a mere cotton field. Foxtail millet, little millet, sorghum, okra, maize and beans punctuate the cotton crop. Horse gram, red gram and black gram fill the spaces between rows. Along the borders, ridge gourd, bitter gourd and bottle gourd climb over supports, while marigolds grow near the fences.
Until three years ago, the same field had little crop diversity. Ramesh, 42, who belongs to the Savara tribal community, was accustomed to growing Bt cotton as a monocrop. Initially, his harvest was seven quintals per acre, but over time, the yield fell while spending on fertilisers and pesticides only increased. “The soil began to feel hard and tight under our feet,” he recalls. “Earlier, it was soft and loose. We were spending more, and harvesting less.”
With the inputs tied to one crop and one buyer, there was little room to plant anything else on the field.
The problem at hand was larger than Bt cotton. For a family growing one crop on rainfed land, a weak harvest meant having no option but to buy more food from the market. Like many farmers in the area, Ramesh sourced his Bt cotton seed and chemical inputs from local dealers and traders, on the condition that he sold his harvest back to them. With the inputs tied to one crop and one buyer, there was little room to plant anything else on the field.
In 2023, Ramesh began changing the way he farmed: cotton was no longer monocropped. Its harvest dwindled to five quintals an acre, against the six to seven quintals in earlier years. But none of these are choices that the farmer mourns or plans to reverse.
Since 2023, roughly a hundred farmers in Bhamini Mandal block, many of whom belong to the Savara community, have adopted diversified organic cotton farming techniques, marking a shift from genetically modified seeds, chemical inputs and a dominant cash crop in the region. As part of a project undertaken by a resource support organisation and a national bank’s Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) arm, Ramesh was among the farmers chosen, and his three-decade-old field was developed as a demonstration farm so that his peers could observe and learn about the underlying approach.
Biddika Lokanadam, a community resource person who works in the Maniga, Bhamini and Burujola panchayats, observed that farmers were more willing to experiment after seeing the results of the approach on another’s field. “When they see different crops growing together, they understand that the field can give them more than one harvest,” Lokanadam, 36, says of farmers accustomed to monocropping. A resident of Boddaguda village, he switched to the diversified organic cotton and encouraged others to adopt the same model. “We saw that the cotton balls were fuller. We also saw honeybees around the farm,” says farmer Biddika Roja (37), who witnessed the demonstrations. “We realised that if we take care of the soil, the soil will take care of our crops.”
With millets and pulses feeding families like Roja’s and Lokanadam’s, the reliance on market produce decreased, vegetables could be eaten fresh, and any surplus could even be sold locally, incrementally adding to household incomes.
The reliance on market produce decreased, vegetables could be eaten fresh, and any surplus could even be sold locally, incrementally adding to household incomes.
For Arika Ramesh, the first, most crucial step was restoring the field. Having reduced his dependence on fertilisers and pesticides, he employed compost, crop residues, and farmyard manure instead, as well as organic preparations such as Jeevamrutha and Ghana Jeevamrutha. (Jeevamrutha is a fermented liquid preparation made with cow dung, cow urine and locally available ingredients such as pulse flour and jaggery. Ghana Jeevamrutha is its concentrated solid form.) Both are used to improve soil fertility, promote root growth, and enhance the soil’s water retention.
The transformation was slow. “Under natural farming methods, you have to keep feeding the soil and wait for it to recover… At the start we did not see much change. It took us nearly two years to return the soil to its former state,” Ramesh says. Planting a diversity of crops was part of the prescribed recovery process. Unlike a field with bare soil between rows of a single crop, the intercrops keep much of the ground covered. Their leaves and stems shade the soil, reducing direct exposure to the sun, and helping slow down moisture loss. The cover also reduces the amount of heat that would otherwise scorch the soil’s surface during periods of hot weather.
After harvesting, crop residues are left behind on the field where possible. They gradually break down and add organic matter to the soil, providing nutrients to the next crop. When used in combination with compost and farmyard manure, this helps improve soil structure and fertility.
This intercropping system is based on symbiotic relationships between different crops, and reduces the need for chemical inputs.
Then came the signs Ramesh could see and feel. “Slowly, the soil turned softer and began to hold moisture better. We saw earthworms again!” He picks up a handful, observing its porosity and the way it crumbles in his hand. “The soil is alive again,” he rejoices.
The pulses and other legumes growing alongside the cotton contribute in another way: through their association with soil bacteria, the rhizobia bacteria in their roots fix atmospheric nitrogen and contribute to nutrient cycling within the cropping system. Their dense foliage also helps cover the soil and can suppress weed growth. “This intercropping system is based on symbiotic relationships between different crops,” says K. Ratnakumari, Assistant Director of the Department of Agriculture in the Palakonda Division (in the same district). “It reduces the need for chemical inputs and helps maintain a healthier soil ecosystem.”
Also read: Why Akkadi Salu, an ancient practice of intercropping ragi, deserves a comeback
During the six-month cotton cycle (June to December), Ramesh earns approximately Rs. 20,000 to Rs. 25,000 from surplus intercrops. His wife, Sarojini, has noticed this change most clearly in her monthly budget. “Earlier, we’d reserved funds up to Rs. 1,000 so that we could vegetables on a weekly basis,” she says. “Now I just walk onto the field and pick what we need. The vegetables are fresh, and better yet, they come straight from our own soil.” During the months when the vegetables are in season, Ramesh’s household saves roughly Rs. 2,800 to Rs. 4,000 a month.
This is a far cry from the past, when the entire family’s well-being was tied to one crop. “Previously, cotton was everything to us. It was like white gold. If the cotton did well, we earned, but if it failed, we were staring in the face of a financial crisis.”
The amounts may be modest in comparison to earnings from cotton farming, but the impact they have the lives of women is substantial.
Crop diversification is changing who stands to benefit from the field, too. Women have traditionally undertaken much of the farm labour, while men have enjoyed privileges such as taking decisions about seeds, purchasing inputs, and finally, the sale of the harvested cotton. Today, women are gaining greater control over the earnings in their families. Roja, for instance, has become a familiar, successful presence at the local weekly market. In the 2025 kharif season, she earned about Rs. 16,000 from her sale of vegetables, and another Rs 4,500 from pulses. “I used to depend on my husband for money, but now, I have my own income. I can spend it on household expenses and other needs without having to ask anyone,” she says. The amounts may be modest in comparison to earnings from cotton farming, but the impact they have the lives of women is substantial.
Also read: Tomato truths: Seed saving is serious business
The shift from chemical-based monocropping to diversified intercropping is transforming how some farmers perceive and experience their labour. “After working in the cotton field, my skin would itch and burn,” Kadraka Samvayya says. A 58-year-old resident of Palavalasa village, he now opts for natural solutions and feels more assured about his health and safety.
His experience is echoed among other cotton growers. In a 2005 study of cotton-farming households in three Indian villages, 83.6% of the 323 pesticide exposures recorded were followed by symptoms of poisoning, from mild to severe. The women who mixed the chemicals and refilled spray tanks were as much at risk as those spraying.
In present times, farmers like Samvayya are using leaf-based pest repellents such as Neemastra, which is made by fermenting neem leaves with cow urine, cow dung and water. Such tonics and pastes are prepared locally rather than being purchased from dealers. Similarly, Kashayam--a low-cost herbal input used in natural farming--is made by mixing leaves from 10 plant varieties, including neem, custard apple, castor, papaya, and mango, with cow urine, cow dung, turmeric, ginger and garlic paste.
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Farmer Biddika Somayya, a resident of Kariguda, attests to seeing fewer pests on his farm. “Earlier, we saw many bollworms, especially pink bollworms, but their numbers reduced drastically after we adopted organic techniques and used Neemastra and Kashayam. We have also observed that intercropping helps reduce pest infestations in cotton,” the 42-year-old says.
These changes do not imply that cotton has disappeared from the local farming system. Instead, its role is being altered.
Whether this approach can gain wider acceptance depends on more factors than individual farmers’ interest and initiative. “Access to suitable non-Genetically Modified (GM) cotton seeds remains a major challenge,” says Uday Kumar Nagubandi, Programme Manager for Sustainable Seed Systems at the Centre for Sustainable Agriculture, Hyderabad. Bt cotton seed, he explains, is only a phone call away: local dealers deliver it to the farmer's door, often along with fertilisers and pesticides. No such form of access exists for non-GM seeds.
Obtaining organic certification can also be difficult for small farmers when the costs have to be borne individually.
More than 96% of India's cotton area is under Bt cotton, the Union Agriculture Ministry told Parliament in 2024. Farmers who want to move away from it must turn to traditional, locally-adapted varieties. These are often better suited to local soils and rainfall, but with the market being taken over by Bt cotton, they are hard to find in the quantities farmers need. Markets pose another challenge: organic production does not automatically fetch a higher price, particularly when farmers sell several different crops in small quantities. “Farmers need buyers who recognise the value of their produce,” Nagubandi says. Obtaining organic certification can also be difficult for small farmers when the costs have to be borne individually.
For farmers like Arika Ramesh, the challenge now is to keep crop diversification viable through the seasons, amid pressure to return to a single crop that has a pre-established market. Cotton still anchors the farm economy, but its success is increasingly tied to what grows around it and what the soil it is growing in can support. For now, Ramesh remains undeterred. On his field, cotton and food compete less for space, instead growing in a unified farming system.
The aforementioned project on diversified cotton intercropping was undertaken by the Watershed Support Services and Activities Network (WASSAN), in collaboration with HDFC Parivartan. The author is a consultant with WASSAN.
Also read: This women-run milk co-operative transformed a Kumaon village
Edited by Anushka Mukherjee and Neerja Deodhar
Editor's Note: The planet we inherited as children is not the planet we will someday bid goodbye to. The orchestral call of cicadas in the evenings, the coinciding arrival of the monsoon with the start of the school year, and the predictability of natural cycles—things we thought to be unchanging are now at risk. An altered climate, declining biodiversity and warming oceans aren’t distant realities presented in news headlines; they affect us all in seen and unseen ways. In ‘Converging Currents’, marine conservationist and science communicator Phalguni Ranjan explores how the fine threads connecting people and nature are transforming with a changing planet.
There is something very mystical yet mathematically clean about a carbon credit.
Your company emits one metric tonne of carbon dioxide here. Somewhere else, on a different continent, a project claims to prevent, reduce, or remove one tonne. That reduction/removal is measured, verified and issued as a carbon credit, which is then bought and used to offset emissions elsewhere. And the equation is treated as balanced.
But did that reduction/removal really take place? Who checked it? Would it have happened naturally anyway? If the reduction occurred in a forest in India while emissions came from a factory two continents away, who is accountable?
As carbon markets move from a niche mechanism into global climate policy, these questions become critical.
Frameworks and guidelines aside, a carbon credit is only as credible as the claimed reduction behind it: genuinely additional, accurately measured, and not double-counted.
By 2025, 80 emissions trading systems (ETSs) and taxes had been implemented globally, covering 28% of global emissions through a direct carbon pricing mechanism. When the EU launched its ETS (a global first) in 2005, this number hovered at 5%. Even as carbon credit prices dipped last year, entities were willing to pay more for removal to meet year-end compliance goals. The World Bank estimated that over half of global emissions from the power sector and almost half from industries now face a direct carbon price. Reportedly, a carbon credit in 2026 can average €25 to €80 per tonne (roughly ₹2,500 to ₹8,500 per tonne), depending on the type of project and location.
Recent debates are increasingly about whether traded credits even represent real climate benefits. Article 6 of the Paris Agreement provides a framework for international cooperation to facilitate climate action and mobilise finance, including for developing countries. Subsequent sub-articles govern internationally transferred mitigation outcomes and establish the UN crediting mechanism. But, frameworks and guidelines aside, a carbon credit is only as credible as the claimed reduction behind it: genuinely additional, accurately measured, and not double-counted.
For this system to work, a tonne of carbon is taken as a theoretical unit. To issue a credit, a project must establish the quantity of emissions that would have occurred without it. The difference between this hypothetical baseline and the emissions from the project is used to calculate the reduction, for which credits may be issued.
But we can never observe both realities: a world in which the project did not happen, alongside one where it did. We can only estimate or model the former, which makes assumptions and calculations critical here.
This is where additionality becomes important: did this carbon-saving happen because of the project, or would it have happened anyway? Imagine a factory planning to install cleaner technology. If it does so regardless of carbon-credit money, a credit is not creating any climate benefits in this case. However, if the money from credits is what enables or makes the factory switch to cleaner tech, then that reduction may be additional.
A carbon market puts a financial value on greenhouse gas emissions, but buying a credit does not physically erase the buyer’s emissions
There are also two concepts here: a credit and an offset. A carbon credit is a tradable accounting unit representing one tonne of CO₂-equivalent emissions reduced, avoided, or removed. When that credit is ‘retired’ or used to compensate for emissions elsewhere, that’s an offset. Offset-oriented projects can include landfill methane capture, renewable energy, forest conservation, improved cooking technologies and engineered carbon removal.
A carbon market puts a financial value on greenhouse gas emissions, but buying a credit does not physically erase the buyer’s emissions; it offsets it elsewhere to reach a net zero in tally.
Also read: Life with plastic, not all fantastic: The paradox of a transformative material
A 2024 analysis covering one-fifth of the credit volume issued until then (about 1 billion tonnes of CO₂e) found that less than 16% of those credits represented genuine emissions reductions. Even the verification system has a built-in weakness: project developers themselves select and pay the auditors who verify their credits. A 2025 study found that 64% of a prominent carbon credit registry’s certified auditors had been involved in problematic projects where over-crediting had been acknowledged by them, or identified by peer-reviewed research. A different 2026 analysis of 44 REDD+ (Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Degradation) projects found that the projects had reduced deforestation, but claimed avoided deforestation was 10.7 times higher than independent evaluations supported. Further, a 2024 study conducted by the University of Pennsylvania examined 51 cookstove projects (to replace firewood stoves with clean-burning stoves) across 25 countries (~40% of all issued credits from cookstove methodologies as of 2023), and found that they had been over-credited, receiving roughly 9.2 times more credits than the actual emissions reductions justified.
A project can have meaningful impact on the ground and still generate (or sell) more carbon credits than it actually saves
It is not that carbon projects are ineffective; it’s much more nuanced than that. A project can have meaningful impact on the ground and still generate (or sell) more carbon credits than it actually saves, if the modelling, baselines, and assumptions aren’t robust.
There are also examples where projects have benefitted communities through incoming revenue. The World Bank documents a list of such projects from across Africa where initiatives including recycling, agriculture, biodiversity conservation, REDD+, carbon tax, and solid waste management have provided tangible community benefits while generating credits. Costa Rica, a leader in carbon markets, has established strong benefit-sharing policies so that a measurable part of the revenue from credits reaches local communities.
There are inherent weaknesses in any model. Carbon stored in forests can be released by fire, logging, or degradation, undoing achieved carbon removals, creating a problem called non-permanence, while the same reduction could be counted more than once (double-counting). Emissions can also shift elsewhere through leakage, for example, restoring and protecting one patch of the forest might shift deforestation activities to another part. Cookstoves (vs wood fires) can deliver genuine benefits by reducing household air pollution, fossil-fuel use, and pressure on forests. But benefits depend on what fuel households would otherwise have used, whether the new stove is used, how often, and whether old stoves remain in use.
The UN’s Article 6.4 mechanism, originally drafted in 2015, has been revised over the years to introduce standards addressing additionality, baselines, leakage, validation and verification, while 2025 rules specifically address non-permanence and reversals. A dedicated mechanism registry is also being established to track Article 6.4 units.
Also read: Fish and seasonality: How year-round demand and extraction hurt our seas
There are two types of credits: credits for carbon removal, and credits for emission reduction/avoidance. A company can replace fossil fuels and redesign its production processes to reduce emissions, or it can continue emitting but keep buying credits. Those are not equivalent forms of climate action, and this is where accountability comes in.
Carbon removals are complementary mechanisms, not justification for continuing emissions that could have been reduced in the first place. Offsetting does not change the fact that an industry released CO₂. What matters is whether it was avoidable, or mitigated, or whether a credit was an easier way out than re-examining industrial processes.
There is no ‘undo’ button in nature. It makes sense to avoid, reduce, and substitute where possible, and compensate only for genuinely residual emissions.
The IPCC Sixth Assessment Report clearly states, “In addition to deep, rapid, and sustained emission reductions carbon dioxide removal (CDR) can fulfil three different complementary roles globally or at country level: lowering net CO2 or net GHG emissions in the near term; counterbalancing ‘hard-to-abate’ residual emissions...in the mid-term; and achieving net negative CO2 or GHG emissions in the long term…”.
There is no ‘undo’ button in nature. It makes sense to avoid, reduce, and substitute where possible, and compensate only for genuinely residual emissions.
Carbon markets are being presented as a potentially lucrative new source of finance for the Global South: least-developed countries could generate substantial mitigation from land-based projects, attracting private capital that would then fund conservation, agriculture, and rural development.
It sounds attractive. Countries could turn their capacity to store or avoid emissions into a tradable economic asset. But revenues reaching countries and communities are modest compared to bilateral development aid, and baseline amounts required to meet SDGs. Emerging credit-generating infrastructure and land are in the Global South, while credits are ultimately bought by companies in wealthier, higher-emitting countries. There is also an emerging, increasingly murky scenario of unclear and ambiguous benefit-sharing with local communities.
Does selling credits leave developing countries enough room to meet their own climate goals while still pursuing development?
So, who gets that money? Who controls and benefits from the land and project? Does selling credits leave developing countries enough room to meet their own climate goals while still pursuing development?
Projects in developing countries can be cheaper because land, labour, and infrastructure may be cheaper, and these countries could use this investment for cleaner infrastructure and sustainable development. Carbon markets can transfer finance across borders, but the arrangement creates a difficult asymmetry. Without strong benefit-sharing, ownership and accountability rules, they risk becoming another market in which value is extracted from here and benefits are claimed elsewhere. This can reproduce an old imbalance in a new form: the Global South supplies the land, labour, and monitoring, while intermediaries capture a substantial share of the value, and the buyer gets the emissions-reduction claim.
India is becoming both a destination for carbon projects, and a carbon market.
The Indian government’s Carbon Credit Trading Scheme is a domestic compliance and offset mechanism, which, officially, has been “notified with the objective of reducing, removing, or avoiding greenhouse gas emissions from the Indian economy by pricing such emissions through the trading of Carbon Credit Certificates (CCC)”.
India currently has about 50 active carbon farming projects, but a strategy presented as a win-win for farmers might have different ground realities.
India's market is still at an early stage, but the Bureau of Energy Efficiency has approved methodologies covering renewable electricity, hydrogen, industrial energy efficiency, landfill methane, livestock methane and mangrove restoration, among others. India's Carbon Credit Trading Scheme (CCTS) has notified 490 entities across seven energy-intensive sectors and assigned greenhouse-gas intensity targets, but Carbon Credit Certificates are yet to be issued.
Meanwhile, the country already has extensive experience with voluntary carbon projects where accountability and transparency become greyer, as those projects do not fall under the regulatory framework of governments.
India currently has about 50 active carbon farming projects, but a strategy presented as a win-win for farmers might have different ground realities. In a 2024 study examining 841 farmers involved in carbon credit projects across seven villages in Haryana and Madhya Pradesh, researchers found that women (4%), small farmers, and marginalised communities were grossly underrepresented. 99% had not received monetary benefits from carbon credits. Some of the agricultural practices being credited also pre-dated the carbon projects, raising additionality concerns.
Then there is the matter of farmers’ benefits: a 2025 study of 500 farmers in Karnataka found financial transparency was the weakest dimension of trust in carbon-credit projects, highlighting concerns around receiving promised revenues.
Additionally, another study of a forest carbon project in Haryana found that participating households, particularly small and marginal farmers, experienced livelihood losses from restrictions on land use, delayed benefits, and foregone benefits from crop, fodder, and fuelwood. Safety nets to mitigate these risks were largely absent.
Also read: In an age of food abundance, why does ‘hidden hunger’ hold India back?
A carbon project can deliver a genuine climate benefit and support action that might otherwise struggle to attract capital, and there are examples of that. A genuinely additional, high-integrity project would reduce emissions, protect ecosystems and/or deliver social benefits while directing private capital toward mitigation.
Is one credit a moral sanction for high-emission behaviour? What happens when paying for a reduction elsewhere becomes easier than reducing emissions at source?
A credible carbon project requires conservative baselines, demonstrable additionality, transparent monitoring, independent verification, protection against weaknesses, safeguards against double counting, and meaningful benefits for the people living where projects operate: the ten core carbon principles of the Integrity Council for the Voluntary Carbon Market (ICVCM).
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We live in a world where industries continue emitting while buying carbon credits; people take multiple private jet trips and buy credits without optimising flights; and countries with historically high emissions finance mitigation in ‘poorer’ countries to count towards their own climate claims.
I’m not sure any of us really imagined this to be an aspect of globalisation.
Is one credit a moral sanction for high-emission behaviour? What happens when paying for a reduction elsewhere becomes easier than reducing emissions at source?
Carbon markets are not inherently useless, but they are still flawed. They’re not magical emission erasers, or a ‘tax’ that lets big players turn a blind eye. Neither are credits a band-aid for the planet, nor an assurance to stop holding them accountable.
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Across India, stakeholders in the food and beverage industry are on their toes in a scenario that has arrived with little notice. The Food Safety and Standards Authority of India (FSSAI), the government body responsible for regulating the production, distribution, storage and sale of food, has been knocking at the doors of businesses, such as e-commerce platforms, to hold them accountable to the rulebook that defines the quality of food in the country. Its series of crackdowns on warehouses have led to the discovery of glaring violations of hygiene basics and other mandated standards to safeguard the health of consumers.
The raids, led by food safety inspectors, have been relentless and unsparing in going after all kinds of establishments. Here are the most noteworthy actions taken by the authority thus far:
When FSSAI officials raided an instant noodles manufacturer’s facility in Rajasthan, they found broken noodles discarded on the factory floor being repurposed for the making of bhujia, a fried snack. The broken noodles were reportedly not subjected to heat treatments necessary to ensure that they were safe for reuse. In addition to violations of hygiene standards, the FSSAI raid also found evidence that the brand was allegedly producing its bhujia variants without requisite licenses. The inspectors revealed that 1925 boxes of expired goods were found at the factory. The brand has now been prohibited from manufacturing certain snacks.
The food regulator issued orders to two leading spice brands, prohibiting them from manufacturing compounded asafoetida—hing as it is commonly known in India—on the grounds that the samples were reportedly ‘sub-standard’ and in contravention of provisions under the Food Safety and Standards (Food Products and Food Additives) Regulations, 2011. Raw hing, on its own, has an overpowering smell and flavour. A pinch of the compounded version, a powdered blend of asafoetida with gum arabic as a binding agent and edible flour to reduce pungency, is suitable for cooking.
Food safety rules mandate that compounded asafoetida must contain a minimum addition of raw hing to prevent dilution. In the notice issued to one of the brands, the FSSAI said that the presence of Alcohol Soluble Extract was 0% as opposed to the prescribed standard of not less than 5%. The alleged violation in the case of another brand manufacturing asafoetida was that the samples were found to contain ‘excess starch’.
Analogue paneer, a non-dairy product made using vegetable oils, emulsifiers and starches as substitutes for milk solids, has been the subject of authorities’ and the public’s ire for two years now. Food business operators have been found using this as a replacement for authentic paneer, which is entirely composed of dairy. The practice of using analogue or ‘synthetic’ alternatives, which resembles paneer in its texture and appearance but is nowhere close to its nutritional value, has widely drawn censure for misleading consumers.
On 22 September, the FSSAI issued a draft amendment to the FSS Regulations, 2011 “to restrict manufacturing and sale of analogue product as paneer”. If this regulation comes into force, products which are already licensed under “Analogue in Dairy Context” (they replace milk constituents partly or entirely with non-dairy ingredients) will have to discontinue using the word ‘paneer’ in their labeling and marketing.
Also read: Is the paneer on your plate real?
The Indian consumer is familiar with catchwords such as ‘100% pure’ being liberally used in the advertising of food products. Brands have declared themselves ‘organic’ or ‘natural’ without facing any interrogation of such claims. This has not been the order of the day in recent weeks. The FSSAI issued an order to a major brand demanding the withdrawal of products marketed with ‘misleading 100% claims’. Absolutist assertions of being ‘100% pure’ or ‘100% tender’ cannot be verified and only serve as a bait to draw in buyers, who are led to believe that they are making choices centering their health.
Also read: Ultra-processed foods are reshaping our diets. Should we be worried?
The Supreme Court is presiding over a public interest litigation that demands front-of-pack labelling (FOPL)—prominently displayed labels on the front of food packs, to enable consumers to make informed choices in purchasing packaged food products.
In an affidavit submitted before the court, the food regulator has proposed displaying a red hexagon with a white background on the front of packaged food containing salt, added sugar, and added fats beyond the recommended levels. Under the proposed system, a product will be obliged to carry this label if any one nutrient of concern exceeds the prescribed limit. The FSSAI has suggested a transition period of one year for brands to bring their packaging protocol in line with the new rules. The court has reserved its verdict on the proposed plan.
Also read: Fine print nation: Do nutrition labels meaningfully inform Indian consumers?
Five online e-commerce/instant delivery apps have come under the FSSAI’s radar over propagation of “misleading claims”. The action pertained to the display of ‘non-compliant product information’on dates and dairy products. This is not the first time that an e-commerce platform has been at the receiving end of the food regulator’s scrutiny. In July, following several consumer complaints, the FSSAI issued nine notices to a quick commerce app for delivering expired and contaminated food products. According to the food regulator, one complaint pointed out that the app allegedly did not do anything beyond issuing a refund when concerns regarding food quality were raised.
The new vigour of enforcing a safer food consumption culture is also making its way to the doorsteps of schools. The FSSAI has proposed the restriction of sales of foods high in salt, sugar and fats within a 50 metre-radius of schools, in a move meant to encourage healthy eating habits among children. If implemented, the rules will not just affect small retailers and food vendors in the vicinity of campuses, but will also impact major brands which produce chips, soft drinks and other junk foods that have a pull on children. The proposal is part of the food regulator’s larger ‘Eat Right’ campaign, aimed at inculcating nutrition-centric consumption behaviour from a young age.
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Artwork by Alia Sinha
Nutrition is often framed as a result of individual choices: eating a balanced meal, consuming more protein-rich food, including more leafy vegetables in one’s diet. But in many societies, including India, the presence of a particular food item in a household does not necessarily mean that every family member has equal access to it. Gender, age and one’s position in the household often determine who eats first, who is served larger portions, and who is expected to sacrifice when food is scarce.
Women frequently eat after other family members, satiate their appetite with leftovers, or reduce their intake so that children and other male relatives have enough to eat—treating their own needs as an afterthought. Women who eat well, demand one more serving, and don’t willingly sacrifice are seen through a lens of shame, making nutritional availability a gendered issue. Worse still, owing to prevalent social/religious beliefs, a menstruating family member may be forbidden from consuming certain nutrient-rich foods, such as eggs. Demanding dietary improvements from women proves futile when the food on their plate is beyond their control.
Demanding dietary improvements from women proves futile when the food on their plate is beyond their control.
The human body is not immune to the impacts of such everyday adjustments and sacrifices. “Nutrition also depends on whether you are having your meals at the right time, in the right quantities, and the way you’re having them—if you’re eating too fast, if you’re having very little of everything, or eating something that barely qualifies as a meal,” says Dr. Kaavya Sreedhar, a Gurgaon-based gynaecologist, currently practicing at Manipal Hospital. Consuming enough calories, in diets dominated by carbohydrates and fats, may not translate into a nutritious meal. When it comes to menstrual health, fullness or satiety is not a guarantee of positive outcomes—especially in urban contexts, where diets include inexpensive, energy-dense ultraprocessed foods, one can consume enough or more calories while still falling short on essential micronutrients.
UNICEF notes that poor nutrition among adolescent girls and women can have consequences across the course of life and contribute to intergenerational cycles of malnutrition. The National Family Health Survey-5 (2019-2021) found that around 57% of women aged 15-49 in India were anaemic, including 59.1% of those between 15-19 years. This reality is particularly harsh for adolescents, because puberty and menarche—the first menstrual cycle—are accompanied by rapid bodily growth and changes.
Also read: In an age of food abundance, why does 'hidden hunger' hold India back?
While the NFHS-6 (2023-24) shows a decrease in Body Mass Index (BMI), indicating a rise in malnutrition and undernutrition, the survey has excluded estimates of anaemia along with other significant population-level indicators, including mortality rates and sex ratio. Public health experts have raised concerns about anaemia’s omission, since the NFHS has, in the past, provided critical evidence to assess whether government interventions were effective in tackling iron deficiency. The government cites the inaccuracy of the finger-prick blood testing method used in previous surveys as a reason for the removal of the metric. In a response to Parliament in July this year, the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare said that the Indian Council of Medical Research (ICMR) will provide the replacement data based on blood samples sourced through the venous method (blood drawn from the veins), though it has not publicised a timeline/deadline.
The National Family Health Survey-5 (2019-2021) found that around 57% of women aged 15-49 in India were anaemic, including 59.1% of those between 15-19 years.
Various policies, including the Scheme for Adolescent Girls (SAG) and the Rashtriya Kishor Swasthya Karyakram (RKSK), have made considerable progress in improving menstrual hygiene and awareness. The nationwide Menstrual Hygiene Scheme focuses on increasing awareness, enhancing accessibility to sanitary napkins, and promoting sustainable disposal facilities among girls in the age group of 10-19, alongside educating and sensitising school teachers, Auxiliary Nurse Midwives (ANM), Accredited Social Health Activists (ASHA) and Anganwadi workers.
But nutrition becomes a loosely integrated thread within these policies, and this is not for a lack of focused schemes; India has extensive frameworks to address anaemia and malnutrition, including the Anaemia Mukt Bharat and the Weekly Iron Folic Acid Supplementation (WIFS) that has a special emphasis on the menstruating population. India has also successfully implemented programs like Integrated Child Development Services Scheme (ICDS) and Poshan Abhiyan to improve the nutritional goals of school-going children. However, there are no programs linking menstrual health and nutrition. Dr. Sreedhar observes, “Any kind of conversation about nutrition, in and around puberty or menstrual cycle, is completely absent.”
Most menstrual hygiene interventions at the government policy-level assign schools as the sites of action. This approach has made significant progress, but it also excludes girls who are out of school– those who work as child labourers, and those who drop out early due to poverty or early marriage. Dr. Arundati Muralidharan, co-founder of the think tank Menstrual Health Action for Impact (MHAi), explains: “The minute you are out of school, there is no menstrual health or hygiene intervention. For an adult woman, for the next 30 years of your menstruation, you don’t exist unless you are pregnant or have given birth. We fall out of the health system altogether.”
When household resources are limited, spending on menstrual products, healthcare or nutritious food tends to compete with other essential expenditures. According to NFHS-6 data, the percentage of Indian women in the age group of 15-24, who use ‘hygienic methods of protection’ during periods, has seen a minuscule rise from 77.6% to 79.2%. Food insecurity and menstrual health can reinforce one another as manifestations of existing socioeconomic gaps.
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India has come a long way in the context of menstrual hygiene, from rolling out a Menstrual Hygiene Scheme in 2011—making it one of the earliest countries to do so across the world—to declaring menstrual health and hygiene as a fundamental right this year. Despite being introduced as an all-inclusive policy, the Menstrual Hygiene Scheme has been limited in its scope and has not been further developed to accommodate the varied needs of the population. Most of these programs proceed to treat malnutrition through a diagnostic approach, which tests and treats the issue through supplements. This often ignores the fact that in India, food is something that is invisibly governed. Further, current awareness programs place the onus of nutritional responsibility on the menstruating individual rather than addressing systemic gaps.
According to Dr. Karan Babbar, who teaches Economics at the Xavier School of Management, Jamshedpur, “Indian policies have traditionally approached menstrual hygiene, adolescent health, maternal nutrition and anaemia through somewhat different programme structures. There is value in having specialised programmes, but the danger is that we end up with vertical programmes addressing interconnected problems separately.” Thus, envisioning conceptually complementary policies does not guarantee an integrated approach on the ground. These services ought to be presented as a package.
Most of these programs proceed to treat malnutrition through a diagnostic approach, which tests and treats the issue through supplements.
“A nutrition-sensitive menstrual health approach would recognise that the nutritional needs of a 12-year-old adolescent, a woman in her reproductive years, a pregnant woman and a woman approaching menopause are not identical,” adds Dr. Babbar, whose work lies at the intersection of gender, health and development.
Effective utilisation of the mid-day meal scheme in Anganwadis and schools, by catering to region-specific nutritional needs, can be an effective way to ensure these needs are met, says Dr. Muralidharan. However, this cannot be a substitute for household food security. She notes that nutritional levels can be tracked at the local level with the help of ASHA and Anganwadi workers. Local self-help groups, who are in constant touch with communities, are also helpful sources, as they are involved in grassroots-level implementation of health and nutrition schemes, especially in rural areas. However, it is unrealistic to depend on them to implement a coherent plan without allocating proper time, training, resources and adequate monetary incentives.
A nutrition-sensitive menstrual health approach would recognise that the nutritional needs of a 12-year-old adolescent, a woman in her reproductive years, a pregnant woman and a woman approaching menopause are not identical.
The most efficient way to tackle this issue is to bring together various departments, including Health and Family Welfare, Women and Child Development, and Food and Public Distribution. Until policy gaps are fixed, nutrition will continue to be an overlooked factor in the discussion on menstrual health.
Also read: Menopause: The seen and unseen toll on women's bodies
Cover Art by Pratik Bhide
Editor's Note: Urban farmer Simran Moorjani is the founder of Simbiosis, a regenerative farm on the outskirts of Mumbai, where she grows tomatoes and salad leaves while maintaining a symbiotic relationship with the land. In this column, she reflects on the realities of farming—sometimes with humour, sometimes with candour, always with curiosity.
It’s a known fact that to this day, we depend on plants for most of our needs. Yet we tend to confuse our needs—for food, oxygen, and healing—with the plants’ very existence. Even in school, when we learnt about “the role of plants”, their importance was explained keeping in mind their usefulness to us, the supposedly superior species!
Despite our self-centred worldview, and beyond the scope of domestication, the plants on this planet aren’t for us (we've reportedly tamed only 1% of them anyway). They happen to have been here far before us, and will be here long after us. Their purpose has never been to be an endless supply of oxygen for silly ’ole you. They happen to produce oxygen by virtue of simply existing.
I’ve often found myself wondering about this question of “purpose”, and I’m not alone in this endeavour; scientists like biologists have been studying it for centuries.
Despite our self-centred worldview, and beyond the scope of domestication, the plants on this planet aren’t for us.
From an evolutionary standpoint, the answer is: to survive, reproduce, and successfully pass on genes to the next generation. To grow each day, photosynthesise and produce food. To spread roots deep into the soil, in search for nutrients to grow healthier. To build a defence against pathogens, animals, and the environment. To flower, brightly and beautifully, to attract pollinators such as bees and butterflies.
Through these processes, the plant learns, adapts to its surroundings, and makes itself stronger so it can bear fruit. Inside that fruit lie seeds, carrying very specific genetic instructions coded with everything the plant has learnt during its lifespan. Its goal here is to disperse the seeds far and wide, hoping its successors have the best possible chance at taking its genes forward.
Almost exactly like humans, if you think about it.
In 2021, after a nourishing stint at Vrindavan Farm on Mumbai’s outskirts, I received my first batch of their tomatoes. Stuck at home during the COVID-19 lockdown, I was excited to hold fruited versions of the flowers I had last seen on the farm. With little to no wisdom about how tomato seeds are saved, I just plucked them from the fruit and dried them on toilet paper and saved them in a zip-lock packet for a few months, before I could plant them in the upcoming winter. To my surprise, they actually grew!
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Every season since, we’ve been saving the seeds of the tomatoes we grow, while adding some new ones from reliable sources to the mix. It was a really pleasant surprise to me this year when I laid all the seeds we are going to plant—over 50 varieties. I’ve watched them naturalise in my fields (learn to survive in a new environment), and gotten to know them better each year. With every season, my knowledge about them grows, and so does this little seed bank.
Every season since, we’ve been saving the seeds of the tomatoes we grow, while adding some new ones from reliable sources to the mix.
Though the process of saving seeds can be as simple as drying them on tissue paper like I first did, that’s not what we do at Simbiosis anymore. I found that there was a better way: fermentation.
Also read: Tomato Truths: With a little help from my friends
We begin by picking the right tomato to save. Yes, a mother isn’t supposed to choose from among her children, but we know there’s always a favourite. In our pragmatism, we pick the strongest, biggest, juiciest tomato we see. If you go for one that’s diseased or limp, there’s a chance that the plant born from it will yield the same diseases. Personally, I’ve noticed that the first to flower and fruit usually happen to have the best qualities. Through the fruiting season, tomatoes also tend to get smaller, so I prefer to set aside the first few for saving.
In our pragmatism, we pick the strongest, biggest, juiciest tomato we see. If you go for one that’s diseased or limp, there’s a chance that the plant born from it will yield the same diseases.
Now comes the fermentation: in any glass jar, squeeze the tomato so that the pulp falls in, mucilage and all. (This mucilage, the slippery, jelly-like layer surrounding the seed, serves a function, too—to stop the seed from germinating while inside the tomato.) Fill about half of the jar with water, cover its mouth with a tissue or cloth, and place it in a warm spot (but away from direct sunlight), where you can look at it every day.
We then let microbes do their magic: healthy, dense, fully-developed seeds sink to the bottom of the jar, while empty or dead seeds remain light and float to the top. The fermentation process also breaks down the mucilage completely. And finally, it creates an acidic environment that naturally sanitises the seeds, making them ideal for saving and banking.
It typically takes 3–4 days for the seed to separate from the pulp, after which they can be washed and strained using a sieve. The seeds can now be put to bed till you next need them, and their fate hereon depends on storing them correctly. I prefer to use waterproof environments (like zip-lock). Some farmers store seeds in wood ash, because it is hygroscopic (naturally moisture-absorbing) and acts like a DIY silica gel packet. It pulls excess dampness out of the air inside the storage container, keeping the seeds completely dry and preventing them from prematurely rotting or sprouting. The priority is keeping seeds away from heat and water, in whose presence most pathogens breed. I’ve seen some people store their seeds in their refrigerators as well; I simply keep them in a box under my bed.
Also read: Tomato Truths: To know your farmer is to know your food
In large-scale seed banks, seeds are stored in highly secure, climate-controlled repositories designed to preserve plant genetics for decades, or even centuries. The standard international temperature for long-term storage in vaults is -18°C, or about 0°F. At this sub-zero temperature, the seeds' metabolic activity slows down to a near-complete halt, effectively putting them into a state of suspended animation so they can remain viable for long periods.
Given Simbiosis’ scope and values, neither do I have the facility for such storage, nor the need for it. I aim to grow crops annually, and the dip in seed potency isn’t significant in tomatoes for the first couple of years, though a gradual decrease is visible even in the short term. I sometimes dip into an old packet of seeds, just to see what they’d grow to be!
Historically, seed saving preserved power in the hands of farmers, enabling them to be autonomous and self-reliant. Season after season, year after year, heirloom seeds were passed down from one generation to the next—an inheritance of its own kind. Seed exchanges or barters of produce between people in the same geography also fostered a sense of community. Some seeds have even been instrumental to beloved crops shaping a region and its inhabitants’ lives, like the San Marzano tomatoes of Italy’s Campania, or even the Ratnagiri alphonso mangoes closer home.
As vital as seeds are to the very first steps a farmer may take, they are being painted as an “inconvenience” to modern consumers. “Seedless fruits” have infiltrated the mainstream fruit and veggie market, with the promise of doing away with the tediousness of de-seeding. Yet, this is not merely about benefits to consumers. Corporate profitability is a big driver of seedless produce, especially when 3–4 big players now have control over more than half the world’s commercial seed supply. These players enter into exploitative relationships with farmers, forbidding them from seed saving and forcing them to buy new stores each year. What does this mean for the future of food and food security? And how will it change the ordinary farmer’s relationship to their fields?
As vital as seeds are to the very first steps a farmer may take, they are being painted as an “inconvenience” to modern consumers.
Ever since I grew my first batch of tomatoes, I learnt that their seeds admittedly require more TLC than other crops. Lady fingers, for example, dry in their fruiting bodies themselves; you have to just resist the urge to pluck them before they entirely dry out. So is also the case in most pulses and beans. Seeds for flowers are also pretty similar: the flower head is dried out, and what’s left in the central cluster is saved. Even if the seeds of the Marinda or cherry tomatoes I choose to grow require more care and work, they seem inextricable to me from my identity as a farmer. My collection of seeds feels like my IP, each one a little, living witness to my own growth.
Also read: Tomato Truths: Growing your own food is a radical, rewarding thing
Cover Art by Pearl D'Souza
Carousel Photographs by Simran Moorjani and G5A
Industrial pollution is destroying the Earth. But we aren't quite ready to ask brands, companies and conglomerates to quit. How else will we get our phones, clothes, and cars?
Alongside policies—half-hearted or genuine—to adopt eco-friendly alternatives in manufacturing and production, and worldwide appeals to simply consume less, there has been an attempt to negotiate between the demands of a modern life and the need for a clean environment. The deal that the world managed to strike, through the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, is one that we know as carbon credits.
Think of carbon credits as coupons. To earn these coupons, companies have to keep their emissions below the benchmark prescribed by their country’s government. They can then sell these coupons to companies that were not able to meet the benchmark. Thus, the premise of the carbon credit system is that high-polluting companies buy the permits for their excesses from their less polluting counterparts. In countries like the US and Brazil, this target sets a total emission limit for the industry as a whole. Countries like India, Indonesia, and China instead choose an efficiency-focused benchmark, where companies have to reduce the quantity of greenhouse gases they are emitting per unit of production.
But this only applies to industries where the government makes it a compliance requirement, i.e. the compulsory carbon market. In India, work towards it has begun, but trading will only commence in October 2026. Before it emerged a voluntary carbon market wherein companies can “offset” their polluting activities. Their motivation? Being able to claim they are “net zero” or “carbon neutral”. Many multinational companies also make proactive commitments towards such goals, and voluntary carbon markets help them fulfil these.
These credits can serve as a way to support India's large farming populations to transition to sustainable farming while increasing carbon sequestration and reducing greenhouse gases.
India is one of the largest voluntary carbon credit markets. One sector stands out, both because it has already seen high activity (adding up to 24% of all current projects), and because it has high potential for removing carbon from the atmosphere: agriculture, with sustainable practices having the capacity to sequester 85.5 Mt CO2 annually while enhancing rural incomes and engaging a large section of the economy.
Agricultural carbon markets hold a lot of promise if the regulatory system is set up properly. With India having more than 50 agricultural carbon credit projects currently, targeting 16.5 million hectares, it is emerging as a leader in the space, and deserves careful attention. These credits can serve as a way to support India's large farming populations to transition to sustainable farming while increasing carbon sequestration and reducing greenhouse gases. They are linked to specific projects, like agroforestry ventures, or implementing water conservation techniques. But what do these projects look like in practice, and what kind of future can they hold for our farmers?
To understand how this works on-ground, let us follow a hypothetical project. A project developer (sometimes an NGO, usually a start-up) decides to help farmers in West Bengal shift to an alternative technique to cultivate paddy: the wetting and drying method. Long-term flooding of paddy fields releases large quantities of methane. The wetting and drying method ensures that the fields are flooded for lesser time, hence reducing greenhouse gas emissions. This combination of geography, goal, and behavioural shift becomes the basis for planning out the project.
Certain independent certification bodies (notably Verra), set standards and methodologies to ensure that carbon credits are being awarded fairly. They outline what parameters to use to measure changes, how frequently to measure these parameters, how to report them, and the eligibility criteria that qualify it for credits. Each sustainable practice comes under an outlined methodology. For example, alternate wetting and drying comes under the VM0051 titled 'Improved Water Management in Rice Production Systems'.
The NGO designs the details of the project to align with the methodologies outlined by international standards. This design has to be approved by a third-party auditor before the project is officially registered with the standard. It's only after this that the NGO reaches out to farmers or farmer groups. They explain the process to the farmers: how it can benefit them, and how long it might take for the project to bear fruit (in the form of meaningfully reduced emissions)—usually anywhere between 3 and 5 years for agricultural projects.
Throughout this period, the NGO continues to be in touch with the farmers, measuring the changes in soil and emissions. How they maintain the records of these projects is critical, since the final audit of their documents and calculations determines if (and how many) carbon credits get issued. Issuance of credits is the equivalent of a product finally entering supermarket shelves, and much like these everyday products, credits sit among a plethora of options, ready for polluting bodies to purchase. Credits can only be purchased after they are issued, with companies or governments being the usual buyers.
Issuance of credits is the equivalent of a product finally entering supermarket shelves, and much like these everyday products, credits sit among a plethora of options, ready for polluting bodies to purchase.
Environmental and resource economist Dr. A. G. Adeeth Cariappa shares that of the 120+ agricultural carbon credit projects listed in India, only 4-5 projects (~3%) are issuing credits—a recent development, since they were issued only last December. The money that comes in is divided between the project developer and farmers. "Project developers are reporting that they will provide probably 50% of the gross revenue, or 70% of the net revenue to the farmers," says Dr. Cariappa.
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The supermarket analogy highlights much that is imperfect with the current carbon market. Farmers and project developers stick their necks out to reduce emissions or sequester carbon into the soil, only to become one among many options that a company can pick from. There is no guarantee that the credit is bought, and since it is not a product that expires, there's no way to tell when and if it will be bought either.
Cariappa shares that as per the surveys he was part of in 2023 and 2025, though a handful of farmers had been given advances, most farmers had not received any money. But he remains hopeful. "At that time, audits hadn't been done and sales were not happening. But this time, there are issuances, there are sales, and probably by the end of the year, we will have a better picture of if farmers have received the money or not."
Naturally, the farmer is more vulnerable than any other stakeholder in this scenario: they are the ones bearing the most risk—of yield, weather, markets and prices—by changing their practices. These risks can take the form of failed rains, pest attacks, delayed sowing, skyrocketing input prices, or fluctuations in the price that the grain commands. The compensation promised, if it comes, arrives after the hardest years have passed. Farmers often back out of projects precisely because this sort of support is unavailable.
The blame for these gaps in remuneration is usually placed squarely on project developers, especially if they are well-funded. It is their responsibility to plan for these payments not only out of fairness, but to ensure that their project sustains and yields results. But Cariappa, who has criticised project developers in the past, concedes that this might be an unfair burden to place on them.
Project developers are often start-ups putting their own funds or that of an investor into the project and waiting 3-5 years without any revenue. As far as carbon credits are concerned, farmers and project developers exist in a symbiotic relationship. Without farmers adopting the practices, there are no carbon credits and consequently no reason for the project developer to exist. But without the project developer or carbon market, the farmer has no chance at that additional income. How, then, can these projects receive funds when they most need it?
Also read: Plastic is key to food packaging. Who should bear its responsibility?
Cariappa outlines three possible routes that can be explored. First, securing investments from banks and non-banking financial companies (NBFCs). But he admits that the agricultural carbon markets are too nascent to draw in ready investors.
Naturally, the farmer is more vulnerable than any other stakeholder in this scenario: they are the ones bearing the most risk—of yield, weather, markets and prices—by changing their practices.
An emerging solution to this has been offtake agreements. Here, a company commits to purchasing credits at the outset of the project. The agreement becomes a guarantee against which funds can be raised. It also brings greater rigour into the implementation process, driven by the buyer's expectations.
Offtake agreements are the route with most activity in India right now, with the Varaha-Microsoft and the The Good Rice Alliance-Amazon agreements signed earlier this year; both being closely observed as emerging models in India's agricultural carbon markets.
Cariappa shares that buyers can also control other attributes of the project while entering the agreement, including how inclusive it is. This has the potential to balance out the current tendency of these projects to choose farmers from privileged castes and larger landholding.
In the meantime, governments can lend support by tapping into existing staff and extension systems, and providing the manpower needed by these projects. Companies can finance Krishi Vigyan Kendras (KVKs) and utilise their services to collect data, touch base with farmers at regular intervals etc.
Currently, the agricultural carbon markets are still finding their footing. Projects take significantly longer to get registered in India than in other parts of Asia. Even globally, it is a sector that sees the most number of projects being put on hold or rejected. Project financing is not yet streamlined, and offtake agreements, while promising, cannot be the sole financing mechanism companies rely on. "Until and unless there is some formal mechanism of co-financing outside the offtake agreements, it's difficult for the project developers to even sustain," Cariappa concludes.
Also read: Food miles: The cost of ingredients from a land far away
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