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.
On a bank of Mumbai’s Mithi—a serpentine, nearly 18 kilometre-long river—a group of children gather to play at Valmiki Nagar in the Bandra East suburb. One may imagine a childhood by a riverbank to be full of frolicking in its waters, but this is the harsh truth: the children of Valmiki Nagar spend most of their early years amid piles of garbage. A few years ago, a mound of waste near the bank was cleared, which has now become a playing area. Scattered across the ground are pieces of crumpled plastic, torn fabric, and broken debris—little dots splattered on the landscape on a risky, steep slope that drops sharply towards the river.
What can a river, neglected and polluted for decades, take away from human life?
The Mithi has two identities: at once, it is a rain-fed river as well as a stormwater drain.
The Mithi, whose name incidentally—and ironically—translates to “sweet” in Hindi, originates from the Vihar Lake outfall, and also receives water from the Powai Lake further downstream (its upstream catchment area has three lakes—Tulsi, Vihar and Powai). Across its stretch, it is not uncommon to spot people throwing garbage, small-scale vendors dumping scrap materials, and industrial units draining effluents into the river. The Mithi is also choked by untreated sewage and stormwater—and this is not just anecdotal of a particular neighbourhood it snakes through. According to the 2022-23 Water Quality Index, the river exhibits a concerning water quality status with an annual average WQI recorded as 35, indicating it is “Heavily Polluted”. A good, healthy river will have a WQI of at least 75, and excellent health will reflect in a score of above 90.
For over a decade, Talat Jahan, 40, has been residing at one of its banks in Sant Dnyaneshwar Nagar, opposite the Bandra-Kurla Complex (BKC) business hub. She has long given up on the idea of a better future for her neighbourhood. “Everytime my 17-year-old daughter comes back from her hostel, I send her across the river to our other flat as the living conditions here are intolerable for her. Residents get offended and argue with you if you ask them not to throw garbage into the river,” she shares.
Why are the residents along Mithi’s banks left to this fate? The answer is revealed in a series of events that led to this consistent neglect of the river as well as the dwellers living along its shores—only made worse by staggered development, massive embezzlement and an abject ignorance of the city’s topography.
From BKC to the slums of Dharavi, if one were to ask for directions to the Mithi river, they’d perhaps be greeted with puzzled stares and a curious question: “River? What river?” To the locals who have built a life alongside the river, the water body is known as a nallah, a word used to refer to a drain—usually a sewage drain. “Arre, wo toh nallah hai,” they will tell you.
“It is a river for all biological and scientific reasons, but in the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation’s (BMC) records, it is referred to as a stormwater drain. For the BMC, the river is a ‘Pavsali nallah’ in Marathi, which means ‘seasonal water drain’,” explains Stalin D., director of the NGO Vanashakti, a Mumbai-based environmental NGO that has been working to conserve mangroves, wetlands, rivers and coastal belts for nearly two decades now.
The Mithi has two identities: at once, it is a rain-fed river as well as a stormwater drain. Originally, it was only a river with water flowing solely in the monsoon season. It was a part of the city’s water supply chain, used as a transport system, and importantly, the estuarine region of the river fed and supported the local fishing communities. It was large, clean, deep. But it was in the way of a growing city.
In the late 18th century, when Mumbai was a collection of seven islands, a major land reclamation project began; under the East India Company, the erstwhile Bombay was to become one, joined city. Land was reclaimed from the water bodies flowing in and around the city, and all seven islands were united by roughly 1838. This put into motion a series of land reclamation projects that would, again and again, sew Mumbai’s lands together.
Alongside reclamation, encroachments—slums and unauthorised construction—significantly narrowed the river’s flow path, reducing its natural capacity to carry floodwaters and causing severe bottlenecks.
The Mithi river has always been important to Mumbai. It runs through some of the densest areas of the city, and is able to drain water from multiple suburbs like Powai, Andheri, Kurla, and Bandra when it rains. It also provides the most direct route to carry the excess runoff to the Arabian Sea, where it eventually drains off. And Mumbai’s particular topography, which affords it excessive rainfall in the monsoon season, presented the need to think carefully and urgently about flood planning. And so, as Mumbai underwent rapid urbanisation, the Mithi was “trained” as a stormwater drain.
Large-scale land reclamation drastically reduced the river's original 800ha, as reported in 1930, to 400ha by 1973. In 1978, the Mumbai Metropolitan Regional Development Authority (MMRDA) reclaimed 370 hectares of land to create the Bandra Kurla Complex (BKC), of which 220 hectares were borrowed from the Mithi estuarine reach. Additionally, the construction of Mumbai’s International Airport and all related work from 1977 to 2004 also reclaimed swathes of land from the Mithi, destroying surrounding mudflats—essentially crumbling an entire ecosystem that traps toxins and houses biodiversity as well as nutrients crucial to the health of the river. The constant work at the airport forced the river to deviate unnaturally and rearranged its erstwhile linear flow.
Also read: The intertwined fate of Navi Mumbai’s Kolis and the Kasardi river
These infrastructural changes were not without consequence: Since Mumbai is an island city, several parts are at a low altitude above mean sea level (MSL). When high intensity rainfall coincides with high tide, flooding takes place in low-lying areas. That was the case of the sudden deluge on 26 July, 2005. The suburban part of the city experienced unprecedented, heavy showers with a record of 944 mm of rainfall in 24 hours—and the highest rainfall intensity of 190.3 mm in one hour between 15.30 pm to 16.30 pm. This coincided with the highest tide of 4.48 m.
The Mithi—choked, thinned and heavy—extracted its revenge by throwing up caught rainwater into the city, leading to a devastating flood in a form that was much worse than it otherwise could have been.
Alongside reclamation, encroachments—slums and unauthorised construction—significantly narrowed the river’s flow path, reducing its natural capacity to carry floodwaters and causing severe bottlenecks. “The river’s training was not really focused on the river itself, but on creating assets, with what remained taking the shape of the river,” says urbanist Gautam Kirtane.
Presently, as the water from the Vihar lake flows down, it passes through Filterpada, a notified slum and the first immediate settlement on the river. Zoya, a 10-year-old who lives in Filterpada, shares that she battles swarms of mosquitoes every night, relying on repellants like coils.
When the water from both the Vihar and Powai merges, the river threads through the neighbourhoods of Morarji Nagar and Jai Bhim Nagar in Powai. As one steps down from the main road to enter into the slums of Jai Bhim Nagar, the river emerges as an open-mouthed dumping site for household waste. In the area, a visibly gigantic freshwater pipeline passes over the river, through the two localities. This risky pipeline is often used by children and adults to walk over and cross the river in a hurry.
Ahsan Akhtar Sayyed, over 70 years old, has lived in Powai's Jai Bhim Nagar for over two decades. He is also the president of the Aadarsh Rahiwashi Welfare Committee, a group formed to resolve the issues of Mumbaikars living in the area. “Earlier, though the water was polluted, as it included wastewater from households and the runoff from cleaning filter tanks, the Mithi was never stagnant. Today, aside from the monsoon season, the river is inert, which leads to waste getting accumulated and rotting for several months—sometimes years,” says Sayyed. In this neighbourhood, the river is covered with blankets of hyacinth and other waste.
A few months before every monsoon, a strange routine unfolds: a bulldozer collects the waste rotting in the river.
Barring one placed in front of Sayyed’s house, there are no dustbins in the riverfront lane. Neither is there any door-to-door collection of waste here, Sayyed informs; even this lone bin was provided by the current MLA of Andheri East, Murji Patel. Residents are asked to dispose of garbage in one dumpster kept at a distance; with access so curbed, residents are left with no choice. As a result, an unbearably foul smell emanates from the bank.
“Yeh garib basti hai (This is a slum),” says Sayyed, “People here leave early in the morning and return home late, after work. It is difficult for them to worry about environmental issues when they are finding it difficult to make ends meet.”
A few months before every monsoon, a strange routine unfolds: a bulldozer collects the waste rotting in the river, Sayyed shares. “But since a dumping truck can’t enter inside the narrow lanes of this neighbourhood, the garbage is levelled back into the river.” Stalin throws light on this inexplicable phenomenon: the waste is levelled inside the river when heavy rains are expected so that it can be carried further downstream as the river flows. The waste then gets collected in the mangrove near the BKC estuary area, polluting the ecosystem heavily.
Notably, the Mithi has been consistently included in Priority I of Mumbai’s polluted river stretches, primarily due to Biochemical Oxygen Demand (BOD) values exceeding 30 mg/l. The average BOD of Mithi in 2022-23 was 37.3 mg/l, and the maximum was 82 mg/l.
Retaining walls are constructed along riverbanks to secure the edges between two ground surfaces of different elevations. However, in the case of Mithi river, these were constructed to train the river’s course for flood control, after the 2005 floods. Jal Biradari, a community dedicated to the protection and revival of rivers, and the Vanashakti NGO challenged the Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) clearance granted for constructing retaining walls, which impeded water flow to mangroves. In May 2016, the National Green Tribunal imposed a Rs 25 lakh fine on the MMRDA as environmental compensation for violating CRZ norms by constructing retaining walls.
“Years ago, in 1995, this place felt like our village. The river was dirty and had waste dumped on the sides, but it was visibly clean in the centre. There were no retaining walls and the water was 15-20 feet deep. People would bathe in it and wash their clothes at the banks,” Sayyed says, recalling the “acche din” of the river’s past.
Also read: The Chitlapakkam Rising story: How a Chennai community saved a lake
For Sant Dnyaneshwar Nagar’s residents in BKC, it is a nightmare to bear the consequences of all these years of neglect. One is greeted by heaps of solid waste on the entrance road of this area; not only can you find residents and shopkeepers throwing waste nonchalantly into the river, but also children competing against each other–aiming for the farthest shot. The river is heavily contaminated with plastic bags, scrap materials, food waste, metal, alcohol bottles and thermocol waste. You may even happen upon an unbearable sight for any nature lover: birds like sparrows, crows and egrets searching through waste to find food for themselves.
As is the case in Powai’s Jai Bhim Nagar, there is no dumpster in sight at the riverfront lane. In fact, in the low-lying area of Valmiki Nagar, it won’t be surprising to find an empty dustbin afloat at the bank’s edge, surrounded by trash.
"Previously, we tried to install dustbins in Sant Dnyaneshwar Nagar, but delinquents either burnt them or sold them to scrap dealers for quick cash," says Lubna Shaikh, a social worker. During the scorching heat of the summer, locals have no option but to take calculated breaths amid the stench of rotting waste that persists for months, even years, as water in the river remains stagnant. “This is a densely populated area where malaria, dengue and typhoid are some of the most common diseases,” Shaikh adds.
Talat Jahan, who has a family of five and runs a paan shop, says, “Earlier, I used to confront people, but now I have resigned and accepted that I will have to live in this condition. I don’t have time to get into fights or arguments—I have a family to run and look out for. People in the neighbourhood have accepted this lifestyle.” She has a rental stay near Kalyan on the outskirts of Mumbai where a door-to-door garbage collection service can be opted for. But owing to her livelihood and her husband’s illness, she is bound to reside in Sant Dnyaneshwar Nagar. Mumbaikars like her question the unfairness of living in a city where one neighbourhood has access to garbage collection services, but the other is entirely deprived of them.
During the scorching heat of the summer, locals have no option but to take calculated breaths amid the stench of rotting waste that persists for months, even years, as water in the river remains stagnant.
The typical pre-monsoon sight of an excavator crane in Bharat Nagar removing the waste and hyacinth from the river—leaving a trail of charcoal-coloured leachate behind on the road—is a stark reminder of how year-long neglect takes a physical form. This year, as of June, this waste collection drive was not undertaken.
The nearby neighbourhoods of Maharashtra Nagar and Valmiki Nagar (across the river) bear the brunt of Mumbai’s heavy rainfall. “The residents have to pay a heavy price as there is an absence of retaining walls in these regions since 2017, when exceptionally strong rainfall led to collapse of the previous wall,” shares Shaikh.
The retaining walls serve more than one purpose. Urbanist Gautam Kirtane sheds light on a sociological phenomenon—“splintering urbanism”—that emerges from geographical division: about how the city's local train lines shape its wealth brackets. For example, the areas to the west of the Western Line include suburbs like Bandra, Santacruz, and Khar that are far more affluent than the eastern side of the same line: Dharavi, Bandra East, and Kurla.
Such a pattern can also be observed along the course of the Mithi river. "The Mithi is the most in-your-face example of the distinction between slum and non-slum areas. It actually divides the city into administrative divisions. All that is on the east of the river are the eastern suburbs and on the west, the western suburbs. Much of the administrative boundary is also defined by this wealth differentiation. So, from a sociological perspective, these retaining walls are the great wall of Mumbai," says Kirtane.
The urbanist has observed a difference in waste management policies for slums and non-slums in Mumbai. “In the slums, a project called the Swachh Mumbai Prabodhan Abhiyan (SMPA) is conducted on a voluntary basis. But ideally, waste collection is supposed to be a mandatory function of urban local bodies,” he explains, arguing that this unequal treatment stems from the city's perception of slums. “There's a classist and casteist undertone to this reality,” he explains.
While residents have adapted to the river’s polluted state, their survival costs them multifold—in health, safety, and dignity. The authorities’ piecemeal efforts across desilting, retaining walls, and offering unfulfilled promises have failed to address the root causes of the river’s degradation. “The Mithi comes under the storm water management department of the BMC. Stormwater is meant to carry only rainwater, the garbage in the rainwater is to be removed by the solid waste department. The solid waste department puts its hands up when tasked with removing waste from the storm water area,” says Stalin, underscoring how the responsibility of ensuring their well-being, safety and health falls squarely on the shoulders of riverbank residents, abandoned by city authorities and urban planners.
Also read: In Gurugram’s rise, a cautionary tale about satellite cities and groundwater
Edited by Neerja Deodhar and Anushka Mukherjee
Illustration by: Khyati K
Produced by Nevin Thomas and Neerja Deodhar
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Editor's note: Even before its current status as a nutrient-rich superfood, ragi has been a crucial chapter in the history of Indian agriculture. Finger millet, as it is commonly known, has been a true friend of the farmer and consumer thanks to its climate resilience and ability to miraculously grow in unfavourable conditions. As we look towards an uncertain, possibly food-insecure future, the importance of ragi as a reliable crop cannot be understated. In this series, the Good Food Movement explains why the millet deserves space on our farms and dinner plates. Alongside an ongoing video documentation of what it takes to grow ragi, this series will delve into the related concerns of intercropping, cover crops and how ragi fares compared to other grains.
Forests and farms have an ancient link: centuries ago, the first farms were carved out of forests. Humans evolved from farming within the forest, to farming alongside it. We planted woody trees into farmlands and held onto the forest, even as agricultural land expanded.
However, over time, as the two became more distinct, so did their functions. The forest became the custodian of biodiversity and the farm the provider of food: two diverging arms that could not meet. In the mid-1970s, as scientists sought to bring back the practice of farming alongside forests, John Bene, a Canadian forester published a study coining the term agroforestry.
Agroforestry, as the name suggests, is an integration of woody vegetation (trees or shrubs) with farmlands and animal husbandry. However, it is more than just the introduction of trees into farms—it is the dynamic interaction of all three elements (farms, animals, and trees) to create a more diverse ecosystem. And while proponents usually frame it as a method of land management to be introduced into farms, it has also traditionally included farming within forest lands by indigenous communities. Just like intercropping diversifies from the main crop by planting subsidiary crops, this technique incorporates trees and shrubs into the ecosystem of the farm and enriches it. Neem trees serving as wind barriers for a bajra crop, jackfruits harvested within forest lands, or coffee plantations growing in the shade of mango trees are all examples of agroforestry in practice.
Also read: Why Akkadi Salu, an ancient practice of intercropping deserves a comeback
As a farming system, agroforestry is both farmer- and climate-friendly. In many ways, it is analogous to organic farming. The mulch the trees provide replaces fertilisers, and the friendly predators they house – like birds and insects – feed on pests, replacing pesticides. Agroforestry is also believed to have a higher potential for carbon sequestration than single-species farms.
Agroforestry is also believed to have a higher potential for carbon sequestration than single-species farms.
Trees anchor a farm and enrich the soil—from preserving the top soil and preventing soil erosion, to serving as mulch and negating the need for fertilisers. Their cooling effect on fields increases yield. Beyond enhancing the main crop’s yield, fruit trees can serve as an additional source of income, becoming a useful safeguard during lean harvests. Similarly, they can bring diversity to the local wildlife and animal feed while also reducing methane emissions associated with livestock farming.
Also read: The grain divide: How ragi and rice compare in the field and on our plates
Indigenous communities, worldwide and in India, have been practicing agroforestry since time immemorial. But it was only in 1983 that research in agroforestry got consolidated government support in India. In February 2014, India became the first country to adopt a National Agroforestry Policy, which included easing rules on harvest and transit of agroforestry products and providing a range of financing options for farmers.
In recent years, millets have found renewed interest in agricultural spaces because they are climate resilient. Given that they also have more proteins and minerals than cereals like wheat and rice, they are gaining consumer appeal. And they continue to be culturally relevant in several arid and semi-arid parts of the country, with India making up 80% of all millet production in Asia, and 37.5% of global production.
In February 2014, India became the first country to adopt a National Agroforestry Policy, which included easing rules on harvest and transit of agroforestry products and providing a range of financing options for farmers.
This makes millet-based agroforestry a uniquely positioned climate solution. Ragi, with its significance across the country, and especially in the Deccan Plateau, becomes a key grain to consider in this context.
Across India, ragi is frequently intercropped with trees for a variety of benefits. In Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Telangana, ragi is usually accompanied by the maha neem (melia dubia). In Karnataka, it is also common to intercrop with Gliricidia sepium, which increases the microbial biomass. Fruit trees like jamun, mango, and guava are often incorporated, as are root vegetables like carrots and beetroots. Ragi is also often rotated with maize in Karnataka.
Bhimal (Grewia oppositifolia) is often planted alongside ragi in Uttarakhand. In Maharashtra, ragi grows under the shade of the bamboo. Other millets have also been successfully incorporated in agroforestry. Sorghum is commonly planted with teak. Pearl millet planted in Rajasthan under Indian jujube was wildly successful, while in Uttarakhand it has grown well under poplar too.
In many ways, agroforestry is the harvesting of sunlight in layers.
For these benefits to truly accrue, the combination of trees and crops have to be chosen carefully to complement each other—their heights and root systems upon maturation should maximise the reach of sunlight and soil moisture. In many ways, agroforestry is the harvesting of sunlight in layers. For instance, let us take the example of an agri-horti-forestry system. The crops are layered, with the first layer being a ground layer crop like a tuber. The second layer includes crops that will reach 2-3 feet height, like ragi. The third layer is usually horticultural plants like jackfruits or papaya which grow 10–15 feet high. The fourth (and usually final) layer includes plants growing beyond 15 feet, mostly including tree crops like bamboos which serve as wind barriers, but can also be harvested for additional income.
Across the world, millet-based agroforestry has existed, not only because it makes farming more holistic and profitable, but because it contributes important ecosystem services and mitigates the environmental impact of intensive farming. India is in a unique position to revive these traditional agroforestry systems—land, yields, farmers and the planet all stand to gain much from it.
Also read: Rewilding farmland: The story of Shihab Kunhahammed’s edible forests
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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.
On October 2, 2025, the EAT-Lancet Commission, a global consortium of 70 scientists from 35 countries working at the intersection of nutrition, health, and sustainability, released an updated version of its landmark 2019 report, which first introduced the idea of a Planetary Health Diet (PHD). Like many food systems researchers around the world, I have been busy parsing the report and assessing how its updated evidence base reframes global discussions on sustainable and healthy diets. For anyone who has read the 76-page report and its supplements, its scale and scope are immediately evident. It brings together an extraordinary range of evidence across disciplines, leaving much to be discussed.
In this column, however, I focus on the PHD and explore how the average Indian diet stacks up against its vision for healthy and sustainable eating. The PHD is framed as an optimal diet for improving the wellbeing of the global population and has been developed based on the health impacts of consuming various foods. However, the report provides evidence indicating that the widespread adoption of such a diet can reduce the negative environmental impacts associated with most current diets, making it a means to improve the health of people as well as the planet.
By no means are my observations a report card of the Indian diet, for it remains unclear whether the PHD is entirely suitable for the developing country context (more on that in the last section), but rather an attempt to understand where India’s eating patterns stand in relation to its principles.
The 2025 PHD serves as a global reference framework that must be adapted to local cuisines and food systems, as well as to individual characteristics such as age, sex, body size, physical activity level, pregnancy and lactation status, health condition, and genetics. The diet, based on a 2400 kcal energy intake per day, recommends consuming generous quantities of plant-based foods like fruits and vegetables, moderate amounts of animal-sourced foods, and minimal quantities of ultra-processed foods, added sugar, saturated and trans fats, and salt. Here’s what it recommends per food group:
The EAT-Lancet report compares its recommended diet with average dietary patterns across different world regions. India is grouped within the South Asia region, and while country-level comparisons for the 2025 report are not yet available, regional averages offer a useful reference point. Let’s take a look for each macronutrient category.
Carbohydrates form the foundation of most diets, and within the PHD framework, whole grains, tubers, fruits, vegetables, and sugar are the key components to consider. Global whole grain intake is far below recommended levels. South Asia fares better than all other regions of the world (rotis to the rescue!) but still only meets half the target. This does not mean grains are lacking in Indian diets; rather, they are mostly consumed as refined products such as maida and polished white rice. Recent research by the Indian Council of Medical Research shows that Indian adults derive roughly 62% of total energy from low-quality carbohydrates, largely refined cereals and added sugars. The same study shows that high carbohydrate intake is associated with a higher likelihood of non-communicable diseases such as Type 2 diabetes, obesity, and cardiovascular diseases within the population. In many low- and middle-income countries, whole grain foods are less available and more expensive, partly because the nutrient-rich bran and germ are removed and sold as animal feed.
Tuber consumption in South Asia roughly aligns with the PHD recommendation, though our fondness for potatoes shows through as the average slightly exceeds the suggested limit. Sugar intake surpasses the suggested level by about 25% but remains well below that of regions such as Latin America and the Caribbean and North America. Fruit and vegetable intake in the region remains below recommended levels, with vegetables faring better than fruits, for which South Asia records the lowest consumption among all regions.
Let’s turn to protein. Consumption trends for plant-based foods such as nuts and legumes, and animal-sourced foods like milk, poultry, eggs, fish, and red meat, tell an interesting story. Globally, average intakes of nuts, seeds, and legumes fall well below the levels recommended by the PHD. South Asia performs relatively better, ranking second only to Sub-Saharan Africa in legume consumption. But even here, the average intake is only about half of what the PHD suggests, even though lentils and pulses feature so prominently in the region’s culinary traditions.
While reducing excessive meat intake is crucial in many parts of the world like North America, Latin America and the Caribbean, and Europe and Central Asia, in India the challenge is the opposite: ensuring that people consume enough high-quality protein from both plant and sustainable animal sources to meet their nutritional needs.
For animal-sourced foods, South Asia’s averages are similarly below the recommended levels: eggs at roughly 75%, fish and milk around 50%, red meat about 50%, and poultry between 15 and 20% of the PHD targets. Among all regions, South Asia shows the lowest levels of poultry, fish, and red meat consumption. Earlier research comparing the 2019 PHD with Indian dietary patterns found consistently low caloric intake from protein sources, both plant- and animal-based, across all regions, sectors, and income groups. The deficit was most pronounced in rural areas, where only about 6% of total calories came from protein, compared with 29% in the 2019 reference diet.
At first glance, the region’s relatively low consumption of animal-sourced foods might appear environmentally beneficial, especially when compared with the high levels typical of North America, Europe, and parts of Latin America and even Sub-Saharan Africa. However, this gap also points to a serious protein inadequacy in South Asian diets. While reducing excessive meat intake is crucial in many parts of the world like North America, Latin America and the Caribbean, and Europe and Central Asia, in India the challenge is the opposite: ensuring that people consume enough high-quality protein from both plant and sustainable animal sources to meet their nutritional needs.
Also read: Ultra-processed foods are reshaping our diets. Should we be worried?
When it comes to fats, South Asia shows an interesting mix of alignment and excess. Vegetable oil consumption is close to 40% of the amount recommended by the PHD. Most other regions fall short of this benchmark, with only North America and Europe and Central Asia slightly exceeding it. Palm oil consumption in South Asia is around 70% of the recommended level, a more moderate figure than in regions such as Sub-Saharan Africa or East Asia and the Pacific, where it is considerably higher. Palm oil is not traditionally part of South Asian diets, but its low cost and long shelf life have made it a preferred ingredient in the food processing industry.
This does not mean grains are lacking in Indian diets; rather, they are mostly consumed as refined products such as maida and polished white rice.
Animal fat consumption, on the other hand, tells a different story. At roughly 60% more than PHD’s recommended amount, it is the only food group in which South Asia significantly exceeds the recommended level. This likely reflects the region’s enduring fondness for ghee and other dairy fats, both in home cooking and festive cuisine. While these fats hold cultural and culinary importance, their high saturated fat content raises concerns for cardiovascular health, particularly as diets become more energy-dense and lifestyles more sedentary.
The EAT-Lancet commission strongly urges public authorities to adapt the principles of the PHD to local nutritional needs and cultural preferences via national dietary guidelines. In the Indian context, the National Institute of Nutrition’s (NIN) dietary guidelines are interesting to consider in this regard. Released in 2024, the guidelines do not make any reference to the PHD. However, both guidelines present many overlaps. Since the PhD is based on a 2400 kcal intake and the NIN’s guidelines on a 2000 kcal one, it is not possible to compare recommended quantities for various foods directly. However, both propose a diet that is rich in vegetables and pulses and moderate when it comes to animal-based foods, fats, and sugar.
Some differences between the PHD and NIN guidelines are worth discussing here as well.
Some differences between the PHD and NIN guidelines are worth discussing here as well. For instance, while the PHD allows about two eggs per week, the NIN recommends one egg a day. It also recommends fruits in much lower quantities than the PHD. These differences reflect India’s specific nutritional deficiencies, affordability concerns, and access issues. But some other differences might hint at blind spots. For example, the NIN guidelines group oils and fats together with nuts, without clearly distinguishing between animal-sourced or saturated fats and healthier plant-based options. Such an approach risks overlooking the excessive consumption of animal-sourced fats, which the EAT-Lancet report identifies as a dietary concern in South Asia. The NIN also classifies tubers like potatoes under vegetables, whereas the PHD treats them as a separate category with a limited share of the diet.
Also read: What it takes to feed India’s growing cities
The 2019 EAT-Lancet report was criticised for proposing a diet that was out of reach for much of the developing world. A 2020 study found that the cost of an EAT–Lancet diet, even when adapted to local contexts, exceeded household per capita income for at least 1.58 billion people. The recommendations of the 2025 report do not deviate much from the 2019 ones (though they do come with stronger evidence) even as consuming fruits, vegetables, nuts, and even meat in quantities suggested by the PHD remains unattainable for people in most developing countries including India.
All in all, while it might be unrealistic to expect the Indian population to consume 500 g of fruits and vegetables and 50 g of nuts and seeds every day, there are areas where policy action can make a meaningful difference.
Affordability is only one part of the picture. The report also draws attention to a stark imbalance in responsibility: the wealthiest 30% of the global population account for over 70% of food-related environmental impacts, and diets in regions such as North America and Europe have a far greater environmental footprint than those in South Asia. This contrast raises an important question—should a country like India be expected to change its diet when it contributes far less to global environmental degradation? I believe the answer is still yes, not for environmental reasons alone, but because the framework speaks directly to urgent public health needs.
There is much that the government can do with the analysis presented by the report. To begin with, understanding how India eats requires better evidence. Research that compared the Indian diet with the first EAT-Lancet’s PHD relied on national consumption data from 2011–12, the last comprehensive survey of its kind. National level data from 2018–19, which could have provided an updated picture, could not be used because of quality concerns. Without new data, policy design risks being reactive and fragmented.
The widening gap between those who can afford diverse, nutrient-rich foods and those who cannot is also an area that must be addressed by the government. Urban and higher-income populations have greater access to diverse and nutrient-rich foods, while rural and poorer households remain dependent on cereal-heavy diets. Food price volatility, insufficient government aid, and uneven social and economic development across regions have deepened these divides.
All in all, while it might be unrealistic to expect the Indian population to consume 500 g of fruits and vegetables and 50 g of nuts and seeds every day, there are areas where policy action can make a meaningful difference. Expanding subsidies and procurement support for whole grains, pulses, and fresh produce, alongside public campaigns to reduce sugar and animal fat consumption, would help shift diets in a healthier direction and curb the incidence of non-communicable diseases. Strengthening the Mid Day meal programme and public distribution schemes to prioritise nutrient-rich foods could also help bridge dietary gaps without placing additional burdens on households. Steps such as these should be taken in order to strengthen nutritional security and the resilience of India’s food system in the face of environmental and economic pressures. Because, after all, the wellbeing of one-sixth of humanity cannot be separated from the wellbeing of the planet itself.
Artwork by Alia Sinha
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It’s 8:30 am on a rainy August morning when Nosar Bai, 65, is searching roadside bushes in the outskirts of the Jaliya village in Ajmer, Rajasthan. The thing she is looking for is the spine gourd (Momordica dioica), a climber plant with green, spiky, seasonal fruits, also known as kikoda in Rajasthan.
Cooked as a vegetable (find a local recipe for it at the end of this article), the spine gourd is a semi-wild species of flowering plant in the gourd family. It is found in nature with minimal human interference in Punjab, Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Kerala, and in the Western Ghats of Maharashtra, as well as in other regions of India and Sri Lanka, reaching an elevation of 1,525 metres in the Himalayas.
It is known by different names across India. In Karnataka, it is called madahagalakayi; in Maharashtra, it is known as kartoli and kantola; in West Bengal, it is referred to as bhatkarela and ban-karola; in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, it is called aakakarakayi; in Tamil Nadu, it is known as pazhupavakkai; and in Kerala, it is referred to as kattu pavakkai/eruma paval. Other names used in different parts of the country include kankoda, meetha karela, kakrol, and kaksa.
For the past 20 years, Nosar Bai has been foraging for spine gourds (also known as spiny gourds) to sell during every monsoon. All year, she has to do absolutely nothing to ensure that the fruits will grow. “Bhagwan bowe hai inhe (it’s God that sows these seeds),” she says. According to her and others from the region who sell foraged spine gourds for a living, the tuber of the plant remains resolutely in place all year, requiring no intervention. As soon as monsoon showers arrive, the plant climbs up swiftly. It thrives in both tropical and subtropical climates and has been described as a hardy plant well-suited to diverse climatic conditions. It can be grown on a wide range of soils and in frost-free areas. As long as there’s rain, there’ll be spine gourds, and if it doesn’t rain for a year, they will still grow the next year amid showers, Nosar Bai says.
More than 550 km away, in Mainpuri, Uttar Pradesh, Omveer Singh cultivates the spine gourd commercially. Singh grows the Indira Kankoda I variety—developed by researchers in Chhattisgarh and released in 2007—which is resistant to all major pests. In India, the fruit (used as a vegetable in the culinary sense) is commercially grown in Odisha, Bihar, Jharkhand, and Maharashtra, along with West Bengal and Karnataka—the two states which lead in its cultivation for sale.
After quitting his job as a salesperson during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, Singh decided to turn to farming, deliberately choosing crops that required minimal investment yet offered steady, year-on-year returns. YouTube tutorials helped him learn the basics, and when he came across the spine gourd, it immediately brought back memories of foraging it in the wild during his childhood. That nostalgia, along with its low-effort cultivation, convinced him to grow the spine gourd alongside parwal (pointed gourd). The only recurring costs, he notes, are for manure and neem oil to keep pests away, while the one-time expense of constructing a bamboo support structure—for the tubers to climb—lasts for years.
According to Singh and Nosar Bai, 1 kg of spine gourd can fetch anywhere between ₹80 to ₹200, depending on the time of the season and year. Singh says that cultivating spine gourds in an area of one acre can fetch somewhere between ₹3,00,000 and ₹4,00,000 per season. For him, the returns have been increasing year-on-year.
As soon as monsoon showers arrive, the plant climbs up swiftly.
In Telangana’s Adilabad and Warangal, the gourd has been sold at prices higher than chicken earlier this year and in previous years, reaching as high as ₹500 per kg in 2024 due to its escalating demand and comparatively insufficient production. The other reasons cited for high prices are its limited availability at a specific time of year, as well as its appeal among vegetarians and meat-eaters alike.
“It is not just the fruit that sells. One kilogram of seeds, procured from approximately 10 kgs of fruits, sells for anywhere between ₹3,000 and ₹5,000. The dried roots also sell for about ₹300 to ₹400 per kg. I receive calls from all over the country to ship seeds and roots for medicinal use as well. People have even come to my house or the farm to buy from me directly,” Singh adds.
Also read: A hunt for Goa’s wild ‘monsoon greens’: Foraged veggies that fed generations
The lucrative returns on spine gourd are due to its high nutritional value. “Yeh bimaari kaate hai (It keeps you disease-free),” says Nosar Bai. Along with being rich in vitamins, including vitamin A, vitamin C, and vitamin B9, the fruit contains minerals like iron, magnesium, and potassium. “Rich in fibre, the spine gourd aids in digestion and relieves constipation. It’s a great choice for those with diabetes mellitus, PCOS, hypertension, and obesity because of its high fibre and moisture content and also due to its ability to lower blood sugar levels. Since it is rich in anti-oxidants β-carotene and flavonoids, it can act as an anti-aging agent, and can help fight acne. It’s like a multivitamin pill,” explains Dr Deepti Verma, nutritionist and director, Mastermind Body Global.
Some reports have documented the medicinal use of the spine gourd in traditional healing practices, too. Tribes in Chhattisgarh have been using the tuberous roots of this plant to treat rheumatism, fever, and diarrhoea, while its seeds are used to treat chest issues.
Also read: The uncertain future of Aarey Forest’s tribal agriculture
Despite its significant economic and nutritional value, and demand in local markets, the spine gourd remains “underutilised and under-exploited”. This is because growing the fruit comes with its own set of challenges. Primarily, there is no conventional propagation technique for large-scale cultivation. It is also a dioecious crop, which means it has separate male and female plants. The male plant only bears flowers, which are essential for pollination but don’t yield any gourds. It’s the female plant that bears both flowers and fruits after being pollinated by the male plant.
When propagated through seeds, one challenge is that the sex of the plants cannot be predetermined. “You need a lot of seeds to ensure cultivation,” says Soumik Banerjee, an independent researcher and practitioner of agro-ecology and heirloom seed conservation. After flowering, a 10% male plant population should be maintained to achieve better fruit yield.
Singh adds that propagation from seeds is also more time-consuming. It takes three months for them to germinate and flower. “Whereas if the propagation is executed through the tuber, it flowers within 30-35 days,” he explains.
Though germination via tubers is faster and provides clarity on the plant's sex, it can be challenging to obtain a sufficient number of plants. “People dig out tubers from the wild, disturbing the plant’s growth in forests and damaging its natural ecosystem,” explains Banerjee.
Also read: In Meghalaya, Mei Ramew cafés keep indigenous recipes, techniques alive
To combat these challenges with propagation, researchers across the country have developed various varieties. For instance, Arka Bharath, identified for commercial cultivation by the experts at the Central Horticultural Experiment Station (CHES) in Karnataka’s Chettalli (a regional station of the Indian Council of Agricultural Research - Indian Institute of Horticultural Research, Bengaluru) is a high-yielding variety.
Researchers found that not only do spine gourd plants sprout only after the onset of the monsoon, they also produce a lower yield with small fruits that weigh between 20 gms–30 gms, resulting in a very low yield of 2-3 kgs per plant.
On the contrary, their Assamese counterpart—the teasel gourd (Momordica subangulata subsp. renigera), a semi-domesticated crop—multiplies more easily, and therefore, can be more cultivated commercially. A single fruit can weigh up to 100 gms, and a yield of up to 8-9 kgs can be procured from one plant. The researchers studied the teasel gourd to produce a high-yielding selection for commercial cultivation. A 2024 study has found that net returns from teasel gourd farming are strikingly promising. The maintenance costs ranged from ₹2,94,460 in the first year to ₹3,65,830 by the fifth year, while the net returns fluctuated between ₹16,49,795 in the first year and ₹14,13,020 by the fifth year.
Another successful example stemming from academic research is the Arka Neelachal Shanti variety—a hybrid of the spine gourd developed by crossing it with the teasel gourd. “While the quality of spine gourd is superior, it yields fruits for a shorter time and is difficult to propagate. We’ve crossed two different species to combine the desirable traits of both to develop this variety, which is easy to cultivate and multiply, and yields fruit for a longer duration,” explains Latchumi Kanthan Bharathi, Principal Scientist, division of Crop Improvement, ICAR-Central Tuber Crops Research Institute (ICAR-CTCRI), Thiruvananthapuram. “It is now a super hit with farmers in Odisha, where it was released,” he says.
Bharathi was the principal investigator for the programme that developed Arka Bharath and Arka Neelachal Shanti. The intent behind his research into the subject was widening the food basket and providing greater access to this local ingredient.
Wash the spine gourd fruit thoroughly and leave it to dry. Once dry, cut into round slices. Heat some oil in a pan and add cumin seeds and asafoetida. Sauté some finely chopped onions and slit green chillies. Add the spine gourd, along with spices such as chilli powder, turmeric, and coriander powder. Add salt to taste. Cover and cook on low heat until the gourd is cooked through. Squeeze some lemon on top, mix and season with fresh coriander leaves.
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For the last 27 years, Prof. Chellapilla Bharadwaj has been working on chickpeas. Principal scientist with the Genetics Division at the Indian Agricultural Research Institute (IARI), he holds a PhD in genetics and plant breeding. A crop expert interested in technological interventions, he is now engaged in research to breed superior varieties of the legume that can stand the test of climate change. In fact, the varieties developed by Prof. Bharadwaj now make up a third of chickpeas grown in central India.
His summer visits to the remote, picturesque Araku region in Andhra Pradesh, where one his relatives worked under the tribal development programme a few decades ago, sparked his interest in agriculture. His choice to study chickpeas emerged from a larger fascination with pulses. Significantly, Prof. Bharadwaj’s work with chickpeas is also focused on smallholder farmers; his varieties are meant to help them increase their yields and consequently, their incomes. Since the chickpea is a climate-resistant crop, his objective is to develop varieties of this crop that can help small farmers, who will be most affected by climate change.
There are two distinct types of chickpeas: the smaller black variety, called the desi chana, and the other variant which is bigger in size and lighter in colour, called the Kabuli chana. The latter is sweeter in taste and does not become sticky upon cooking. While desi chana is cultivated in India and Pakistan in significant quantities, Kabuli chana is native to the Mediterranean.
Significantly, Prof. Bharadwaj’s work with chickpeas is also focused on smallholder farmers; his varieties are meant to help them increase their yields and consequently, their incomes.
When it comes to the cultivation of pulses in India, almost 50% of production as well as area under farming belongs to chickpeas. The country is both, the largest producer of chickpea in the world, as well as its biggest importer. Madhya Pradesh, Maharashtra and Rajasthan are the leading states in its cultivation. It is typically grown as a Rabi crop; it prefers dry weather and deep, loamy soils. There are now over 200 commercially available chickpea cultivars being grown in India, with the protein content in some of these touching nearly 33%, with exceptionally high bioavailability. Generally, the pulse is also high in dietary fiber and unsaturated fatty acids, as well as micronutrients such as iron, zinc and magnesium.
Legend has it that the chickpea, known for its diversity and cross-cultural travels, became Mughal emperor Shah Jahan’s source of sustenance after he was imprisoned by his son Aurangzeb. When his son gave him the choice to pick only one ingredient, Shah Jahan supposedly opted for the legume because it can be cooked in numerous ways. Even a story this medieval simply illustrates what Prof. Bhardwaj believes about the chickpea: it’s a genius food. It can be prepared and consumed in any way one likes. It’s no surprise that it adapted so readily to a variety of regional culinary practices.
In recent years, increasing yields and building climate resilience have become a priority for its farmers. This is a priority for Prof. Bharadwaj, too. Led by him, his team works with precision to reach these two goals. For instance, when working on developing drought-tolerant varieties, specific genes that impart this advantage–like deep root lines–are identified, and used to breed new varieties. Traditionally, this sort of cross-breeding would take about 10 years. But Prof. Bharadwaj’s team uses molecular markers to identify genetic information, and breeding this way cuts the development time in half. This process of genomic breeding is also being used to develop varieties that not only resist drought, but also wilt–the same variety offers higher yield, as well. Of the 28 varieties developed by the team, six are bred this way.
In this conversation with the Good Food Movement, Prof. Bharadwaj explains how they achieved these outcomes.
What place does the chickpea occupy in Indian agriculture? How does it compare to staple crops like paddy and wheat?
Each crop has its own distinct role to play in the food system. While rice and wheat meet the carbohydrate requirements, the chickpea plays a vital role in fulfilling the protein needs of crores of Indians.
In the northern and the western plains of India, chickpea cultivation has declined.
It is one of India’s most important pulses. All over the world, it is cultivated over 11–13 million hectares, which is a large area by global standards. Grown under resource-limited conditions, chickpea thrives due to its low input requirements and unique ability to fix atmospheric nitrogen. It thereby enriches soil fertility.
However, a transformation has come about. In the northern and the western plains of India, chickpea cultivation has declined. The crop has been largely replaced by the rice–wheat cropping system. This shift has contributed to significant environmental concerns like soil degradation and a depletion of water resources. To address these challenges, it is essential to reintroduce at least one pulse crop—preferably the chickpea—in the Rabi season. Policy interventions and institutional support are needed to ensure the revival of chickpea in these two regions.
Also read: The big promise of the little millet, in Odisha and beyond
It is known to be a climate-friendly crop. Is your work building on the science needed to make it more resilient to climate change?
I am engaged in enhancing the resilience of the chickpea to make it adaptable to various climatic vulnerabilities. It requires minimal external inputs. My research extends beyond merely identifying these superior genetic resources–I am also strategically deploying them to breed superior chickpea varieties capable of thriving under challenging environmental conditions.
Using advanced molecular breeding tools, I have successfully developed several varieties such as Pusa 10216, Pusa 4005 and Pusa JG 16. The Pusa 10216 shows better drought resistance as well as higher yields, and it was released by ICAR in 2019. The other two are more recent: Pusa 4005 was released in 2021, and Pusa JG 16 in 2023.
These varieties possess the ability to maintain high yields even in drought-prone areas. They offer farmers reliable options in the face of climate variability. Central India, where these varieties have been primarily adopted, have seen an increase in their chickpea yield by nearly 25%. Pusa 10216, specifically, showed an 11% yield superiority compared to its predecessor in the very year it was released.
Also read: Why kokum, a beloved souring agent, hasn't evolved into a commercial success
Could you comment on the chickpea’s genetic diversity (variety of genes that help the crop adapt, survive, evolve)?
Cultivated chickpea varieties possess relatively narrow genetic diversity. However, the species as a whole harbours rich genetic variations which are largely found in traditional landraces and crop wild relatives or CWRs (a wild plant closely related to the domesticated plant). Although the natural habitats of many CWRs are on the verge of extinction, they have been conserved in gene banks. These genetic resources must be systematically characterised and effectively utilised in breeding programmes to enhance the crop’s resilience and productivity.
What technology do you use in your work?
At the IARI, I am dedicated to developing superior chickpea varieties tailored to diverse market segments and suited for farmers across all the chickpea-growing zones of India. The breeding programme, ‘Genetics and Genomics Approaches for Breeding Chickpea to Enhance Productivity, Stress Resilience, and Nutritional Quality,’ integrates cutting-edge genomic tools with conventional breeding methods. By combining traditional selection practices with genomic-assisted breeding, I aim to deliver high-yielding, climate-resilient, and nutritionally enriched chickpea varieties that meet the evolving needs of farmers and consumers alike.
Why are so many scientists across the world invested in the chickpea?
It is one of the most important legume crops. India plays a key role in its global value chain as the largest producer, consumer, importer and also a significant exporter. While India exports the large-seeded Kabuli type, it also imports substantial quantities of the desi (kala chana), making the Indian market a focal point of global trade. This attracts major chickpea-producing countries such as Australia, Tanzania and Ethiopia, all of whom aim to cater to the Indian demand.
With the rising protein market and increasing emphasis on sustainable agriculture, it offers immense potential for both food security and environmental resilience.
Beyond its commercial significance, its exceptional nutritional profile–particularly its high protein content–positions the chickpea as a key player in addressing malnutrition and in meeting the growing global demand for plant-based protein. With the rising protein market and increasing emphasis on sustainable agriculture, it offers immense potential for both food security and environmental resilience. These combined advantages explain why scientists worldwide are investing in chickpea research.
The chickpea travelled from the Mediterranean region to Afghanistan and then entered India. What do you have to say about this fascinating journey across cultures? What made it a cross-cultural crop?
The journey of the chickpea is a remarkable instance of how a humble crop can weave itself into the cultural fabrics of multiple civilisations. This migration was not only about seeds moving across continents, but also about knowledge, cuisine and culture traveling together. Along the ancient trade routes, chickpea was not only a food commodity, but also a strategic agricultural product that could be stored, transported and traded easily.
Its ability to thrive in semi-arid conditions, with modest water and nutrient needs, allowed it to adapt seamlessly from the Mediterranean’s mild winters to the harsher terrains of Central and South Asia. As it is rich in protein, fibre, vitamins and minerals, the chickpea met a fundamental dietary need across societies, both as a staple for vegetarian communities in India, and as part of balanced diets in the Mediterranean and the Middle Eastern regions.
Few crops can boast of a culinary range as wide as the chickpea.
Few crops can boast of a culinary range as wide as the chickpea. One only has to think of the Mediterranean hummus and the Levantine falafel to the Indian chana masala and besan-based evening snacks. Each culture reimagined the chickpea to suit its tastes and traditions. In essence, the chickpea’s cross-cultural journey is a story of resilience, adaptability and universal appeal. It is a crop that transcended geography to become a shared heritage of human food culture.
Also read: The nutritional power of ragi: India's overlooked supergrain
Why aren’t pulses mainstreamed in India? Even in dry regions such as Bundelkhand, one observes farmers opting for wheat. Why don’t they turn to chickpeas?
Wheat and rice have become easy crops to cultivate, as the expertise required to farm them is well understood. Their high adaptability, coupled with assured market support and government subsidies makes them the preferred choice for many farmers. In contrast, pulse crops, though hardy and resource-efficient, demand a certain level of farming skill and experience for successful cultivation. Farmers need to be educated and trained not only in pulse production techniques, but also in understanding the environmental benefits that pulses offer.
Unlike wheat and paddy growers, pulse farmers use far smaller amounts of nitrogenous fertilisers like urea. Therefore, fertiliser subsidy policies should be revisited to provide higher and more remunerative minimum support prices (MSP) for pulse growers. Additionally, imposing higher import duties on pulses can help protect domestic producers, ensuring that they receive fair and competitive market prices. With these targeted interventions, the area under pulse cultivation and overall production can be increased.
Edited by Anushka Mukherjee and Neerja Deodhar
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Editor's note: Even before its current status as a nutrient-rich superfood, ragi has been a crucial chapter in the history of Indian agriculture. Finger millet, as it is commonly known, has been a true friend of the farmer and consumer thanks to its climate resilience and ability to miraculously grow in unfavourable conditions. As we look towards an uncertain, possibly food-insecure future, the importance of ragi as a reliable crop cannot be understated. In this series, the Good Food Movement explains why the millet deserves space on our farms and dinner plates. Alongside an ongoing video documentation of what it takes to grow ragi, this series will delve into the related concerns of intercropping, cover crops and how ragi fares compared to other grains.
Long before intercropping became an agroecology buzzword, farmers across southern Karnataka had perfected Akkadi Salu—a system that allowed ragi to thrive alongside pulses, oilseeds, greens, and even weeds. In Kannada, akkadi means ‘a minor crop grow between the furrows of a main crop’ and salu refers to a row—this was an indigenous intercropping system. Once the foundation of the region’s dryland food economy, it is now a vanishing practice, replaced by mechanised monocropping. Yet, in a climate-stressed world, its logic is newly urgent.
In Akkadi Salu, fields of ragi were never sown homogenously. They were interspersed with legumes, oilseeds, trees, and shrubs—like field beans, tur, castor, sesame, niger seed and mustard. These are crops with different root depths and growth cycles that together kept the soil fertile and the harvest diverse. Therein lies the beauty of ragi, you don’t need to grow any of these crops by themselves; they can all co-exist. Traditionally, farmers begin with hand broadcasting: scattering a mix of seeds across the land before the first monsoon showers. Once the seeds germinate, the soil is lightly turned to mulch the residue back in rather than ploughing deeply. The aim is to keep the topsoil alive, not expose it.
Hand broadcasting is a native art that helps farmers connect with the soil. You walk along the rows in the field and swing your hand from right to left, scattering seeds in a gentle motion. Then, retrace your steps backwards to ensure an evenness to the sowing. Sometimes, you may step on a seed, but this actually pushes it into the soil rather than destroying it. Ragi, a hardy monocot that needs oxygen-rich, well-aerated soil, benefits from this minimal disturbance.
Therein lies the beauty of ragi, you don’t need to grow any of these crops by themselves; they can all co-exist.
Cover crops, a class of crops grown before the main ragi crop benefit from a mixture of legumes, oilseeds, and herbs. These cover crops include legumes like cowpea, horsegram, and dhaincha [Spiny Sesbania], which are grown before the main ragi crop to fix nitrogen naturally. Castor and mustard, meanwhile, act as trap crops—drawing pests away from the main harvest and towards them instead. They also serve as hosts for pollinators like ladybird beetles. After harvest, the stalks and roots decompose to feed the next cycle, closing the nutrient loop and negating the need for chemical fertilisers. This process lays the foundation for a successful ragi crop. Wherever Akkadi Salu is practised, the farms are scarcely ploughed; earthworms and microbes loosen and aerate it better than any machine can.
Everything in Akkadi Salu revolves around keeping the soil covered and alive. It is essential that the soil is exposed to minimal sunlight and that temperatures under the surface remain cool. Thus, crops are chosen not only for food or fodder, but for their root architecture—deep-rooted castor and tur create pathways for rainwater to percolate, while shallow-rooted millets retain moisture near the surface from the rain. The constant mulch layer prevents the soil from overheating and protects it from erosion.
Wherever Akkadi Salu is practised, the farms are scarcely ploughed; earthworms and microbes loosen and aerate it better than any machine can.
Also read: The grain divide: How ragi and rice compare in the field and on our plates
Akkadi Salu is a practice that focuses on both food and fodder. The rabi season’s intercrops are often grown solely for fodder. It kept cattle fed through the dry months, while their dung and urine enriched the next cycle of sowing. Weeds are not perceived as intruders, but as guests that were bound to arrive, and are therefore welcomed. This approach isn’t just philosophical; it is ecological. In these biodiverse fields, weeds are not enemies but part of the cycle—fodder for animals, nutrition for the soil, and even food for farmer families.
Most Indian farmers today apply weedicides on their fields, in an attempt to remove weeds. What if we looked at weeds as plants that beautify fields and diversify our sources of nutrition? These are also plants that are traditionally foraged while the monsoon crop grows. Each plant has its own utility. For instance, doddagunisoppu [Horse Purslane] helps constipation, and the stem of the mustard plant, which is usually discarded in modern kitchens, treats dog bites in cows and sheep.
This mosaic of crops and weeds acted as insurance.
This mosaic of crops and weeds acted as insurance. If ragi failed, legumes usually survived. If pests came, trap crops kept them occupied. The field remained productive for eight months a year, even on a single acre of rain-fed land.
Also read: ‘Summer ragi’: How Kolhapur farmers’ millet experiment became a success story
The arrival of mechanisation—rotavators, seed drills, threshers—brought both relief and loss. Machines reduced labour but demanded uniformity. Intercropped fields were harder to till and harvest mechanically, so farmers began segregating crops into neat, single-species plots. Humans adapted cropping patterns to machines instead of nature, which led to the slow decline of Akkadi Salu.
Today, most ragi is cultivated as a monocrop, heavily reliant on chemical inputs like diammonium phosphate (DAP) and urea. The soil has become compacted (which decreases soil porosity), the biodiversity has thinned, and farmers have lost a system that once offered both resilience and nutrition.
Climate change is hitting India’s drylands hardest. Erratic rains, degraded soils and shrinking water tables make high-input farming untenable. Intercropping systems like Akkadi Salu offer an agroecological alternative: low-cost, low-risk, and deeply adapted to local ecology.
Across India, similar traditions echo this logic: Uttarakhand’s Baranaja (twelve grain), Odisha’s Dongar (hill farming), and Rajasthan’s hangadi kheti each combine cereals, pulses, oilseeds and greens to maintain soil life and nutritional diversity. They also promise more than just yields—they restore nutrition, soil carbon, and cultural memory.
As Rachel Carson wrote in her seminal book, Silent Spring, “Nature has introduced great variety into the landscape, but man has displayed a passion for simplifying it.” Akkadi Salu is a reminder of what complexity can sustain—and how much we stand to lose by forgetting it.
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“Our native seeds have thrived for hundreds of years,” says Pavani Gomango, a farmer from the Manikapur village in Odisha’s Gajapati district. Holding a handful of kulath (horse gram) passed down through generations in her Saura Adivasi community, the 37-year-old explains how they persist where hybrid varieties fail—resilient against erratic rains and long dry spells. For Gomango and countless other Adivasi women farmers, these seeds are more than a tradition; they are a lifeline in the face of climate change and the loss of food diversity. “A seed is not just a grain. It carries our story, our soil, and our strength,” Gomango says.
In the neighbouring Rayagada district, in the Telingiri village of the Kashipur block, community leader Harabati Jhodia has been raising awareness among Adivasi communities about the importance of preserving native seeds. “Losing these seeds means losing our wisdom about food,” the 38-year-old says, displaying a handful of vibrant kernels of indigenous maize. These varieties, she explains, are not only hardy but also rich in nutrition. Yet the traditional knowledge linked to them is fast eroding. High-yielding commercial seeds and monocropping have been steadily replacing indigenous varieties over the last decade, leaving the younger generations with a limited understanding of their value.
Across Gajapati and Rayagada, however, a quiet revival is taking root. Adivasi women farmers are joining hands to identify, exchange, and multiply their native seeds—keeping them alive in both fields and public memory. Supporting this effort is Living Farms, an NGO founded in 2008 that works in the area on sustainable food systems, in collaboration with Action Child Aid and Terre des Hommes (the former, a Danish NGO working with underprivileged children in urban and rural slums in India since 1965, and the latter, a Swiss charitable organisation working with children and the youth). This initiative has helped establish 40 community seed banks across the two districts. Managed, owned and operated entirely by Adivasi women from communities like the Sauras and Dongria Kondhs since 2018, these banks are more than repositories: they are hubs of resilience, reducing the communities’ dependence on external markets.
Currently, around 400-500 women manage 40 seed banks, with each institution powered by the labour of about 10-15 women. Farmers can borrow these seeds under two simple conditions. First, they may give their own indigenous varieties to the banks in exchange for those they lack. Second, after harvest, they must return double the quantity of seeds they borrowed. In this way, the banks function on a system of trust and reciprocity, offering seeds without any financial transactions.
“The first step is to identify local seed keepers,” explains Kanchani Gomango, a 46-year-old from Manikapur who has preserved certain native varieties which others have not. The safeguarding work that these custodians undertake spans across generations. “It is because of their past efforts that we are able to protect our crop diversity,” she adds. Her words capture the very spirit of the community seed banks.
In this way, the banks function on a system of trust and reciprocity, offering seeds without any financial transactions.
“They empower communities to exercise their rights over seeds,” says Bichitra Biswal, programme director at Living Farms in Bhubaneswar. “They give people the ability to control their own food systems.” Most encouraging, he notes, is the response from the younger generation. Young Adivasi community members are beginning to recognise the worth of these native seeds—not as relics of the past, but as vital keys to a resilient future. By operating at a small scale aimed at sustenance and exchange with neighbouring villages, these banks are able to avoid the challenges of financing and logistics that larger banks typically face. To prevent spoilage, the seeds are dried and mixed with dry neem leaves, after which they are preserved in earthen pots.
Odisha is home to 64 Scheduled Tribes and 13 Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTGs), with Adivasi communities comprising over 22% of the state’s population. Yet, limited access to dietary diversity has led to widespread malnutrition and poor health outcomes. The spread of hybrid seeds and monocropping has further deepened food and nutritional insecurity. These challenges are compounded by climate change, as irregular rainfall and prolonged dry spells frequently damage hybrid crops and reduce yields.
The impact is stark. In Rayagada district, according to the Poshan District Nutrition Profile (2022) published by the NITI Aayog and the Ministry of Women and Child Development, 44% of children under the age of five are stunted, 40% underweight, and 70% are anaemic. Among pregnant women, 77% are anaemic. In Gajapati district, the figures are similarly alarming: 43% of children under the age of five are stunted, 34% are underweight, and 64% are anaemic.
Also read: How a remote Ladakh village, home to 17 women, embraced polyhouse farming
The story of the community seed banks does not end with the give and take of seeds; relying solely on the ‘loaned’ grains from these banks, nearly 4,000 Adivasi women in the area are cultivating diverse crops in backyard nutrition gardens with support from Living Farms. Through organic practices such as mixed and intercropping, they grow vegetables, greens, pulses, maize, and tubers. These women are taking the lead in shaping household food security, deciding which crops to grow, determining quantities for family consumption, selecting the best seeds for the next season, and generating income by selling surplus produce.
Each nutrition garden is set up on just two decimals (0r 0.02 acres) of land, yet they flourish with 14 to 16 indigenous varieties of vegetables. Women grow staples like okra, pumpkin, tomato, brinjal, bottle gourd, bitter gourd, snake gourd, ridge gourd, cucumber, spinach, carrot, radish, chilli, and amaranthus. Among these thrive rare native varieties known by their local names—bori bejra (cherry tomato), putal chichili (finger-sized ridge gourd), dumuni lau (round bottle gourd), dimbu lau (high-neck bottle gourd), sukuli heyana (white brinjal), and hapka heyana (thorny brinjal). Alongside vegetables, women also cultivate pulses such as cowpea, cluster beans, and arhar—ensuring not just a colourful spread on their plates, but also a reliable source of protein for their families.
The story of the community seed banks does not end with the give and take of seeds; relying solely on the ‘loaned’ grains from these banks, nearly 4,000 Adivasi women in the area are cultivating diverse crops in backyard nutrition gardens with support from Living Farms.
For a nutrition garden to prosper, the plot it is located on must receive sunlight throughout the year. The laying out begins by fixing a stump at the centre and marking a 15-foot circle with ash. Around it, four more concentric circles are drawn with radii of 3, 4.5, 9, and 10.5 feet. The outermost circle is then divided into seven equal sections to create 1.5-foot-wide pathways, while the beds in between are enriched with farmyard manure. Seasonal adaptations are key; in the summer, women prepare sunken beds to reduce water loss through evaporation, while in the monsoon, they create raised beds to protect plants from heavy rains and waterlogging.
In the innermost circle, women cultivate root vegetables such as radishes, carrots, beets, and turnips. Creeper varieties are trained along the vertical supports of the seven pathways, while the outermost circle is used for leafy vegetables and tubers. Around the fence of the nutrition garden, they plant horticultural crops like papaya, banana, and drumstick, which thrive in full sunlight. This cropping pattern is designed to ensure the year-round production of vegetables. New plants are sown just before existing ones reach their fruiting stage, creating a continuous cycle of harvests while also reducing the spread of pests and diseases.
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The nutrition gardens serve as the dietary backbone of the communities they serve. “They help maintain a balanced diet by supplying fresh, diverse, organic vegetables regularly,” says Biswal. Each garden, he adds, is capable of feeding a family of five to seven members throughout the year.
“Previously, we used to buy vegetables in very small quantities because they were expensive, and we’d eat the same ones for days. Now, there is no such limitation. With our nutrition garden, we harvest what we like and eat as much as we want,” says 31-year-old Kanakalata Kingal, a resident of the Bhalusahi village. If Kingal’s garden brings her joy, 44-year-old Rua Kutruka derives quiet pride from her own in the Balipadara village of Rayagada. For the past three years, it has freed her from having to buy vegetables at the local market. “We save around Rs 500–Rs 700 every week, and by eating fresh vegetables, our children’s health has improved,” she says. The savings have also transformed the family’s diet. Once able to afford non-vegetarian food only once in 15 days, Kutruka’s family can now buy eggs, fish, and chicken twice a week.
“Women are selling the surplus vegetables from their nutrition gardens in the local weekly market and supplementing their household incomes,” says Upendra Sikaka, sarpanch of the Telenga Padar panchayat in the Muniguda block. Since these crops are cultivated organically and taste better than chemically-grown hybrids, demand for them remains consistently high in the local market, he adds.
Traditionally, Adivasi women in southern Odisha foraged for wild edibles, including mushrooms, greens, and bamboo shoots during the monsoon. “Our food plate is very diverse during the rainy season,” says 42-year-old Sana Kumruka from Balipadara. But come summer and winter, and the meals turned far simpler and limited. “We used to eat pokhalo, a traditional fermented rice dish with only mashed potatoes or one or two boiled vegetables,” she recalls. After establishing a nutrition garden, Kumruka and her family enjoy a diverse plate throughout the year. “Now, we relish pokhalo with four to seven boiled vegetables, along with greens, lentils, and shallow-fried tubers. Our children, too, are happy to see colourful food on their plates,” she adds.
Also read: How women in this tiny Naga village are safeguarding local seeds
Traditionally, Adivasi women have been custodians of both, food and seed, in their communities. This remains true of the banks and nutrition gardens thriving today, as women remain involved in the fundamentals, such as cropping patterns.
As part of its community outreach from 2017 to 2018, Living Farms, in collaboration with agricultural extension workers from the Krishi Vigyan Kendras organised a series of awareness campaigns on nutrition gardens in Adivasi villages. These campaigns lasted for four years, after which successful gardens served as demonstration models, and farmers were invited to visit and interact with experienced cultivators. Here, farmers were not mere observers—they became participants: walking through the fields, touching the crops, feeling the fertile soil, and exchanging knowledge with those who had already reaped the bounty.
To make nutrition gardens easier to adopt, Living Farms created a brochure in Odia, offering step-by-step guidance on managing soil, crops, and pests. This resource has been distributed among farmers to raise awareness.
Each year, remote villages come alive with seed festivals—vibrant gatherings where farmers exchange seeds, share experiences, and pass on traditional knowledge. More than just celebrations, these events highlight the urgent need to conserve fast-disappearing indigenous varieties while honouring the diversity of local seeds and age-old farming practices. “Our seeds carry the wisdom of our ancestors and the promise of our children’s welfare,” says Pavani Gomango. “Protecting them means protecting our future.”
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Seeds mark the beginning of all food security, and by extension, the foundation of agriculture and the beginning of all life. In India, where agriculture is deeply ingrained in culture, seeds have never been regarded merely as farming inputs. They have long been symbols of abundance, passed down and exchanged across generations.
But in today’s industrial food system, choosing a seed is no longer a simple act. It is a political, economic, and ecological decision. With India having the sixth-largest domestic seed market in the world—worth over ₹10,000 crore—our seed choices are increasingly shaped by market forces, agribusiness corporations, and policies, rather than by farmers and communities.
As Krishna Prasad, the founder of Sahaja Seeds, says, “Traditionally, in India, seeds were part of the commons—[goods] freely exchanged through community networks and rituals. For instance, during marriages or housewarmings, navadhanya (wheat, rice, toor dal, chickpeas, moong beans, white beans, black sesame, Indian black lentils, and horse gram) were given importance.”
Indigenous seed systems relied on open-pollinated varieties (OPVs) that evolved through natural selection and local adaptation. These seeds were adapted to microclimates, soil types, and farming practices. Importantly, they could be saved and reused, strengthening local control and autonomy.
Women were often the custodians of seeds, passing down knowledge through oral tradition and lived experience. In many parts of India, the role of women in seed preservation is still acknowledged through festivals and seasonal rituals.
Indigenous seed systems relied on open-pollinated varieties (OPVs) that evolved through natural selection and local adaptation.
This transition to the modern dilemma of seed differentiation occurred following the Green Revolution, which took place in the 1960s. The Green Revolution was introduced in response to the risk of a series of famines between 1947 and 1960, as well as to increase food production, alleviate poverty, and feed millions. With support from international institutions, the government introduced high-yielding varieties (HYVs) of rice and wheat.
Before the 1960s, Indian farmers practised multicropping cultivation, later shifting to two crops per year during the time of the Green Revolution, a period marked by the “commercialisation/commodification” of farming. Moreover, farmers who grew traditional crops for their own consumption shifted to cash crops; cropping patterns shifted from diverse, input-sharing mixed farming to monocultures driven by external hybrid seeds. This has altered not just what farmers grow, but why they grow it—profit has replaced food and ecological security as the core purpose. In pursuit of high returns, many farmers now grow cash crops that involve higher risks, higher production costs, or long-term vulnerabilities. The system was arranged in such a way that there was increased use of chemical fertilisers, pesticides, insecticides, mechanisation, and institutional reforms, while traditional agriculture and knowledge were sidelined. As Krishna Prasad says, “There was a constant push from the government in the form of subsidies, loans, and targets upon officials to shift to conventional farming.” Thus, big multi-corporations started controlling seeds.
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For example, in northern Karnataka, farmers save seeds from plants that have consistently survived the region’s hot, dry weather. Over time, these seeds adapt and require less water, becoming stronger in challenging conditions. Along Karnataka’s coast, farmers select seeds from rice plants that can withstand salty sea breezes and heavy rains, ensuring future crops resist flooding and salt damage. In both cases, plants are allowed to cross-pollinate naturally—through wind or insects—so that beneficial traits spread within each ecosystem. Moreover, when parent plants endure drought or salinity stress, they transmit biological signals to their seeds, enabling the next generation to grow better under similar tough conditions.
Prasad refers to them as “seeds of resistance” that protect both ecological balance and farmer autonomy. He names Papamma in Mulgabal and Aftab MB in Udupi, Karnataka, as examples of seed savers who have conserved over 500 native varieties like navane (foxtail millet), karibhatta ragi, and hurali (horse gram).
These seeds are often dismissed as “primitive cultivars” or “landraces.” But in reality, they form the genetic bedrock of agricultural resilience and food culture local to India.
The history of the hybrid seed goes as far back as early 20th-century plant breeding trials. In 1908, American geneticist George Harrison Shull showed that the mating of two pure maize lines resulted in the birth of a vigorous offspring—a process referred to as heterosis or hybrid vigour. This provided the basis for hybrid seed technology. Commercial hybrid maize became available in the US during the 1930s, transforming corn farming by markedly increasing yields and resistance to disease.
In India, the use of hybrid seeds accelerated during the Green Revolution, particularly for cereals such as maize, sorghum, and pearl millet. Hybrid varieties were extensively advertised, and officials used to promote their yield potential based on government subsidies and irrigation facilities. However, this vigour does not carry forward as hybrid seeds do not breed true. If a farmer saves and replants hybrid seeds, the second-generation crop shows genetic segregation, leading to unpredictable and often inferior yields.
Hybrid seeds are created by crossing two genetically distinct inbred parent lines to produce the first-generation (F1) hybrids. These F1 plants display hybrid vigour (heterosis) and uniformity, resulting from the combination of complementary alleles. However, when F1 plants self-pollinate or interbreed, their offspring—the F2 generation—inherit a random assortment of chromosomes. This leads to genetic segregation, where different combinations of parental genes are distributed among individual plants, causing significant variation in traits such as size, yield, taste, and overall uniformity. Due to this segregation, seeds saved from hybrid crops do not “breed true,” meaning the next generation fails to consistently reproduce the desirable characteristics of the original hybrid. As a result, farmers must purchase new hybrid seeds each season to maintain the same quality and performance. Moreover, hybrid crops are typically input-intensive, requiring chemical fertilisers and pesticides for optimum performance. This increases production costs and ecological risk. Hybrid seed markets in India have become tools for corporate monopolisation, where private firms determine access, pricing, and availability.
The most well-known GMO in India is Bt cotton, which contains a gene from Bacillus thuringiensis—a soil-dwelling bacterium—to kill bollworm pests. While initially successful, the technology has shown diminishing returns, with new pests emerging and farmers returning to pesticide use.
GMO seeds are often patented, meaning that farmers cannot save or reuse them legally. Companies retain ownership of the seed genetic code, even after sales. Civil society groups, such as The Non-GMO Project, Gene Campaign, and the Heinrich Böll Foundation, have raised concerns about the potential risks of GMOs to biodiversity, food safety, and farmer sovereignty.
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India’s seed economy today is highly commercialised. The seed industry is estimated to have a turnover of over ₹10,000 crore and continues to grow rapidly every year. While public institutions, such as the National Seeds Corporation (NSC), still play a role, private companies have started to dominate the hybrid and GMO seed markets from the late ‘80s.
Confusion between hybrid and GMO seeds is common, and literacy around seed types is low—especially in rain-fed and tribal regions.
The proposed Seed Bill 2020 has sparked debate, with critics arguing that it prioritises corporate breeders’ interests over farmers' rights. Licensing requirements, mandatory registration, and the potential for criminalisation of seed saving are key concerns. Additionally, many farmers are unaware of the origin or classification of the seeds they use. Confusion between hybrid and GMO seeds is common, and literacy around seed types is low—especially in rain-fed and tribal regions.
This commodification also has gender-based implications: as women lose control over seed selection and storage, their stake in agriculture becomes invisible, despite their central role in biodiversity conservation. With the rise of patented seeds sold by multinational corporations, women farmers have become increasingly dependent on purchasing seeds each sowing season, rather than saving and sharing them. This shift undermines their traditional roles and authority in agriculture, diminishing their visibility and influence, even though they continue to carry out much of the farm labour.
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Despite institutional barriers, farmers across India are reviving seed sovereignty through community seed banks, farmer-led breeding, and heritage seed festivals. The Aikanthika Heritage Seed Mela has been held across multiple locations since 2024, and the Desi Seed Festival, organised by Sahaja and other NGOs since 2006, is held annually in Davanagere and Mysuru, Karnataka, respectively. Such initiatives, where hundreds of farmers exchange native varieties of ragi, paddy, legumes, and vegetables, are beneficial to the seed ecosystem. These gatherings are both cultural and political, challenging monoculture and celebrating biodiversity.
Sahaja Seeds, India’s only farmer-owned organic seed company, has built an extensive network of seed producers across India. Likewise, Sahaja Samrudha and Bharat Beej Swaraj Manch are among the handful of national-level players whose models emphasise ethical seed production, capacity building, and preserving neglected varieties.
Women farmers and the youth are also leading the way in seed saving. As Prasad says, “Seed saving reduces dependence on expensive commercial seeds, lowers input costs, and preserves crop varieties adapted to local climates and stresses. This financial and ecological independence empowers women farmers.”
As climate risks intensify—unpredictable monsoons, droughts, floods, and pest outbreaks—the need for diverse, locally-adapted seeds has never been greater. Studies have shown that indigenous seeds are more resilient under climate stress than hybrids or GMOs. For instance, native varieties of bajra and jola in Karnataka withstand dry spells far better than imported hybrids.
Traditional seeds have undergone in-situ evolution, meaning they continuously adapt to local climate patterns, soil conditions, and pest pressures. They also have a broader genetic base with multiple alleles that provide resistance to stress traits, unlike hybrid seeds, which are genetically uniform. This genetic diversity enables them to withstand various environmental stresses through natural selection. Traditional varieties also contain stress-responsive genes (such as the glutathione transferase family), which are activated under multiple stress conditions, providing cross-protection against drought, heat, and disease. Moreover, grains such as millets and pulses are rich in micronutrients, making them essential for achieving nutritional security.
As climate risks intensify—unpredictable monsoons, droughts, floods, and pest outbreaks—the need for diverse, locally-adapted seeds has never been greater. Studies have shown that indigenous seeds are more resilient under climate stress than hybrids or GMOs.
Organic seed systems also contribute to soil health, carbon sequestration, and reduced dependency on fossil fuel based inputs. Their success depends on practices which will increase soil organic matter, such as long-term use of manure, compost, crop rotations, multicropping, cover crops and crop residues, which increase porosity, and water holding capacity. As organic matter accumulates, carbon is sequestered in stable soil fractions—such as humic substances and particulate organic carbon—locking atmospheric carbon dioxide into the soil and mitigating greenhouse gas emissions. Because organic systems avoid synthetic nitrogen fertilisers and petrochemical pesticides (whose production and application consume large amounts of fossil fuels), they substantially reduce energy use and fossil fuel dependency compared to conventional farming.
From the consumer’s perspective, buying organic varieties helps build market demand for traditional seeds. Each conscious purchase reinforces the entire ecosystem—from the farmer to the soil to the seed.
Seeds are not just agricultural tools—they are deeply interconnected to justice, memory, and survival. In a world of rising climate risks and market dependency, our seed choices reflect the kind of future we are sowing.
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In November 2024, Kerala hit a remarkably unique milestone by logging a reduction in antibiotic sales to the tune of over Rs. 1000 crores. Over the years, the state has strengthened its Antimicrobial Resistance (AMR) intervention through a multi-pronged approach, slashing the consumption of antibiotics by 20-30%, according to a statement by Health Minister Veena George.
A significant decision that contributed to this result was taken three years ago, when the state government resolved to suspend or cancel licences of pharmacies selling antibiotics to customers without a doctor’s prescription. This year, the crackdown gained strength: in June, the licences of 450 pharmacies were suspended and five were cancelled, for not adhering to the given direction.
The impact of this drive is wider awareness that is prompting people to act. “After the COVID-19 pandemic, people would buy antibiotics using old prescriptions if any symptoms recurred. But now, people have now become aware that they should not be consumed without a doctor’s prescription. The awareness against unchecked antibiotic use has spread to a vast majority of people, though I won’t say it has reached everyone,” reveals a pharmacy owner whose establishment is based in Pettah, Ernakulam. He adds that the purchase of medicines using outdated prescriptions has been considerably reduced now.
Every pharmacy must clearly display a poster that reads ‘antibiotics not sold without a doctor's prescription’; strict consequences await those who don’t.
There are more than 30,000 retail and wholesale medical shops in Kerala, which are reportedly the focus of ongoing awareness classes for pharmacists. “Medical shops were the core of the campaign, making it their own and putting up the posters on their walls, perhaps because the state has a high literacy rate. People needed no explanation but the posters,” says Dr. Sujith Kumar K, Kerala Drugs Controller. He is referring to the mandate that every pharmacy must clearly display a poster that reads ‘antibiotics not sold without a doctor's prescription’; strict consequences await those who don’t.
Dr. Kumar adds that the Drugs Control Department is working to launch the Sentinel Pharmacy framework to provide accreditations to pharmacies that follow key performance indicators. “These will be model pharmacies, and they will be provided colour codes to be identified as such.” In 2024, the state government announced that this accreditation would enable pharmacies to play a part in disease surveillance and tracking outbreaks by reporting drug purchases and unusual patterns in usage.
AN Mohanan, the President of the All Kerala Chemists and Druggists Association State (AKCDA), underscored that the AMR drive had indeed made a dent. “By and large, medical shops don’t sell antibiotics without a prescription now. Kerala is a progressive state, and the medical shop owners are convinced about the consequences of unchecked sales,” he says.
Another pharmacy-centric action has been the introduction of surprise raids in retail chemist shops by the Kerala Drug Control Department. In fact, even the general public has the power to make a change: the state provides a toll-free number where you can lodge complaints if you see a medical shop selling antibiotics without a prescription. These raids fall under Operation AMRITH (Antimicrobial Resistance Intervention for Total Health), a key project that has enabled several other initiatives since its launch in January 2024.
“The sale of antibiotics now is like that of narcotics, not available without a prescription, and monitored during raids by inspectors of the department. Now, there are regular raids under Operation AMRITH,” the Kerala Drugs Controller says.
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Patients are now more easily convinced when advised to avoid using antibiotics, says ENT specialist Dr. Divya PK, who is the Medical Officer of the Primary Health Centre (PHC) at Koodaranji, Kozhikode. “The use of antibiotics at the outpatient wing has reduced, and patients can’t buy from pharmacies without a prescription. However, constant effort is needed to keep motivating people; the pace should not slow down when a new program is launched,” she adds. Dr Divya was instrumental in transforming the Kakkodi Family Health Centre (FHC) in Kozhikode into an antibiotic-smart hospital. To do this, the Health Centre successfully followed and implemented all of the 10 guidelines issued by the state on curbing the overuse of antibiotics, becoming the nation’s first such hospital.
We follow the exact prescription, and medicine is sold again only if the doctor has suggested a repeat purchase. We are aware of the consequences of unchecked use of all kinds of medicines, not solely of antibiotics.
Despite the government’s proactive stance, a major challenge is that buying only prescribed antibiotics has not gone down well with non-Keralites residing in the state. “They show us prescriptions sent to them via WhatsApp, and the doctors (from their home states) encourage us to sell medication without a physical prescription,” reveals the Ernakulam pharmacy owner quoted earlier. Worse yet, buyers ask for two or three tablets, which chemists like him don’t encourage. “We follow the exact prescription, and medicine is sold again only if the doctor has suggested a repeat purchase. We are aware of the consequences of unchecked use of all kinds of medicines, not solely of antibiotics,” he asserts.
AN Mohanan addresses the government’s direction to sell antibiotics in a blue cover. The mandate dictates that all antibiotics be sold in a blue-coloured bag, so that they can be easily identified. This applies to all medical stores, pharmacies and hospitals. Mohanan specifies that this decision may not be practical because the blue bags aren’t provided by the government. “The Kerala government should hold meetings with us before coming up with regulations, taking us into confidence. Certain things, like selling antibiotics in a blue cover, cannot be made mandatory because of the practical difficulties involved,” he explains. There have been instances where pharmacy licenses have been suspended for selling two or three tablets without a prescription, he notes. “However, when we speak against the unchecked use of antibiotics in our forums, there is a positive impact,” he says.
The impact has carried over; following the suspension of Kerala’s pharmacies in June, the Telangana Drug Control Administration (DCA), too, conducted a state-wide crackdown on its pharmacies. Raids across 193 establishments revealed widespread non-compliance: shops selling antibiotics freely without prescriptions, sales in the absence of qualified pharmacists, and without a proper record of the medicines sold. The raids have spurred the DCA into action, which has indicated a zero-tolerance policy.
In fact, even the general public has the power to make a change: the state provides a toll-free number where you can lodge complaints if you see a medical shop selling antibiotics without a prescription.
Even in the strongest of Kerala’s districts, a major cause of worry is that awareness against antibiotic overuse stands at 40% which demands augmented actions, says Dr. Aravind R, who heads the Department of Infectious Diseases at the Government Medical College, Thiruvananthapuram. Standardised metrics are used to measure this progress, like those set by the World Health Organization (WHO). Dr. Aravind R adds: “The state has achieved the WASH (Water, Sanitation and Hygiene) criteria of the WHO. Another criterion set by the WHO is that 70% of antibiotic use should be from the Access category.”
Dr Aravind is referring to the category system set up by the WHO to monitor antibiotics, called the AWaRe classification. It has three groups: Access, which includes first-choice antibiotics because they treat common infections and have a lower resistance potential; Watch, a group of antibiotics with higher resistance potential that should only be used for specific, limited infections; and finally the Reserve group, which includes last-resort drugs that should only be used to treat infections caused by multi-drug resistant bacteria, and are highly likely to further AMR. “Yet another milestone to achieve is the WHO’s direction to reduce AMR-associated deaths by 10% by 2030,” he adds.
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It is not enough to merely address the accessibility of antibiotics that are newly purchased; the extent of antimicrobial resistance is also defined by the usage of old antibiotics. Leaving unused strips and bottles of these drugs around poses risks because consuming them beyond the stipulated period can lead to further illnesses and increased resistance. The AMR intervention in Kerala recognises this, and the state has put into motion–through early pilot projects–the Programme on Removal of Unused Drugs (PROUD). In recent years, it has renewed this programme to sharpen the scope. The programme now collaborates with the Haritha Karma Sena or the Green Task Force, which is made up almost entirely of women engaged in the state’s waste management drive. Trained members of this group conduct door-to-door collection of unused medicines, including antibiotics.
“The idea is to first make people aware, and then act. We collected 28 tonnes of unused drugs from commercial establishments and households under the Corporation and the Panchayat. The change will be big when this is implemented across the state,” Dr Kumar adds.
Also read: Sivaranjani Santosh’s fight to knock mislabelled ORS off the shelf
Additional inputs from Neerja Deodhar and Anushka Mukherjee
Edited by Neerja Deodhar and Anushka Mukherjee
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