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

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

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

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

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

Levelling up

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

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

Stirred, not shaken

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

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

{{quiz}}

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

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

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

An unexpected success story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‍Slow and steady

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reign of ragi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{{quiz}}

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

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

Greens vs browns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{{quiz}}

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

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

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

‍

‍

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

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

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

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

Sign of the times

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

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

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

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

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

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

An uncertain future

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

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

‍

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

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

Produced by Nevin Thomas and Neerja Deodhar

Illustration by Prabhakaran S

‍

{{quiz}}

‍

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

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

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

Whose place, whose gain? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biodiversity conservation 

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

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

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

Also read: The promises and perils of Indian aquaculture

The geopolitics of GI tags 

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

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

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

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

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

More than a name 

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

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

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

‍

Illustrated by Prabhakaran S

‍

{{quiz}}

‍

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

Somewhere, in the back of your fridge, a half-cut lemon is quietly dying. On the kitchen counter, a banana peel is browning at the edges, oxidising in peace. It’s tempting, in moments like these, to believe that since these scraps come from the earth, the right thing to do is return them there—directly, with no fuss. Just dig a hole in your garden or potted plant, drop them in, pat the soil, and trust that nature will sort it all out.

But nature is not your tidy, obliging roommate. Left to its own devices, nature can be a little… feral.

A baneful byproduct

What seems like a simple return-to-the-soil moment actually triggers a complex process known as anaerobic decomposition—that is, rotting in the absence of oxygen. Your buried veggie scraps will begin to break down, sure, but not in the clean, cooperative way you imagined. Instead, thriving without oxygen, a set of anaerobic bacteria move in. They are smelly, slow, and disturbingly fond of producing methane, a potent greenhouse gas. The buried banana peel won’t become rich, healthy soil. It’ll ferment underground and maybe even poison your plants along the way.

Composting, on the other hand, is organised decomposition. It is aerobic, meaning it depends on oxygen and works on balance. Composting takes the chaos of rotting food and organises it into a microbial feast. When done right, a compost pile heats up to around 60°C, killing off pathogens and weed seeds while inviting an entire ecosystem of beneficial bacteria, fungi, and worms to get to work. Your kitchen waste doesn't just disappear; it transforms into a dark, earthy material that smells like a walk in the woods. 

Plus, composting shouldn't smell bad if managed well. A sharp, chemical smell often signals too much nitrogen, while musty or rotten egg odours usually mean there's too much moisture or not enough oxygen. You can fix this with dry carbon materials (dried leaves or coconut husk) and aeration. Most odours stem from anaerobic conditions and can be controlled with proper mixing, moisture balance, and ventilation.

Composting, on the other hand, is organised decomposition.

Methane-related concerns aside, what could go wrong with burying your veggie peels in the soil? The answer, besides the smell and potential for pest infestations (hello, rats), lies in chemistry. Raw kitchen waste, when dumped directly into the soil, devours a lion’s share of the nitrogen from the soil to decompose. This means microbes feast first—and your plants go hungry. In contrast, compost is pre-digested food. It offers nutrients that are stable, balanced, and readily absorbed by roots. 

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

Yes, composting takes some effort. You have to collect your scraps. You need a bin or a pile, some patience, and a willingness to stir what is essentially very slow, very warm, smelly garbage. But the return is generous: a substance Cleopatra once honoured by making its producers—worms—sacred. A fertiliser so alive it practically hums. And perhaps most satisfyingly, a deep, smug thrill that you’ve made something useful out of waste.

The next time you eye that mouldy bread or onion skin, resist the urge to bury it in your flowerpot like a secret. Compost it. Because even chaos needs structure. And your kitchen waste deserves better.

‍

{{quiz}}

The dawn of the 2025 mango season in Pune’s Agricultural Produce Market Committee (APMC) yard was nothing short of historic and dramatic. In a stunning twist that sent ripples through Maharashtra’s mango-loving community, the very first crate auctioned was not the legendary Hapus (Alphonso), but the vibrant Kesar. This prized 5.5 kg crate, sourced from the fertile lands of Devgad, commanded a jaw-dropping ₹31,000—an emphatic statement of the Kesar’s rising dominance and desirability. 

“This suggests a growing market preference for the variety, which may influence farmers’ decisions to cultivate it over Hapus due to consistent demand and competitive pricing,” says Dr. Bhagwanrao Kapse, an advocate for Kesar mango cultivation and the former Director of Pune-based National Institute of Post-Harvest Technology. He has mentored farmers, horticulturists, and agri-entrepreneurs in the Marathwada region about best practices in Kesar mango cultivation and marketing. 

For decades, the Hapus has been the undisputed king of mangoes, celebrated for its rich, buttery flavour, intoxicating aroma, and smooth, fibreless pulp. Grown primarily along the Konkan coast, it has enjoyed a cult-like following both in India and overseas, fetching premium prices and inspiring poetry, art, and fierce regional pride. But now that the "king of mangoes" has a rival, things appear to be shifting.

The proof: farmers in Maharashtra are displaying a stronger preference for Kesar.

The Gir Kesar mango–also called Kesar–was first grown in Gujarat in 1931, with grafts planted on the foothills of the Girnar Hill of Junagadh. It was the Nawab of Junagadh who, taken by the sweetness and bright orange pulp of this particular variety, named it after the saffron spice. Ever since, the Kesar has been cultivated across the Saurashtra and Kutch region of Gujarat; particularly well-loved are the honey-sweet mangoes that come from the districts of Gir, Talala and Mangrol.

While the Kesar eventually made its way to Maharashtra, the state has always dominated the cultivation of the iconic Hapus, traditionally in the Konkan region (Ratnagiri and Devgad are two leading districts in its production); it was, after all, planted right along the Konkan coast in the 1500s, grafted to be sweet, and pulpy, yet easy to cut into neat slices for the dining table.

But the Hapus was grafted for a climate that has turned drastically in over 500 years, while the young Kesar still stands resilient to these changes.

In the last decade, Kesar cultivation has also gained traction in areas like Marathwada and North Konkan. Farmers in these regions are increasingly switching to Kesar due to its regular fruit-bearing cycle (unlike Hapus, which often bears fruit in alternate years) and lower investment needs, among other reasons.

Also read: At this mango ‘museum’ in Gujarat, 300-plus varieties thrive

The Hapus is a diva among Mangoes, but growing it requires very specific conditions. It demands a delicate balance of temperature, humidity, and rainfall conditions found in the narrow coastal strip of Konkan. Here, the monsoon brings just enough rain, and the sea breeze tempers the heat, creating the perfect environment for the Hapus to thrive. Sadly, climate aberrations and the problems they bring have pushed up production costs because of extensive crop management. Ultimately, this has led to a fall in yield. This year, Maharashtra’s Hapus yield plummeted to a mere 35% of the previous year’s harvest, marking the lowest yield in the last 20 years. 

Sandesh Patil, who owns an orchard spread over 24 acres on the foothills of Kankeshwar in Alibaug, elaborates: “The Konkan rain pattern has shifted, indicating a longer monsoon return. The delay in the beginning of winter and unseasonable rains every day of the month cause crop infestations that are uncontrollable with pesticides, raising production costs. The fruit is scorched because the heat that usually occurs in April starts in February.”

Hapus trees are shallow-rooted and highly sensitive to drought, heat waves, and erratic weather. They are prone to diseases like “spongy tissue”–causing some parts of the flesh to turn pale and soft–and kapasi, which can devastate entire orchards. As climate change brings more unpredictable weather–seasonal rains, scorching summers, and dry spells– Hapus farmers are increasingly at the mercy of nature.

A study comparing costs found that cultivating Alphonso costs around ₹3,00,000 per hectare, while Kesar comes in at around ₹80,000 per acre. With higher yields and lower risk, Kesar offers a more reliable and profitable proposition for farmers.

Kesar vs Hapus on the plate

Is one variety tastier than the other? Can such a question even be asked?

Renowned food writer & consultant–as well as a mango lover–Madhulika Dash expands on the taste of Kesar versus Hapus mangoes, an ongoing debate. “Hapus, known for its rich, creamy texture and well-balanced sweet-tart flavour, remains the more favoured variety in terms of taste. Nevertheless, Kesar, a native variety, is equally enchanting. Kesar mangoes are distinctly sweet, with a delicate floral fragrance and a straightforward honey-like taste. Although their flavour is exceptional, their flesh tends to be firmer and occasionally slightly grainy.” She further notes, “Alphonso strikes a perfect balance, with a slight tang that complements its sweetness, resulting in a luscious experience cherished by mango enthusiasts. Ultimately, the choice between Kesar and Hapus depends on individual preference–whether one desires a pure, floral sweetness or a more complex, layered flavour profile.”

Consumers’ preference of Kesar over Alphonso could certainly inform cultivation patterns–and this is all the more evident in Indian exports, where Kesar has overtaken Hapus–but it is not the only factor. For farmers, the preference for Kesar is not merely a matter of taste but a response to a complex interplay of climate, economics, agronomy, and global market forces. The story of this transition is as layered and nuanced as the flavours of the fruits themselves: a tale of resilience, adaptation, and hope for the future of Indian agriculture.

Also read: No monkeying around on this kiwi farm

Climate and cultivation

What makes the Kesar mango so favourable to the elements?

Low humidity (35-50% for most of the year) reduces the risk of fungal diseases, and the well-drained soils allow Kesar trees to tap into groundwater reserves. These circumstances not only guarantee the trees' survival but also improve the fruit's quality, resulting in Marathwada Kesar mangoes having some of the highest sugar contents (up to 24° Brix) of any Indian variety.

In fact, the Marathwada Kesar earned a Geographical Indication (GI) tag in 2016–even before Maharashtra’s Alphonso. 

Kesar is a survivor. Its deep-rooted trees are well-adapted to the hot, dry, and often harsh conditions of inland Maharashtra. The Marathwada region, lying in the rain shadow of the Sahyadri hills, receives moderate and variable rainfall (about 90 cm annually), with long, dry summers and cool winters. The fruit has sugars and flavour compounds which are developed by the vast diurnal range of winter temperatures, which can reach 38–43°C during the day and drop to 20°C at night.

For farmers, the bottom line matters. Kesar mangoes offer several economic advantages. Thanks to modern planting techniques like ultra-high-density planting (UHDP), Kesar orchards can accommodate up to 400 trees per hectare, compared to 80-100 trees per acre for traditional Hapus orchards. This dramatically increases output per unit area. 

The proof is in the mango pudding

Curiously, Parmanand Gavane's farm in Belanki, which is 25 km from Sangli district’s Miraj town, has evolved into a mango grower's paradise; it remains the best illustration of UHDP. The number of visitors to his four-acre farm with 3,600 Kesar mango trees peaks in May and June, when the trees are laden with fruit. These tourists are primarily farmers from Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka. Gavane's plantation is a "super UHDP," with 900 plants per acre as opposed to the usual 674 plants per acre. Although he harvests about 8 tonnes per acre, he thinks that more can be accomplished with good orchard management.

Gavane stresses on the benefits of UHDP: particularly, its ability to increase productivity up to 2-3 times, reduce water used for irrigation up to 50 per cent and increase fertiliser intake by plants. He spends close to ₹1,00,000 per acre, which includes fertiliser and labour costs and ends up with a profit of  ₹6,00,000 per acre. Additionally, he sells around 40,000 saplings of Kesar every year.

Thriving orchard and nursery

By developing an orchard in his hamlet Antral in the Jat Taluka of the Sangli district in 2010, Kakasaheb Sawant challenged the farmers' belief that Hapus could only be produced in the Konkan.

Today, farmers in the Marathwada region and even certain areas of the Konkan belt buy Kesar mango saplings from his orchard-cum-nursery: named for the forest goddess Banashankari, it is situated on 25 acres in an area prone to drought. Sawant has installed two 4-km-long pipelines to supply water from the Krishna River's Mhaisal Lift Irrigation Scheme to irrigate his orchard and nursery. A farm pond, known as shet tal locally, has been constructed with funding from the State's Agriculture Department. “Since 2015, when I started the nursery, I have sold over seven lakh Kesar saplings,” says Sawant, who was honoured with the Udyan Pandit award by the Maharashtra government.

Kesar mango growers are abundant in Marathwada–primarily located in districts such as Aurangabad (Chhatrapati Sambhaji Nagar), Jalna, Beed, Latur, Osmanabad, Nanded, Parbhani, and Hingoli. Aurangabad leads with over 40,000 hectares under cultivation, supported by notable nurseries like Devendra Nursery, and exporters such as Sushil Agro Farms and JAY Agro Export. The Marathwada Mango Growers Association plays a key role in expanding cultivation and facilitating exports.

Latur accounts for about 15% of the region’s Kesar mango area, with government-backed facilities for pre-cooling and packaging to boost exports. Other districts also have significant growers adopting solid and UHDP methods. Large agribusinesses like Bikkad Agritech and Aurum Farms operate extensive estates promoting sustainable, high-quality production.

Dr Kapse further explains why: “The region’s hot, dry climate enhances the mango’s saffron-like colour, sweetness, and size, making Marathwada Kesar mangoes highly prized domestically and internationally. Collectively, individual farmers, associations, and agribusinesses have established Marathwada as a major Kesar mango production and export hub.”

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

Export success

In exports, Kesar dominates Indian mango shipments, making up about 70% due to its longer shelf life, resilience to handling, and suitability for treatments like vapour heat and irradiation.

Major markets include the US, UK, Canada, and the Middle East, where demand is growing rapidly. This export growth has driven investments in cold storage, grading, packaging, and irradiation infrastructure, reducing post-harvest losses and increasing farmer returns.

India’s mango exports are rising, overall, with a 19% increase in volume in 2023, valued at nearly $48 billion, and Kesar mango pulp exports alone reached $19.35 million in 2023-24. The US is the largest importer of Kesar pulp, followed by the UK and Canada. This export success complements a strong domestic market where Alphonso remains highly prized but limited by seasonal and weather challenges, while Kesar’s steadier availability helps balance supply and farmer income.

Within India, Kesar mango benefits from favourable market timing, arriving just after the Alphonso season to fill a supply gap with a consistently available, more affordable premium mango that stabilises farmer incomes. Though priced lower than Alphonso, Kesar’s broader consumer appeal supports steady demand.

The story of Maharashtra’s mango farmers is one of adaptation and innovation. Faced with the twin challenges of climate change and market volatility, they are embracing Kesar as a way to secure their livelihoods and continue India’s long and revered relationship with mangoes. While Hapus will always hold a special place in the hearts of mango lovers, Kesar is rapidly carving out its legacy, testament to the resilience and ingenuity of India’s farmers.

{{quiz}}

‍

Ashok Khamkar sits at the galla [counter]; he keeps a steady eye on the spices being measured. He welcomes customers, gives supervisory commands, and deftly counts the currency notes, all while talking to this writer. At 78, he is the third-generation proprietor of Ashok Khamkar and Sons, the oldest spice store in Lalbaug, Mumbai. Customers engage in heated conversations with the store assistants, giving precise instructions about how they want their masalas made. Mirchis are sifted in cane soops [winnowing baskets], and the lighter chaff is flung into the air, briefly suspended in a haze of light. It’s a Tuesday morning, and the store seems as busy as ever. “It’s actually very slow-going today. You should come by on a weekend, or at the beginning of Shravan (the festival season) and see what the rush is like then,” Khamkar says with a chuckle.

Lalbaug may be synonymous with Lalbaugcha Raja, the majestic Ganpati idol which rides on the shoulders of the South Bombay neighbourhood every monsoon. But the area is also home to other cultural landmarks and lore beyond its iconic deity. One of them is Masala Galli, or Mirchi Galli. A cluster of arterial roads in the heart of Lalbaug, it houses over 25 shops that sell carefully sourced and locally ground spices. The narrow lanes are a smorgasbord of colour, smell and texture. Different varieties of chillies are piled high in gunny sacks, golden turmeric dries in the sun, and semicircles of dried coconut split open—all arresting the senses. 

One walk through the galli, and it's easy to identify who started it all. Ashok Khamkar and Sons (previously the original G.W. Khamkar and Sons) stands proudly at the very entrance to the lane. The shop, which started in 1933, initially sold only khada masalas or whole spices.

Lalbaug was once one of Mumbai’s industrial neighbourhoods. Mill workers, who were either native to the city or had migrated from the Satara or Konkan regions, lived in neighbouring chawls—small one- or two- room tenements with shared passageways and washrooms. “These workers loved eating rice and spice in all forms. Many shopkeepers started selling chiwda and masalas here to cater to the local population’s demand in their everyday cooking, as well as during events and ceremonies. Now, we sell whole spices, grind them to order, and also offer the same masalas as packaged goods under our own brand," Khamkar says.

 G.W. Khamkar and Sons later expanded and diversified. Today, one can find many Khamkar variants throughout the galli—each operated by a different member of the family. Over the decades, the galli has become, and continues to remain, a core part of Mumbai’s local spice economy. Customers come here once every few months, or annually, and take home freshly pounded spices. 

Also read: Mumbai’s Nagori dairies are a living archive of milk, migration—and memory

‍Committed to the ‘grind’

Each store in Mirchi Galli has their own special recipe blend for masalas, that have been meticulously chronicled in ledgers and passed down the family. "Customers tell us what kind of spice mixture they want and we immediately make it for them," an assistant at Ashok Khamkar and Sons says. On offer are innumerable mixes including, but not limited to ‘special Malvani masala’ (this masala, made with red chillies, coriander, nutmeg and other dry spices is crucial to Malvani cuisine, a fiery coastal style of cooking in Maharashtra), ‘special garam masala,’ ‘kanda-lasoon masala,’ [onion-garlic paste] ‘special chicken-mutton masala,’ ‘sambar masala,’ ‘tandoori masala’ and ‘pav bhaji masala.’

Customers come in and give their wholesale orders; nobody orders less than 5 kilograms at a time.

Assistants, in turn, know these recipes like the back of their hands—they write down the customer’s name, the masala and quantity to be made, along with a list of ingredients and their proportions on a long bill-like piece of paper. They look at the surname of the client placing the order, and that too becomes a factor for customising the masala. "Look here,” Khamkar gestures eagerly. "The surname is Parab, a 'kattar' Malvani. Us Khamkars are from the Konkan region and known for our Malvani masala in particular. We understand what kind of flavour profile it should have."

Rahul Kale, Sales and Operations Manager of G.W. Khamkar Masale—the new variant of the store just down the road—says that the process of making masalas has also evolved over time. “Back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, making a masala was a lengthy and arduous enterprise, taking nearly 5 days. People who used to work in the mills and live in nearby areas used to purchase spices from these stores, sun-dry them on the terraces of their own houses and then return to us to get them ground. Masalas used to be ground in chakkis, but this approach burnt the natural oils present in the spices, charring and turning them bitter. Now, we have mechanised, and use dankhis (large machines that look like gigantic mortar- and-pestles) for this process,” he says.

Kale points to the different kinds of whole spices on display, all of which are sourced from across the country. The galli sells five kinds of mirchis—Kashmiri, Byadagi, Reshampatti, Pandi and Lavangi. Most garam masalas like nutmeg, cardamom, cloves, and bay leaves are procured from the spice-rich state of Kerala. Others like coriander seeds, fennel seeds and cinnamon travel all the way from Indore, Rajasthan and Vietnam respectively to Mumbai. They undergo quality checks, are cleaned and then sold.

A dark alley serpentines around the store to open out into a roasting area. Different bags with an assortment of whole spices have been packed and labelled according to customer requests, and are placed in a corner. Men toil away at their massive kadhais—pouring ghee; roasting turmeric, bay leaves and cinnamon; and then gently adding the other spices. Their arms move back and forth, fanning out the masalas to evenly distribute heat, and then folding them gently into a fragrant mound. The roasting area has its own rhythm. The chimneys are blackened with soot, the air thick with the smoky sweetness of each spice.

Once these spices are roasted for about 30-45 minutes, they are taken to the dankhis—the machine’s multiple pillars moving up and down sequentially, pounding the spices into a coarse, aromatic mix. 

“Now, the whole process only takes about 3-4 hours, depending on how crowded we are,” Kale says. “Many who used to live in Lalbaug moved to the northern suburbs after the mills shut down. However, many families have been coming to us for generations to purchase their spices, and they still do—from Western suburbs like Jogeshwari and Borivali, and suburbs beyond Mumbai, like Vasai, Thane, and Dahanu. Our store and galli is so famous that people even come all the way from Pune and Kolhapur,” Khamkar says. Many women make a day out of this endeavour, travelling long distances, waiting till their masalas are pounded and then returning home. “We call it their masala day!” he jokes. 

The stores in Masala Galli also sell the same spice mixtures in packets of 100g and 200g like one would find at a grocery store. “This is just the sales front,” Kale says, of the G.W. Khamkar Masale store. “We have an entirely different office in Lalbaug where our spices are ground and packaged in bulk, which we then sell here. On average, we sell nearly 250-300 kilos of masalas everyday. This helps us cater to customers who want their spices freshly ground and customised, and also to families who want to purchase these masalas in smaller quantities.”

‍A culture of vigilance and care

India is the world’s largest spice producer, exporter, and consumer. Exporting more than 200 spices to over 150 countries, it accounts for one-fourth of the global spice trade. The domestic market alone was worth $10 billion in 2024, making it the world's largest consumer of spices. However, rampant adulteration has dampened the industry’s prospects over the past few decades. Spices of popular brands in India have been detected with colouring agents containing lead, and preservatives like ethylene oxide, which is classified as a Group 1 carcinogen. In fact, in May 2023, Food and Drug Control authorities in Gujarat seized over 3,000 kg of adulterated spices including chilli, turmeric, and coriander powder.

The country’s spice export industry has also come under heat from foreign regulatory boards in the U.S., Hong Kong and Singapore amongst others. In the wake of such incidents, the Indian Council of Medical Research has encouraged consumers to buy whole spices instead of powdered ones in its updated dietary guidelines issued in 2024. “The advisory comes in the wake of mounting evidence suggesting that powdered spices are more susceptible to adulteration, after popular Indian spice manufacturers came under scrutiny for using high levels of pesticides in their spices.”

Sunil Ganapat Kale, 62, the second-generation proprietor of Vishwas Masala Kendra (VMK), cites trust in small, local businesses and allegations of adulteration in commercially sold spices as one of the primary reasons why customers return to Masala Galli. “Here, people get to watch and supervise their spices being ground in-person. Adulteration can happen in a number of ways. Often, chillies that are lightweight, and hence differ in flavour, are used, or turmeric is substituted for besan [gram flour]. Mass-manufactured masalas claim to offer a specific quantity, but a closer look reveals that packaging makes up some of their weight. It’s difficult for lay consumers to identify this,” he says.

“Amhi graahakanna nehemi saangto: kahihi chuk zhaali asel tar amhala kalva” [We always tell our customers: if we have made any mistake then let us know]. Sheetal Rane, who is standing right next to us, and who has been a devoted VMK patron for the last 25 years smiles and says, “There has never come a time when we have had to do this. My mother-in-law used to come here earlier, and now I have taken up this duty. I come here annually and purchase 5 kilograms of Malvani masala and garam masala each. I immediately test them out and use them for my everyday cooking. I have always called to say that the masala tastes excellent, as always.”

Customers say that the stores in Masala Galli display a deep-seated responsibility towards them, and the fact that they can see their masalas being made from start to end are influential factors in drawing them back here.

Such is their loyalty that they queue up outside VMK, braving the sun and the loud noise of the dankhis and watch eagle-eyed to ensure that their masalas are in safe hands. Protective commands are constantly being flung across the store threshold: “Aaho, vyavasteet bhaaza haan” [Please roast the masalas properly] and ‘Mazha masala vegla theva haan, toh Agri masala mazha nahiye” [Make sure that you’re separating and packaging my masalas properly. Don’t confuse it with the other customer’s Agri masala].

Ashu D’Souza, who has travelled all the way from Virar with her son, tells me, “You can’t risk your children’s health. I would rather spend an extra day coming here and making sure that the products I use are healthy. The price is very fair for the amount of effort they put in and the quality of the masalas. Spending an extra few rupees here is better than doling out the same money at a doctor’s office later!”

Also read: The uncertain future of Aarey Forest’s tribal agriculture

Why old-school still sells

There are other reasons why Masala Galli has maintained a stronghold in Mumbai’s spice economy, even in the face of mass-produced, packaged and branded masalas. “What we specialise in is completely different from the spice categories of larger brands,” VMK’s Kale says. “Big-name brands have chilli powder, turmeric powder, tandoori masala, garam masala, Kitchen King masala and the like on offer. While these are fast sellers here as well, we have focused on traditional masalas—like Malvani masala, Agri-Koli masala, Ghati masala and Usal masala—a category largely untouched by bigger brands.”

Pradnya Sawant, who moved to Mumbai from Malvan nearly two decades ago after her marriage, says she eagerly experimented with spices from all of the city's local markets. “I bought spices from the smaller spice markets at Crawford, Masjid Bunder, Lalbaug, Mazgaon, Bhuleshwar and Dadar. But I found that Masala Galli’s spices are distinctive, and bring out the flavours of my curries and vegetables in an almost miraculous way. The quality of these spices is so good that you can store them for 2-2.5 years and they won’t spoil. Once I add a few spoonfuls of the Malvani masala, my job is done—the dish takes care of itself,” she says. "If you scale up what a conventional brand charges for small packets, buying in bulk in this street often costs the same, sometimes even lesser," customers say.

To its credit, Masala Galli has also adapted to technological change, the rise of quick-commerce apps, and the challenges posed by the pandemic. Nearly all the stores in the galli accept orders over phone call, and provide free home delivery services in Mumbai, and its extensions like Thane, Navi Mumbai and Palghar. Their masalas are in demand in hotels across Maharashtra and Karnataka. Some of them, like G.W. Khamkar Masale, have also made their products available on apps like Blinkit, JioMart and BigBasket, thus levelling their playing field with more established brands. “We first experimented with online deliveries in the pandemic, when business took a hit,” Kale says. “But soon, this change yielded results. Including online deliveries and in-person purchases, we now sell about 150-200 kg of masalas on average everyday.”

VMK’s Kale reminisces about a time when mill workers’ families used to throng the galli and everybody came together during festival time to celebrate. “Even now, on weekends, we often set up tables and makeshift counters outside the store so that we can cater to the rush of customers with more ease."

"But there was something about knowing each face by name and a different kind of stability in the business—a sort of telepathy and chemistry between customer and shopkeeper. I think some of that still persists, which is why we are still here,” he says. 

Business still feels personal in this corner of Mumbai. During the summers and monsoons, the stores offer customers tea, and set up umbrella shades and table fans for them. “They make sure that the elderly are prioritised,” Rane says. When asked what makes her come all the way to Lalbaug and not order online, she smiles and says, “You speak exactly like my daughter. Every time I go to even a regular grocery store, she is perplexed and asks me—‘Aai, just Blinkit na?’ But coming here reminds me of my childhood. I enjoy the sensory experience of touching the granular halad [turmeric], or taking in the sugandha [aroma] of the garam masalas. Ordering online is just not just the same.”

Also read: Bastar’s secret ingredient? The power of preservation

Ayush, Khamkar’s 22 year old grandson, heir to Ashok Khamkar and Sons and former Captain of India’s national gymnastics team, says, “None of us engage in any kind of fraudulent activities because we are not only conscious of our responsibility towards our customers, and but also of protecting Lalbaug’s reputation.” The socio-cultural homogeneity of Masala Galli’s tight-knit Marathi community is evident—both among the shop owners and their customers. Ayush stops to greet and talk to nearly every one of the shopkeepers during our conversation.

When asked whether he would genuinely like taking over the business, the younger Khamkar smiles. “Oh yes, of course, I do it voluntarily. I made a lot of mistakes in the early days; for example, one of my steepest learning curves was learning to differentiate between spices. For the first few weeks here, one of our oldest assistants kept correcting me when I gave normal coriander seeds to our customers, instead of the green variety they actually wanted,” he admits sheepishly. “I won’t lie—sports keeps calling back to me, also because it runs in my family. I don’t know what decision I will ultimately end up making.”

Ayush’s dilemma echoes across the next generation poised to continue the legacy of Masala Galli. Several proprietors confide that their children are unsure of taking over the business, and keep oscillating between trying their hand at running the store and pursuing further education and other employment opportunities. “Long-time patrons still value the owner’s presence during their visits—it’s become a quiet symbol of trust. While the younger generation is somewhat ambivalent, the strong demand and financial promise of the business is nudging them toward getting involved,” Khamkar says.

Lalbaug and its neighbouring Byculla have long housed different sections of the city’s populace—from mill workers to the mafia—both of which, Khamkar cheekily claims, once frequented the original G.W. Khamkar and Sons. The spatial and social architecture of the regions has changed: chawls have given way to high-rise towers. But in an age of urban anonymity, is a bastion of a personalised food economy tucked into a corner of South Bombay, inviting one to pause—to step out of Mumbai’s consumerist craze. Here, workers quietly pound time into tradition, memory into masala. They may be invisible, but their loyal clientele is proof that human connection is the beating heart of a business, even in the face of technological interventions. 

{{quiz}}

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

It is easy to visualise the afterlife of some of our everyday trash. Paper, for example, gets recycled into notebooks, while plastic, on the other hand, is fashioned into bottles. But what happens to kitchen waste? 

Biodegradable waste—think fruit peels, veggie scraps and yellowing herbs—naturally decomposes over a period of time. What if you decide to compost it instead?

Composting creates conditions like aeration, moisture, and warm temperatures to speed up the breaking down of organic matter. At the end of the process, you get a dark, crumbly, soil-like material that smells earthy and works as an effective organic fertiliser.

The word ‘composting’ itself comes from the Latin word compositus, which means ‘to put together.’ That’s what composting is: putting together organic waste and some water to allow for aerobic decomposition using a mixture of water, to result in a nutrient-rich fertiliser, often called ‘black gold’. This organic waste can constitute a range of ingredients from your kitchen–including tea leaves, coffee grounds, and eggshells.

The climate change connection

Beyond its uses in gardening, composting also contributes to the fight against climate change. The world wastes over a billion tonnes of food annually—one-fifth of all food available to people living on our planet. In India alone, the annual food waste adds up to 78.2 million tonnes, which is about 26.5% of the total annual staple food requirement per Indian. This wasted food makes its way to landfills, where it rots in the lack of oxygen. A certain kind of bacteria, called a methanogen, survives particularly well in the absence of oxygen. Unfortunately, when methanogens break down food anaerobically, it creates methane, a gas that has approximately 28 times the global warming potential of carbon dioxide.

Composting brings the circular economy to your balcony, and helps you join in the fight against climate change.

Food waste contributes to 8-10% of all greenhouse gas emissions, having five times the impact of the aviation industry. Harriet Lamb, CEO of The Waste and Resources Action Programme, put it powerfully: “Were it a country, food waste would be the world’s third largest emitter after China and the USA.”

A disarmingly simple way to reduce greenhouse gas emissions is to compost our food waste. A Nature study showed that greenhouse gas emissions from composting were 38–84% lower than from the same volume of landfilling of food waste. Composting brings the circular economy to your balcony, and helps you join in the fight against climate change.

‍

{{quiz}}