When the millet harvest arrives in the Yimkhiung villages of eastern Nagaland, the celebrations go far beyond the harvest itself.

Families come together for Metümnyo, the community's post-harvest festival. Millet is brewed into traditional local beverages, shared during thanksgiving rituals, and offered in prayers that mark the end of the agricultural cycle. The village elder, known as the khiungpu, leads the ceremonies.

Across the hills of Northeast India, traditions like these have been passed down for generations.

Long before India declared millets a national priority and the world embraced them as climate-smart "superfoods", Indigenous communities in the region had already built their farming systems, festivals, and food traditions around these hardy grains.

For them, millets were never just another crop.

They provided food during uncertain seasons, withstood harsh weather, fed livestock, and brought communities together during festivals and family gatherings.

Now, science is catching up with what these communities have known for centuries.

A 2026 study published in Frontiers documents the rich ethnobotanical knowledge surrounding more than 20 millet species cultivated across the Northeast Himalayan region. The research shows how Indigenous farmers developed diverse millet-based farming systems that supported food security, nutrition, and livelihoods long before climate resilience became part of agricultural policy.

The findings offer an important perspective.

While India's current millet movement is often described as a revival, much of the Northeast never completely abandoned these grains. Here, millet cultivation is better understood as the continuation of a living tradition.

Built for the hills

Farming has never been easy in the mountains of Northeast India.

Steep slopes, acidic soils, scattered settlements, and unpredictable rainfall demand crops that can thrive under difficult conditions.

Millets have done exactly that for generations.

Unlike water-intensive cereals, they grow well on hill slopes with little irrigation, tolerate poor soils, and can be stored for months without losing quality—an important advantage for villages that often become inaccessible during the monsoon.

According to the Frontiers study, these qualities made millets central to the region's traditional jhum, or shifting cultivation, system.

Rather than relying on a single crop, Indigenous farmers cultivated finger millet, foxtail millet, Job's tears, sorghum, and other varieties alongside pulses, vegetables, and root crops. The result was a diverse farming system that strengthened biodiversity while helping households maintain a stable food supply.

The researchers also found that millets served many purposes beyond the kitchen.

They were used as livestock fodder, bird feed, fermented beverages, traditional medicine, and ceremonial foods, forming part of an interconnected agricultural system refined over generations.

Every community has its own grain

Millet traditions vary across the Northeast, with each community adapting the grains to its own landscape, cuisine, and culture.

Among the Nyishi, Adi, Apatani, and Monpa communities of Arunachal Pradesh, finger millet and foxtail millet are traditionally prepared as porridges, steamed dishes, and fermented beverages served during festivals and village gatherings.

The Adi community also cultivates anyat, better known as Job's tears or adlay millet, alongside ayak, or foxtail millet, through mixed-cropping systems that have long been part of Indigenous jhum agriculture.

In Meghalaya, the Khasi, Garo, and Jaintia communities have grown millet in upland fields for generations, using it in everyday meals as well as traditional brews.

Several Naga tribes, including the Yimkhiung community, continue to prepare finger millet and foxtail millet as porridges and local beverages. In Mizoram, millet was once a staple before rice became widely available and is still used in traditional fermented drinks.

Further west, the Lepcha and Bhutia communities of Sikkim have long relied on finger millet for breads, porridges, and fermented foods suited to the colder Himalayan climate.

Even in Assam, where rice dominates today's cuisine, hill communities such as the Karbi, Mising, and Bodo continue to preserve millet cultivation for ceremonial foods and traditional brewing practices.

The grains may differ from one community to another, but the knowledge surrounding them is equally rich.

When rice replaced tradition

That diversity began to decline from the 1970s onwards.

With the expansion of the Public Distribution System (PDS), rice became cheaper and more widely available. Agricultural policies increasingly favoured paddy cultivation, while urbanisation gradually changed food preferences.

For many younger generations, rice came to symbolise modernity, while traditional grains slowly disappeared from everyday diets.

The Frontiers study points to other challenges as well, including the loss of Indigenous seed varieties, weak market linkages, soil acidity, and the gradual erosion of traditional ecological knowledge.

Yet the researchers argue that the region's millet heritage offers practical solutions to many of today's agricultural challenges.

Millets require far less water than rice, tolerate changing climatic conditions, improve dietary diversity, and reduce dependence on costly agricultural inputs. For farmers across the fragile mountain ecosystems of the Northeast, they remain among the region's most resilient crops.

Women bringing the grains home

In Nagaland's Shamator district, that knowledge found new life during the COVID-19 pandemic.

When supply chains broke down in 2020, many families realised how dependent they had become on food transported from outside the district. By then, Indigenous millet cultivation had declined so sharply that several traditional seed varieties had nearly disappeared.

Members of the Self Employed Women's Association (SEWA) began collecting millet seeds from neighbouring villages, laying the foundation for what is now known as the Millet Sisters.

Working with the North East Network and the Millet Network of India, the women revived forgotten millet varieties, launched an annual Millet Festival celebrating Indigenous food traditions, and expanded millet cultivation across the district.

By 2025, nearly 90 farmers were once again growing pearl millet, finger millet, foxtail millet, sorghum, and locally named landraces including Kotsaru, Phuhjem Muliam, Yetupiak, Kheak Khih Shipu, Wuh Ni Muk Athsap, and Tansung.

Listening before reinventing

A similar effort is underway in Arunachal Pradesh.

Entrepreneur Dimum Pertin founded Gepo Aali after watching her grandmother search for anyat—the Job's tears millet that had once been a staple in Adi kitchens but had become increasingly difficult to find.

Today, women farmers continue to grow the grain through traditional mixed-cropping systems. It is prepared as porridge, served with vegetables and lentils, and fermented into apong, a traditional beer brewed by several Indigenous communities in Arunachal Pradesh and Assam.

The brewing process combines locally grown grains such as finger millet, foxtail millet, or pearl millet with Indigenous starter cakes made from leaves and herbs, creating a beverage that has been part of community life for generations.

Even the husk is put to use as pig feed, reflecting the resource-efficient farming practices that have long characterised Indigenous agriculture.

A future rooted in ancient knowledge

The revival of millets in Northeast India is not about bringing back a forgotten crop.

It is about recognising that some of the most effective solutions to climate change, food security, and sustainable farming have existed in Indigenous communities all along.

As India invests in a millet-powered future, tribal farmers across Nagaland, Meghalaya, Arunachal Pradesh, Sikkim, Assam, and beyond continue to preserve knowledge that nourishes people, protects biodiversity, and builds resilience in the face of a changing climate.

The country's millet revolution, it turns out, did not begin in recent years.

It has been quietly unfolding in the hills of Northeast India for centuries.

Sources:

‘Unlocking the ethnobotanical wisdom of millets: reviving ancient grains cultivation in the North Eastern Himalayan region of India for food, feed, fodder, and nutritional security’: by Sabyasachi Majumdar , Sangappa Sangappa, Hanamaraddi Kencharaddi, Bhuvana Priya, Laxmanarayanan Muruganantham, Madhusudhana R, Jyoti V. Vastrad, Dudekula Rafi , Nagabovanalli Basavarajappa Prakash, Tara Satyavathi C, Published on 10 March 2026

‘Metümnyo’: by District Shamator, Government of Nagaland

‘The journey of the Millet Sisters of Shamator district’: by Youngtsula Chang, Published on  5 August 2025

Mumbai's roads can flood after just a few hours of rain. But Tokyo continues to function even during powerful typhoons. 🌧️

One reason is G-Cans, one of the world's largest underground flood-control systems. Massive tunnels and storage chambers divert excess rainwater beneath the city, before powerful pumps safely release it into the Edo River. The result? Roads remain open, trains keep running, and daily life continues with minimal disruption.

As extreme rainfall becomes more frequent, could engineering solutions like these help Indian cities become more resilient? Should India invest in underground flood-control systems? Share your thoughts below. 👇

#UrbanFlooding #Japan #Tokyo #FloodControl #ClimateResilience #SustainableCities #Engineering #ClimateAction #Monsoon #Infrastructure #SmartCities #DisasterManagement #Innovation #India #TheBetterIndia

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The clang of iron plates echoes through a modest gym in Bhadrachalam, Telangana.

Standing beneath a loaded barbell is 73-year-old D V Shankar Rao. His face is calm, his eyes focused. Around him, younger athletes pause to watch. His coach, G V Rami Reddy, stands nearby, carefully observing every movement.

"One more," the coach says.

Shankar Rao takes a deep breath and lifts.

It is a remarkable sight not because of the weight on the bar, but because just over a decade ago, Shakar Rao underwent a coronary artery bypass surgery. Many would have considered slowing down. Instead, he chose to begin again.

Today, he is a National Masters Classic Powerlifting Champion, having won gold medals in squat, bench press, and deadlift, along with the overall championship title.

His journey is your window into how retirement can open the door to an unexpected new chapter, even after a major health setback. 

‘Before powerlifting, I was crunching numbers at a bank’

Born in Andhra Pradesh and later settling in Bhadrachalam, Shankar Rao spent most of his professional life working with the State Bank of India.

His career was defined not by ambition for titles but by a deep attachment to the community he served.

"There were opportunities for promotion much earlier in my career," he recalls. "But promotions often meant transfers. I loved Bhadrachalam and wanted to continue serving people here. It gave me peace of mind."

Eventually, after years of service in roles ranging from accountant and field officer to branch manager and recovery team leader, he retired in 2013.

But just before retirement, life presented an unexpected challenge.

In 2012, at the age of 60, he underwent coronary artery bypass surgery.

The diagnosis came as a shock. Though he maintained a habit of walking and staying active, years of smoking and unhealthy dietary habits had taken a toll on his health.

Yet what followed was not a story of decline but instead a tale of renewal.

‘Surgery gave me a new life’

After the surgery, Shankar Rao felt that life had opened a new door for him.

“I never felt unhappy after the surgery,” he says. “In fact, I felt regenerated. I felt like I had been given a new life.”

Retirement gave him the time to care for that second chance. He spent his mornings and evenings walking, practising yoga and keeping himself active.

For years, that routine felt enough.

Then a friend saw a possibility that Shankar Rao could not yet see for himself.

Swapan Nayak, a forest officer, repeatedly encouraged him to join a gym.

“I refused every time,” Shankar Rao laughs. “I would tell him, ‘I have had bypass surgery. Why should I go to a gym?’”

But Nayak kept asking.

Finally, in February 2025, Shankar Rao stepped into a local fitness centre in Bhadrachalam. That one visit would reshape the years ahead.

A coach, 3 doctors and a carefully planned start 

At the gym, Shankar Rao met coach G V Rami Reddy, a fitness professional who has spent over two decades training athletes, senior citizens, and people recovering from health challenges.

When Shankar Rao shared his medical history, Reddy took his concerns seriously and proceeded with care.

"We consulted doctors and monitored everything closely," says Reddy. "I had worked with senior citizens before and knew that with proper guidance, he could train safely."

Three doctors associated with the gym also supported the idea.

One piece of advice stayed with Shankar Rao.

"They told me that the heart is also a muscle," he says. "If the body's muscles become stronger through proper exercise, the heart benefits too."

The training began slowly, with stretches, mobility exercises, light movements, and gradual strength-building sessions, with every step monitored.

What surprised everyone was how quickly he adapted to the training.

"My coach noticed that whatever exercise he gave me, I would complete it faster than expected," says Shankar Rao. "He saw dedication in me and kept encouraging me."

Reddy recalls the same thing.

"Within the first month, I could see his sincerity and commitment. He followed every instruction. His enthusiasm was extraordinary."

 ‘There was new energy in me’

His family was worried, and friends questioned his decision. Many felt weight training was risky for someone who had undergone bypass surgery.

Recognising their concerns, Reddy personally visited his home and spoke to his family, explaining the precautions being taken and the positive changes already visible.

As the weeks passed, his family’s confidence grew. Shankar Rao also began feeling stronger, physically and mentally.

“There was a new energy in me, and I felt rejuvenated,” he says.

A national title within 6 months of gym

Initially, Shankar Rao had no interest in competing, he joined the gym simply to improve his health.

But Coach Reddy had other plans. One day, he persuaded him to attend a local powerlifting competition.

"I told him I wasn't interested in competition," Shankar Rao says. "He asked me to come just once and watch."

Shankar Rao went to watch, entered the competition and won. 

That first victory sparked something unexpected. Soon came a state-level championship and then, within months, a national event.

The timeline was remarkable: he joined the gym in February 2025, and by August, he was competing at the national level.

With the National Masters Classic Powerlifting Championship in Kozhikode, Kerala, approaching, his training entered a more intensive phase. Reddy increased the pace while keeping medical supervision at the centre of every session.

Dr Sivaramakrishna Prasad also worked closely with Shankar Rao throughout the lead-up to the competition. Morning sessions lasted up to one-and-a-half hours. Evening sessions added another hour. Every workout was carefully structured around recovery and safety.

"When I felt tired, my coach would motivate me," says Shankar Rao. "He created an environment where I always wanted to keep going."

That effort paid off. At the championship, he won gold medals in squat, bench press, and deadlift, along with the overall title.

For a man who had never imagined becoming an athlete, it was a surreal moment.

"I never thought I would become a national champion," he says. "It feels like a miracle. A medical miracle."

‘Family is happier than me’

Looking back, Shankar Rao finds it remarkable how quickly life changed. "For more than three decades, I worked in the banking sector," he says. "I held many responsibilities, but I never received this kind of recognition."

Now, local media regularly seeks him out for interviews. His achievements have inspired countless people across Bhadrachalam and beyond.

His family, once worried about his decision, is now his biggest supporter. "They are happier than I am," he says with a smile.

His story has become especially meaningful for senior citizens and people recovering from health challenges. For Shankar Rao, the experience shows what carefully supervised physical activity can make possible at any age.

The lesson he most wants to share is simple.

“Age is not a criterion,” he says firmly. "If I had done this in my younger years, I would have had different responsibilities. Today, I have the time and opportunity. Age should never stop anyone from trying."

The coach behind the champion

Coach G V Rami Reddy believes Shankar Rao's success comes down to one quality above all else: discipline.

"Many people join a gym," he says. "Very few show the consistency and dedication that he showed from the beginning."

According to Reddy, Shankar Rao's transformation has inspired many others to take their health seriously.

His success has become a powerful example within the gym community, particularly for older adults who often assume strength training is beyond their reach.

"When he won four gold medals, I felt incredibly proud," says Reddy. "A bypass surgery survivor becoming a national powerlifting champion at this age is something truly special."

His next goal is to compete for India

A year ago, Shankar Rao had never imagined himself on a national powerlifting platform.

Today, four gold medals later, he is preparing for a far bigger dream: competing for India.

He has received invitations to take part in higher-level competitions, including an international powerlifting meet. But before he can step onto that platform, he must overcome one final hurdle: the cost of getting there.

As a retired banker, Shankar Rao cannot cover the expenses of travel, registration, equipment and accommodation on his own.

“I am confident that if I get the opportunity, I can win a medal for the country,” he says. “If that happens, I could become one of the first powerlifters in the world to achieve this after bypass surgery.”

For Shankar Rao, this opportunity carries the weight of every morning he spent training, every fear his family slowly overcame and every lift that once seemed beyond reach.

He has already proved that a major surgery and retirement did not have to mark the end of his ambitions.

Now, he wants the chance to lift for India.

Help him reach the international stage

Shankar Rao is preparing for the National Championship in Aurangabad, Maharashtra, from 18 to 23 July 2026, followed by the International Powerlifting Meet in Reno, Nevada, USA, from 14 to 25 October 2026.

He needs approximately Rs 5 lakh to cover travel, registration, equipment, accommodation and other competition-related expenses.

Every contribution can help move him closer to the platform he has spent months preparing for.

It could help pay for a flight, cover his registration or ensure he has the equipment he needs when he represents India.

If you want to support his journey, you can contribute directly:

Account Holder: Desaraju Venkata Sankara Rao
Bank: State Bank of India
Account Number: 11566021583
IFSC: SBIN0006113
UPI ID: 7013366504

At 73, Shankar Rao has already lifted his way from heart surgery to the top of a national podium.

He has done the training, faced the fear and earned his place. One final distance remains between him and the chance to lift for India, and a contribution from you could help him cross it.

All images courtesy DV Shankar Rao

Her husband chose property over her. Her in-laws chose cruelty over compassion. But she chose herself. ❤️

After enduring dowry-related taunts and a painful marriage, she made the difficult decision to start over. As a single mother, she rebuilt her life in Canada, determined to give her son something more valuable than wealth—kindness, resilience, and strong values.

Her journey is a reminder that true strength isn't just about surviving hardship—it's about creating a future where dignity, self-respect, and hope come first.

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How a Single Mother Rebuilt Her Life After Divorce
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From Dowry Harassment to a New Beginning
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How She Turned Heartbreak Into a New Life

⚠️ Trigger Warning: Needles & Medical Procedures

They allegedly preyed on poverty, forged identities, and pushed vulnerable women into repeated illegal egg donations for profit. What should have been a medical process became a cycle of exploitation.

A determined police investigation exposed one of India's biggest alleged illegal egg donation rackets, rescued victims, and brought the accused to justice. It's a powerful reminder that protecting vulnerable people requires ethical healthcare, strong law enforcement, and constant vigilance.

Do you think stricter regulation and monitoring of fertility clinics can help prevent such exploitation? Share your thoughts in the comments. 👇

#WomenSafety #HumanRights #PublicService #Justice #ThePeoplesOfficer #PoliceInvestigation #HealthcareEthics #StopExploitation #WomenRights #CrimeAwareness #IVF #LawEnforcement #SocialJustice #PositiveIndia #TheBetterIndia

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The People's Officer: India's Illegal Egg Donation Case
Women Exploitation Through Illegal Egg Donation
The Investigation That Exposed an IVF Scam

Originally reported and written in July 2022, this story has been republished as part of our archival content.

There’s a special green space on the first floor balcony of the botany department at Kerala University’s Kariavattom campus.

Strong sunlight filters through, lively foliage grows out of earthen pots, a small waterfall bubbles in the background, wind chimes tinkle in the wind, and pebbles layer the floor. Located near the library, the Viridescent Haven is a quiet space for visitors to relax and rejuvenate, replete with stools and chairs for students to lounge on.

It was set up by fourth-year PhD student Reshma PR, whose dissertation revolves around indoor air purifying plants with the working title ‘Checking the Efficacy of Plants in Removing Common Indoor Pollutants’. She focuses mainly on the indoor pollutant formaldehyde.

Through experiments, she has found that certain indoor air purifying plants can eliminate formaldehyde compounds found indoors from paints, detergents, and other aspects, she says. “And between homes, offices, and vehicles, human beings spend most of their time indoors,” adds Reshma. These plants absorb the formaldehyde and increase oxygen, purifying the air.

Reshma built this indoor garden under the guidance of Dr Bindu R Nair, a professor at the department of botany, whose research interests include biosystematics, taxonomy based on the study of plant and animal genetic evolution; phytochemistry, a branch of chemistry concerned with plant and plant products; and molecular biology.

The vertical garden has several locally available, indoor air purifying plants including sansevieria, spider lily, hemigraphis, drosera, and lucky bamboo. These were chosen for their purifying properties, based on a NASA study that Reshma referred to. The space also follows the university’s ‘green protocol,’ which means that the pots and other elements used are biodegradable and eco-friendly.

“Its main component is that plants, along with other nature elements, have the capacity to reduce indoor air pollutants,” says Reshma. Studies show that 20 per cent of the body’s oxygen is used by the brain to function. Cleaner air allows for greater clarity of mind, and improves focus and concentration.

 

Healing and rejuvenating

Reshma describes the 50 square foot space, funded by the university, as an indoor healing garden.

Dr Bindu says that healing gardens are a popular concept in foreign countries, and when teamed with medication, help with patients’ speedy recovery. They aid mental and physical healing and are especially useful for patients in recovery after extended hospital stays. Healing gardens offer patients a space to experience at least short-term relief from some of their symptoms and provide an overall sense of wellbeing and hopefulness.

“Healing gardens are usually set up in countries abroad, especially in hospitals. There are many types of healing gardens like psychiatric hospital gardens, and nursing home gardens. So we thought, why not adapt the concept for a home garden to enjoy the healing power of plants?” says Dr Bindu.

The Viridescent Haven is “a compilation of nature’s healing elements,” as advertised in their brochure. Every aspect of the space is designed with the goal of relaxing and reviving the mind, offering mental healing.

Mental healing reduces stress and anxiety levels, improves moods, allows for clearer thoughts, increases self-esteem, improves relationships, and reduces the risk of depression. It also improves physical wellbeing, sharpens memory, increases energy levels, and improves the brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF) which improves neurotransmission.

All visitors must put away their mobile phones and mindfully relax in the space for at least half an hour. Besides focusing on the pleasant aroma and visual pleasure that the plants offer, the sound of the wind chimes also has a calming effect.

The small, indoor waterfall also follows this rationale. “According to the blue mind theory, listening to water bubbling can reduce stress, reduce cortisol levels, and improve sleep,” says Reshma, about the theory proposed in Wallace J Nichols’ 2014 book ‘Blue Mind: The Surprising Science That Shows How Being Near, In, On, or Under Water Can Make You Happier, Healthier, More Connected, and Better at What You Do’.

 

Visitors must also leave their shoes outside and walk barefoot in the garden, which is lined with pebbles. “This is mainly to achieve an acupuncture effect from the ground, which is good for the neuro system,” says Reshma. This is called Earthing or Grounding, which refers to direct skin contact with the earth’s surface. Connecting with the earth’s electrons produces physiological changes like improving sleep, reducing pain and stress, reducing blood viscosity, and normalising the day-night cortisol rhythm.

“When people come to the library, naturally they’re saturated. They can come and sit here and enjoy some peace of mind,” says Dr Bindu.

There are many benefits of such an indoor healing garden. Most important is its ability to reduce stress, which is vital in today’s fast-paced world. “It offers physical and mental healing. It has restorative powers and is a positive distraction,” says Dr Bindu. Spending time in nature also boosts creativity and offers rejuvenation to the mind and body.

“Since ancient times, human beings have been connected with nature. From pure air to fresh water, for all our needs we depend on it,” says Reshma.

And with her model, she hopes to popularise the concept of indoor healing gardens as opposed to general urban areas, so people can reap the benefits of nature, instead of focusing solely on aesthetic beauty.

Edited by Divya Sethu

Millions know Sunanda Sharma for chartbusters like "Billi Akh," "Jaani Tera Naa," and "Duji Vaar Pyaar." But beyond the spotlight, she has embraced a role that means even more—being "Maa" to nine children in need. ❤️

From recording videos on her phone in a small room to becoming one of Punjabi music's biggest stars, Sunanda never forgot the importance of giving back. Today, she is helping raise children who needed love, care, and a family—proving that true success is measured not just by fame, but by the lives we uplift.

Her journey reminds us that the greatest legacy isn't built on applause—it's built on kindness. Which Sunanda Sharma song is your favourite? Tell us in the comments. ✨

#SunandaSharma #PunjabiMusic #InspiringStories #WomenWhoInspire #Humanity #Kindness #PunjabiSinger #GivingBack #PositiveStories #Inspiration #SocialImpact #Motherhood #MusicIndustry #TheBetterIndia #Changemaker

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There are few things more comforting than sipping a hot cup of tea while the rain taps gently against your window. But if you've ever wondered where that cup begins its journey, the monsoon is the perfect time to find out.

As the rains sweep across India's hills, tea plantations turn into endless carpets of emerald green. Mist drifts over neatly trimmed bushes, the air smells fresh, and life slows down just enough for you to notice the little things—the rhythmic plucking of tea leaves, conversations over steaming chai, and the stories hidden within century-old estates.

If you're looking for a refreshing getaway this monsoon, these six tea-growing destinations deserve a place on your travel list.

1. Munnar, Kerala

Few places capture the magic of the monsoon quite like Munnar.

Tucked away in the Western Ghats, this hill town comes alive as rain clouds roll over its rolling tea gardens. Every bend in the road opens to another breathtaking view of mist-covered hills and lush green plantations.

Visit the Tea Museum to learn how tea is grown and processed, stroll through sprawling estates, or simply pause to watch the clouds drift across the landscape.

Munnar isn't a place that asks you to rush from one attraction to another. It invites you to slow down and soak it all in.

2. Darjeeling, West Bengal

Darjeeling is known as much for its atmosphere as it is for its world-famous tea.

Wake up to views of the Himalayas, take a ride on the iconic toy train, and end the day with a freshly brewed cup overlooking endless tea gardens.

Several estates, including Happy Valley Tea Estate, welcome visitors for guided walks that offer a closer look at how Darjeeling tea is grown, harvested and processed.

It's the kind of place where conversations linger and time seems to move a little more slowly.

3. Assam

If there's one place that defines India's tea industry, it's Assam.

Home to the country's largest tea-growing region, its vast plantations stretch as far as the eye can see, particularly around Jorhat and Dibrugarh. Unlike the hill stations, Assam's tea estates spread across wide, open landscapes alongside the mighty Brahmaputra River.

Many plantations also offer guided tours, allowing visitors to follow tea's journey from freshly plucked leaves to the cup in their hands.

4. Nilgiri Hills, Tamil Nadu

Known as the Blue Mountains, the Nilgiris combine cool weather, winding roads and rolling tea gardens into one unforgettable landscape.

Whether you're exploring Ooty or the quieter town of Coonoor, you'll find plantations blanketed in mist during the monsoon. Visit a tea factory, sample freshly brewed Nilgiri tea, or simply stop at one of the many viewpoints to take in the scenery.

The slower pace of life here is part of the charm.

5. Wayanad, Kerala

If you enjoy pairing nature with adventure, Wayanad offers the best of both worlds.

Its tea estates are surrounded by forests, waterfalls and mist-covered hills, making even a short drive feel scenic. Between plantation visits, you can explore ancient caves, paddle across Pookode Lake, or visit waterfalls that are at their spectacular best during the rains.

Here, tea is just one part of a much larger experience.

6. Kangra Valley, Himachal Pradesh

Often overlooked in favour of more popular hill stations, Kangra Valley remains one of India's best-kept tea secrets.

Set against the dramatic Dhauladhar range, its peaceful tea gardens offer stunning mountain views without the usual crowds. Walk through quiet estates, sample the region's distinctive teas, and chat with local growers whose families have nurtured these plantations for generations.

If you're looking for a quieter escape this monsoon, Kangra Valley is well worth discovering.

This monsoon, perhaps the best souvenir isn't a fridge magnet or a postcard.

It's the memory of standing amid endless green hills, breathing in the scent of rain-soaked earth, and realising that every cup of tea carries the story of a landscape, its people, and the hands that carefully nurture every leaf.

Sources: 

‘17 beautiful destinations in India that come alive during the monsoon’  by Riya Gupta for Architectural Digest, Published on 23 May 2026.

‘India’s 7 greenest tea garden destinations for a rejuvenating escape’ by Panchali Dey for Times Travel, Published on 31 July 2024.

Originally reported and written in July 2022, this story has been republished as part of our archival content.

After graduating in interior design, Shipa Patel was visiting her village in Gujarat, and was on the lookout for a creative activity. “I have always loved anything handmade, which has a raw feeling,” she tells The Better India.

In Deesa, a small village near her hometown, she came across artisans practising hand block art printing, and was fascinated by the process. “It was like love at first sight for me. I fell in love with the raw texture of the wooden blocks and the technique.” She started designing hand block clothes for herself as a hobby, falling in love with the entire process.

In 2013, she decided to launch the sustainable clothing brand Chhapa — the Gujarati word for imprint or stamp — with a focus on reviving and popularising hand block printing.

Today, with an online store that ships worldwide - to countries like Singapore, US, UAE , and more - and a retail store in Ahmedabad, the brand clocks in an annual revenue of close to Rs 1.5 crore, with 25 per cent of their earnings going to the roughly 25 artisans they employ.

Sustainability & helping artisans

“Sustainability is at the core of what we do,” says co-founder Hardik Patel, Shipa’s husband, who handles business development and IT for the company.

Chhapa works with sustainable fabrics like cotton and khadi, employing weavers and directly giving them orders for material. For their prints, they only use natural or azo-free dyes, which are eco friendly and don’t eliminate harmful toxins, meaning that artisans can touch them without causing harm to their skin.

 

While the venture can’t cut out waste 100 per cent, they try to reduce it as much as possible, upcycling where they can. For instance, any leftover fabric is used to create accessories like camera belts, pouches, iPad sleeves, bags, and more.

Chappa’s USP is their unique designs. Instead of going the traditional route, they design their own motifs — elephants, sunglasses, planets, birds, rickshaws, and more — which are then carved onto wood blocks for hand printing. Essentially, they’re amalgamating the traditional technique with quirky, fun designs, to appeal to a younger audience.

After discussing ideas among themselves, the four member family team — Shipa, Hardik, Bimal, and Sheetal — at Chhapa agrees upon a theme for a collection. Shipa, who manages the design and creative aspects of the business, then creates a mood board and colour scheme. The next step is entering a collaborative process with the artisans, agreeing upon colours and designs, and a collection is readied.

“Their colours and designs are unique. You won’t find such designs anywhere else in the market,” asserts Geeta Tondria, one of the artisans working with Chhapa since 2016.

While they’re focused on offering consumers something new and different, Chhapa’s primary focus is supporting artisans. “Our driving force is to give work to the artisans because we realised that they struggle to get work,” says Hardik. Because of this, they were ready to experiment on a small scale with the startup.

A 300-year-old technique, hand block printing is slowly dying, primarily because of the evolution of fast fashion and changing consumer demands. The method involves a carved, wooden block being dipped in dye and then pressed onto the material by hand, involving a great degree of precision and focus.

“Artisans were quitting the art form because they weren’t getting any work,” says Hardik.

It is Chhapa’s endeavour to popularise the art again and bring it back into public consciousness. “Now, not only are the artisans practising the art, but they’re also passing it on to the next generation,” he adds.

“Earlier, no one from the younger generation wanted to do block printing, preferring to find jobs in the government or private sector,” says Geeta. “Now, after completing their courses, they’ve started learning block printing. Young kids are doing the work, especially during the holiday season.”

Geeta handles the entire process, from making natural dyes using flour to coordinating with other artisans and setting and printing the designs onto the garments. After printing, the garments are soaked in hot water for a couple hours so the print will set.

“Block printing has been around in Bagru (Jaipur, Rajasthan) for generations. It’s a family business for many, carried on from one generation to the next. Before, it was hard to find work, it was mostly seasonal. But since Chhapa came, we’ve had a constant flow of work, and it has only increased over the past few months.”

Chappa helps their artisans in other ways — providing free health check-ups and good quality shoes to work in.

Through their website and social media, Chhapa also focuses on communicating the artisans’ story and work to consumers. “Anyone can put up a product. But if you don’t explain the story behind it, then it doesn’t have value. You have to constantly communicate about your work, challenges, and what goes on behind the scenes.”

This continuous communication is a way for customers to learn the entire process of how their garments are being made. In the competition against fast fashion and big brands, it’s this transparency that helps them stand out. “Once you educate them about the work that goes into a product, they become a loyal customer,” says Hardik.

For more information, you can visit their website.

Edited by Divya Sethu

Somewhere in India, right now, a craft that took centuries to develop is disappearing. Not dramatically — just quietly, as artisans age, younger generations move on, and factory-made alternatives take over.

This week's good news is about the people who noticed that happening and decided it was their problem to fix. A royal family, a father and daughter, a woman who left HR, a software engineer who turned down her first job. Four crafts. Four stories of people who refused to look away.

How a Maharashtra Royal Family Saved India's 400-Year-Old Ganjifa Card Art

Long before Pokémon cards, India had Ganjifa — hand-painted circular playing cards that once entertained Mughal emperors. By the 20th century, the art had nearly vanished. When the Sawant Bhonsle royal family of Sawantwadi in Maharashtra saw it slipping away, they sat down and learned it themselves, training under an 80-year-old master.

Their palace darbar hall became a studio. The craft now has a GI tag, 20 active artisans, and India Post's first-ever circular postcards carry its art.

Read how a royal family kept a 400-year-old game alive.

Father-Daughter Duo Helps Women Earn From Home by Reviving Kashmir's Forgotten Grass Mats

Until the early 2000s, handwoven Wuguv mats made from wetland reeds and rice straw were in almost every Kashmiri home. Then factory alternatives arrived, artisans left their looms, and the craft faded.

In Srinagar, Gulam Hassan — who had learned the craft as a child — began reviving it after 2020, with his daughter Tanzila beside him. Their home became a training centre. More than 20 women now earn Rs 10,000–12,000 a month weaving from home.

Here's how a father and daughter turned a mat into a livelihood.

A Raipur Startup Raised Incomes for 200 Artisans by 30% — By Changing How Traditional Craft Gets Made

Shambhavi Pandey left an HR career managing 3,000-person workforces to ask a question nobody in the craft world seemed to be asking: why does traditional folk art almost never make it into someone's home? Her Raipur brand Folkstroke now works with 200 artisans across seven states — Gond painters, Tholu Bommalata artists, Kalamkari craftspeople.

Artisan incomes have risen 30 percent over six years. "During COVID, when I did not have any work, Didi gave me work," says Gond painter Santu Tekam.

Read how Shambhavi turned folk art from gallery walls into everyday homes.

Engineer Leaves Tech Career To Save Endangered Indian Crafts, Earns Rs 50 Lakh in 2 Yrs

In 2021, Sushmita Kaneri met a Nirmal painting artisan in Telangana who said he would tell his son to find a regular job instead. She had a software engineering degree and a job offer waiting.

She turned it down. By 2023 she had founded Gullakaari, now working to revive 13 endangered crafts — Warli, Kavad storytelling boxes, Tholu Bommalata leather puppetry and more. Over 1,000 artisans are connected to the platform. In two years, cumulative revenue reached Rs 50 lakh.

Read how one conversation changed the course of 13 crafts.

At the edge of a small temple lane in Bengaluru’s Sampangiram Nagar, a circular stone well sits behind a metal grill canopy.

A few years ago, most people walked past it without stopping. Some avoided going near it at all.

Plastic waste floated on the surface. Broken concrete and silt had settled at the bottom. Tree branches hung low over the opening, dropping leaves and debris into the water. The stone walls had cracked in places, with weeds pushing through gaps that had widened over years of neglect.

For many residents, the well had stopped feeling like a water source long ago. It had become a dumping ground.

Today, the same well draws people to it every day.

Residents arrive with steel pots and plastic buckets. Water is pumped into an overhead tank connected to public taps. Families collect water for daily use through the day. Small eateries nearby use it for cleaning. On days when municipal supply is irregular, the well becomes a source they can turn to.

Even in difficult summers, it continued to hold water.

For a city where many families now plan their days around tanker timings, dry borewells, and uncertain water supply, this change matters. A forgotten well becoming useful again may seem like a small neighbourhood story. But in Bengaluru, it points to a much larger possibility: old water systems can still help a growing city face its present water crisis.

The Sampangiram Nagar well is one example of a wider effort across Bengaluru. Residents’ welfare associations, citizen groups, and environmental organisations are restoring traditional wells that had slowly disappeared from public memory as borewells and piped supply systems took over.

When Bengaluru’s water disappeared underground

For decades, Bengaluru’s water story slowly moved underground.

As the city grew, borewells began replacing open wells in homes, schools, apartment complexes, and public spaces. What was once visible to everyone, a well in a courtyard, beside a temple, or inside a neighbourhood, gradually disappeared behind pipes, pumps, and motors.

Deep drilling gave neighbourhoods access to groundwater far below the surface. It felt convenient. Turn on the motor, and water would come up.

But this also changed how people understood water.

With an open well, the water level is visible. After good rain, people can see it rise. During dry months, they can see it fall. The well reminds a neighbourhood that groundwater depends on rain, soil, and recharge.

A borewell does the opposite. It hides the water level deep underground. For years, it may keep pumping without showing how much water is left. The warning comes late, often only when the motor begins pulling up air instead of water.

By then, the crisis has already reached people’s homes.

Open wells work with a shallower layer of groundwater. When rainwater enters the soil and seeps down, it helps refill this layer over time. That is why a functioning open well can show a neighbourhood what is happening beneath its feet.

When such wells are cleaned, repaired, protected from sewage, and connected to rainwater harvesting systems, they can become useful again. They can serve as local water sources during shortages and also help recharge groundwater in the area.

How one forgotten well was brought back to life

The restoration of the Sampangiram Nagar well, completed in 2022, began with a difficult cleanup operation.

The restoration was carried out by SayTrees Environmental Trust, a Bengaluru-based environmental nonprofit founded in 2007 by Kapil Sharma and Lt Cdr Deokant Payasi.

The project was implemented with support from corporate CSR funding and is now maintained through a partnership involving SayTrees, local residents, and civic authorities to ensure the well remains clean and functional. 

The public well is seven feet wide and 40 feet deep. By the time restoration teams began work, it had collected years of garbage, civil debris, sludge, and organic waste. The water first had to be flushed out completely using motors before workers could even reach the bottom.

Photographs from the early stages show the extent of neglect. Garbage was packed against the stone walls. Weeds had grown through cracks. Dark, contaminated water stood inside the well, mixed with floating waste.

Cleaning it was slow, physical work.

Workers used manual labour and cranes to remove layers of muck from nearly 40 feet below ground. The extracted silt and debris were piled nearby for days so they could dry. Tractors then carried it away for disposal.

The well structure also needed attention. Its stone walls had to be repaired. The old grill cover had allowed leaves and waste from the tree canopy above to keep falling inside. Restoration teams raised the grill cover and added a sloped canopy to prevent fresh debris from collecting in the water.

The water was then treated using alum, potassium permanganate, and calcium before the well was connected back to community use.

Today, the restored well has a storage capacity of more than 43,000 litres. According to project estimates, more than 1,000 litres are used every day through the public tap connection.

In simple terms, the work followed a model that many neighbourhoods can understand: remove the waste, desilt the well, repair the structure, protect the opening, treat the water, prevent contamination, and connect it safely for local use.

For residents, the difference is daily

For local residents, the change is measured less in numbers and more in daily relief.

“My name is Shrinivas, and I have been living in this area for the past 40 years. I also run a shop here,” says Shrinivas, a resident, in an interview with The Better India. “We do not receive regular corporation water supply, so the community largely depends on local water sources.”

For him, the well is tied to ordinary routines: running a shop, managing household needs, and getting through days when water supply is uncertain.

“The recent cleaning and restoration of the well has been extremely beneficial for everyone in the neighbourhood. It has improved water availability for residents and local businesses, including hotels and eateries. This initiative has made a meaningful difference to our daily lives, and the entire community has benefited from it.”

Another resident, Vijay Kumar, has watched the well through many phases of the city’s growth.

Living beside the structure, he remembers when the well functioned normally decades ago, before years of neglect slowly consumed it. He also remembers something else: the well never truly failed.

He says the century-old water source continued holding water even during severe drought periods and years of scarcity.

That memory stayed with the community long after the structure itself fell apart. People may have stopped using the well, but the water had remained.

An emotional connection with rainwater

Across Bengaluru, water tankers have become part of everyday life.

In many neighbourhoods, summer now brings a familiar routine: waiting for tanker deliveries, storing water carefully, and worrying about when the next supply will arrive. Apartment complexes often spend lakhs of rupees every month purchasing water transported from peri-urban and rural areas surrounding the city.

This water also comes at a cost to places outside the city. Tankers rely heavily on groundwater extraction from villages around Bengaluru, shifting water stress from urban consumers to rural aquifers. Diesel-powered transport adds another environmental cost.

Restored open wells support the city’s formal water infrastructure by reducing pressure on it. 

Several restored wells across Bengaluru are now being used for gardening, construction work, cleaning, and filtered domestic use during shortages. Each functioning well gives a neighbourhood one more local source to depend on, especially during peak summer months.

The shift is practical, but it is also emotional.

“Tanker water creates a consumption mindset,” says a volunteer associated with urban well restoration efforts. “Water arrives like a product. People don’t see where it comes from.”

An open well brings that connection back.

Residents can see the water level. They can notice what happens after rain. They can understand why recharge matters, why waste should stay out of drains, and why paved surfaces change how water enters the ground.

Many restoration projects are now paired with rainwater harvesting systems so that monsoon runoff remains within local ecosystems instead of flowing away into stormwater drains.

A neighbourhood solution for a changing climate

The work around open wells is also becoming part of a larger climate response.

SayTrees has also been expanding water conservation programmes across India through lake restoration and the revival of traditional water systems. So far, the organisation has restored more than 50 lakes and water bodies and revitalised over 30 traditional open wells, collectively creating more than 5 billion litres of water storage capacity.

For Bengaluru, this matters because the city now faces two kinds of water stress at once.

During intense rainfall, several areas flood. During summer, many of the same city’s residents struggle with shortages.

Traditional water systems can help with both. A restored well can hold water, support recharge, reduce surface runoff, and help the surrounding soil retain moisture. It can also preserve older water-management systems that once shaped settlements across southern India.

In neighbourhoods like Sampangiram Nagar, the restored well has brought back a shared public space tied closely to community life and local memory.

For older residents, it is a reminder of a time when water was drawn from places people knew and cared for.

For younger residents growing up amid tanker queues and water-crisis warnings, it shows that solutions may exist closer home than they imagined.

One resident who now visits the public tap daily summed it up simply when asked how much water he collects from the restored well.

“Six buckets,” he said.

Every day.

In Bengaluru, that increasingly means the difference between having water and running out of it.

One alert citizen. One determined police team. And five newborns were brought to safety. ❤️

In a remarkable undercover operation, Delhi Police rescued five babies and arrested 13 accused, dismantling an alleged inter-state child trafficking network that treated infants as commodities. The operation is a powerful reminder of how public vigilance and dedicated policing can protect the most vulnerable.

Every child deserves safety, dignity, and a chance at life. Stories like these show why reporting suspicious activity and supporting effective law enforcement can make all the difference.

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Delhi Police Rescue Five Babies in Child Trafficking Case
How Delhi Police Busted an Alleged Baby Trafficking Network
Undercover Operation Saves Newborns From Trafficking
Child Trafficking Racket Exposed in Delhi
The Police Operation That Rescued Five Newborns

From a small village in Arunachal Pradesh to becoming one of India's most-loved creators, Geni Kamki proves that big dreams don't need big beginnings. ❤️

Armed with just a smartphone, a hostel room, and a passion for dance and comedy, she kept creating—even when no one was watching. Then one viral reel changed everything, turning her consistency into a career and inspiring millions across the country.

Her journey is a reminder that success rarely happens overnight—it comes to those who keep showing up. What's your favourite Geni Kamki moment? Tell us in the comments! ✨

#GeniKamki #InspiringJourney #CreatorStory #IndianCreators #DreamBig #ContentCreator #ArunachalPradesh #ViralReels #SocialMediaSuccess #IndiasGotLatent #WomenCreators #PositiveStories #CreatorEconomy #Inspiration #TheBetterIndia

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Who Is Geni Kamki? Her Inspiring Success Story
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The Story Behind Geni Kamki's Rise to Fame

In Khandali, a modest village in Latur, the red earth splits under the punishing summer sun, its silence broken by the clang of brass pots at the village well.

Among those waiting in line once stood a boy, his arms aching from carrying heavy brass pots home. That boy was Parmeshwar Poul.

In 2011, he left for Pune, where a career in Geographic Information Systems (GIS) offered stability and opportunity. But memories of growing up in a drought-prone village—where every pot of water was hard-earned—never left him.

Just a year later, in 2012, he returned to Khandali.

His journey was not towards comfort, but back to the drought-stricken landscape that had shaped his childhood. He believed science could help communities live with water scarcity rather than simply endure it.

Today, 14 years later, his work in water conservation has transformed villages, campuses, rivers, and communities across Marathwada.

Turning maps into movements

Poul's return was more than a personal homecoming—it went against the tide.

While many left rural Maharashtra in search of better opportunities, he chose to return, bringing satellite mapping, hydrological surveys, and scientific planning to villages where wells routinely ran dry.

His MPhil research focused on mapping rooftops across Ahmedpur to design rainwater harvesting systems for households that received water only once every eight days.

For his PhD, he expanded the work to 123 villages, studying local water sources and recommending cropping patterns and groundwater-use practices that combined scientific analysis with traditional knowledge.

One of the ideas he introduced was the Water Budget.

"In Sheboli and Padi, he introduced the concept of a Water Budget," recalls farmer Balasaheb Deshmukh.

"We count our rupees every day—why not our water?"

What began as a simple calculation gradually became a community habit, helping villages make informed decisions about how much water they could safely use.

Working as a technical expert and Jaldoot (Water Ambassador), Poul helped implement water conservation projects across the region.

At Swami Ramanand Teerth Marathwada University, check dams, ponds, recharge structures, and reservoirs transformed the campus landscape.

Across seven lakes in Nanded and Nashik districts, farmers removed nearly 334,000 cubic metres of nutrient-rich silt, which was spread across farmland to improve soil fertility while increasing the lakes' storage capacity.

Since one cubic metre equals 1,000 litres, the desilting alone created additional storage for roughly 334 million litres of water. Combined with other rainwater harvesting initiatives, the work significantly strengthened local water security.

Across Marathwada, recharge pits, contour trenches, rooftop rainwater harvesting systems, and innovations such as the low-cost C-Jal (Bhujaldhara) filter and tree-root irrigation demonstrated how locally available materials could improve groundwater recharge and drinking water quality.

"He moves tirelessly across Marathwada, village after village, carrying the message of water conservation," says Prof Dr Rajendra Shrimant Ingale.

"From farm ponds and stream deepening to afforestation and river revival, his interventions have left a visible mark. What makes these efforts remarkable is the way he brings together local representatives, administrators, social organisations, schools, and colleges, turning conservation into a collective mission."

Ingale's case study on water management in Shemboli village, guided by Poul, won first place among entries from 24 universities at the 2018 Avishkar Research Festival, sponsored by Maharashtra Raj Bhavan.

Innovation rooted in tradition

For Poul, innovation has always been about making solutions simple, affordable, and practical.

One such example is the C-Jal (Bhujaldhara) filter, built using locally available materials to improve the quality of rainwater entering borewells.

By filtering rooftop rainwater before it reaches the borewell, the system improves both the physical and biological quality of the water. Affordable, easy to clean, and simple to replicate, it has since been installed in homes across villages and towns. The first installation was at the District Collector's residence, helping build confidence in the locally developed innovation.

At Swami Ramanand Teerth Marathwada University, Poul and his colleagues also proposed the Green University concept.

With the support of the Vice-Chancellor, the campus built more than 300 rainwater harvesting structures, including ponds, check dams, recharge pits, trenches, and percolation systems.

Together, these interventions substantially increased groundwater recharge and created the capacity to store hundreds of millions of litres of water, helping solve the university's long-standing water shortages.

The campus no longer relied on expensive water tankers during the summer, saving lakhs of rupees every year.

Thousands of trees were planted, and the initiative later earned recognition from the Ministry of Jal Shakti.

Cities, rivers, and classrooms

Poul's work extended well beyond farms.

Working alongside police officials and NGOs as a technical expert, he helped install borewell rainwater recharge systems at the Nanded Police Headquarters and police stations in Ardhapur, Limbgaon, and Malakoli.

These systems ensured year-round water availability, helped protect mature trees during periods of drought, and improved groundwater recharge.

He also helped build a 450-metre recharge trench capable of holding 75,000 litres of water, which now replenishes an estimated 15 million litres of groundwater every year.

Wastewater treatment systems were installed at police colonies, while drinking water purification systems capable of treating around 6,000 litres per day improved access to safe water.

Along the Godavari River, Poul led regular Sunday clean-up drives, turning riverbanks into open-air classrooms where environmental responsibility was taught through action.

In schools, he promoted water literacy, encouraging children to see geography not simply as maps and textbooks, but as something deeply connected to everyday life.

Jalduts: water ambassadors

The word Jaldut literally means messenger of water.

Over the years, Poul has trained hundreds of volunteers—including students, farmers, teachers, civic workers, and community members—to spread awareness about water conservation.

In Nanded district alone, around 160 Jalduts now conduct workshops, demonstrate rooftop rainwater harvesting, promote pollution-free practices, and encourage communities to use water more responsibly.

By putting people at the heart of conservation, the Jaldut movement has helped turn scientific ideas into everyday action.

Mumbai's floods are, by scientific consensus, unavoidable. 

"If 90 mm of rain occurs in two hours, any city in the world will flood," says Dr Subimal Ghosh, Institute Chair Professor in the Department of Civil Engineering and Convener of the Interdisciplinary Program in Climate Studies at IIT Bombay, explaining that no city in the world, irrespective of the public infrastructure in place, can prevent flooding at that intensity of rainfall.

Mumbai now receives such extreme rainfall (300-500 mm) in just three to four days every monsoon. 

Ghosh believes the real question is no longer whether the city can stop flooding, but how quickly it can warn people before the water rises. And for that, he points to a model built 1,800 kilometres away, on India's eastern coast.

A cyclone that changed everything

On 29 October 1999, a super cyclone tore through Odisha with winds crossing 250 kmph, killing close to 10,000 people. It remains one of India's deadliest natural disasters. 

Two decades later, cyclones of comparable intensity strike the same coastline and claim a fraction of the lives once lost, largely because of a warning and evacuation system built brick by brick since that tragedy.

IAS officer Pradeep Kumar Jena, who has managed disaster response in Odisha for over 20 years, has spoken about the state's "zero-human-casualty" mission, a goal set after 1999 and pursued relentlessly since. 

When Cyclone Fani struck in 2019 with wind speeds exceeding 200 kmph, the state evacuated over a million people and limited the toll to a few dozen deaths. 

During Cyclone Amphan in 2020, of comparable ferocity to the 1999 storm, Odisha recorded only a handful of fatalities in the state, even as overall regional casualties stayed under 100.

What the system actually looks like

The Odisha State Disaster Management Authority, set up in 2000 as India's first dedicated body of its kind, anchors a layered warning network. 

IMD forecasts and satellite tracking feed into a chain of over 800 multipurpose cyclone shelters and watchtowers across 120-plus coastal locations, from where sirens and mass alerts reach nearly 1,200 villages down to the last mile. 

District collectors carry satellite phones and HAM radios so communication survives even when towers fall. A trained cadre of over 100,000 volunteers, alongside gram panchayats and women's self-help groups, runs evacuations and manages relief camps, while twice-yearly mock drills keep the machinery ready before cyclone season begins. 

Dr Mrutyunjay Mohapatra, Director General of the IMD and an Odisha native, has led much of the country's cyclone forecasting work behind this system, calling accurate, lead-time forecasting the single biggest lifesaver.

Why forecasting made the difference

Structural fixes for urban flooding require geotechnical, structural, and water engineers working together over years, and solutions cannot simply be copied from cities like those in Japan without understanding local implications, Ghosh explains. 

Early warning, meanwhile, can save lives immediately. "I would rather stress that we should have a very good early warning system. This is what I always tell," he says. 

"With early warning, we can save a lot of people by making quick decisions," pointing to Cyclone Dana's 2024 forecast-driven school closures as an example. He calls this kind of forecasting work a silent scientific revolution, one that has quietly saved tens of thousands of lives without much public recognition.

A blueprint that other states have borrowed

Odisha's approach has not stayed confined to its coastline. 

Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, and West Bengal have built similar community-based disaster preparedness and early warning frameworks, and the World Bank-backed National Cyclone Risk Mitigation Project has extended comparable shelters, evacuation infrastructure, and warning systems across ten coastal states since 2010. 

Community-based disaster preparedness manuals developed in Odisha were translated for wider circulation specifically so other states could adapt them. Researchers now regularly cite the "Odisha model" as a benchmark against which other coastal states measure their own preparedness.

Mumbai's own experiment

IIT Bombay has already built mumbaiflood.in, a portal offering a three-day rainfall forecast, a 90-minute radar-based nowcast, and a continuously updated flood inundation model, which received over 10,000 visits within days of launch. 

A dedicated IIT Bombay–BMC working group shares this data in real time, and Ghosh describes the civic body's response as prompt, citing pump operations adjusted based on the institute's forecasts. 

A new crowdsourced flood-reporting feature now adds ground-truth data from citizens to the model, and Ghosh believes Mumbai needs the same last-mile relay Odisha uses, since "not everyone can have access to internet, but at least a few people will have access, and they can immediately inform others."

As Odisha's mangrove replanting drives show, resilience is often built through unglamorous, sustained science rather than singular fixes. Odisha's cyclone story suggests India already has a working model. The task now, experts say, is fine-tuning it for a flooding megacity.

All images courtesy of TNIE

Sources:

'Cyclone Biparjoy: IAS Officer Who Led Odisha's Stellar Disaster Management': by The Better India, Published on 13 June 2023

'Saving Over 1 Million Lives: How Odisha Saw Cyclone Fani in The Eye & Came Out Strong': by The Better India, Published on 6 May 2019

'Odisha's turnaround in disaster management has lessons for the world': by The World Bank, Published on 3 November 2023

'What states can learn from Odisha in disaster preparedness and mitigation': by ReliefWeb/World Bank, Published on 14 June 2019

'The "Odisha model" for disaster resilience': by Ideas for India, Published on 16 August 2024

The sea keeps its secrets well.

Beneath the ocean's surface lie some of the planet's most fragile ecosystems and some of the infrastructure modern life depends on — coral reefs, ship hulls, underwater pipelines, dams, tunnels and bridges.

For decades, inspecting these underwater spaces meant sending divers into difficult and often dangerous conditions.

In rough seas or emergencies, inspections could be delayed for days while teams waited for divers to arrive.

It was this challenge that led two engineers to ask a simple question: if robots can transform warehouses, factories and hospitals, why are people still being sent into some of the most hazardous underwater environments?

That question became EyeROV.

Founded in 2017 by IIT graduates Johns T Mathai and Kannappa Palaniappan, the Kochi-based startup builds indigenous underwater robots powered by artificial intelligence. The systems are designed not only to inspect infrastructure but also to help scientists study marine ecosystems and monitor coral reefs in the Andaman and Lakshadweep islands.

At a time when warming seas, coastal erosion and coral bleaching are reshaping India's marine ecosystems, the founders believe technology can play an important role in understanding and protecting what lies beneath the water.

A problem waiting to be solved

The founders' journey to EyeROV began far from the ocean.

Johns and Kannappa were college friends who eventually took different paths. Kannappa went on to study at the Indian Institute of Technology Madras, while Johns pursued his education at the Indian Institute of Technology Delhi.

After completing his master's degree, Johns joined Samsung Research and Development. But his interest in robotics soon led him to GreyOrange, one of India's early robotics startups.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by EyeROV (@eyerov_tech)

Working there showed him that Indian engineers could build globally competitive robotics companies.

Meanwhile, Kannappa found himself facing a very different challenge at sea.

While working as a scientist aboard a vessel, he witnessed the problems that followed a ship collision that required an urgent underwater hull inspection. But there was one issue — no diver was immediately available.

In the middle of the ocean, even a short delay can become a serious operational problem.

When the two friends later reconnected and compared experiences, they realised that underwater inspection still relied heavily on divers.

The gap was obvious.

So they decided to build an alternative.

Building machines for the deep

Today, EyeROV operates from the Maker Village campus in Kochi's Kerala Technology Innovation Zone and also has an office in New Delhi.

The company has developed a range of marine robotic systems designed for different underwater environments and challenges.

Its compact inspection robot, TUNA, is equipped with HD and 4K cameras and can dive to depths of up to 300 metres.

SAGARA, the company's larger inspection platform, uses dual 4K cameras with 10x zoom and can move in six directions underwater, allowing it to handle more complex operations.

Sea Serpent, an autonomous surface vehicle, is designed for coastal surveillance and monitoring.

The company has also developed TSROV, a robot capable of travelling through narrow tunnels and pipelines for distances of up to 10 kilometres, making it useful for infrastructure inspections.

Another platform, iBOAT ALPHA, is used for underwater mapping and bathymetric surveys.

Together, these systems offer an Indian-built alternative to imported marine robotics technology.

Making the invisible visible

Underwater inspection is rarely straightforward.

Sediment-heavy rivers, deep reservoirs and damaged tunnels often reduce visibility to almost zero.

This is where EyeROV's artificial intelligence platform, EVAP, comes in.

Once an underwater robot enters the water, operators guide it remotely using a control station while live video feeds stream back to the surface.

The AI platform then processes this footage to identify defects, generate digital models and create clearer visual reconstructions of underwater structures.

This allows engineers to detect corrosion, cracks, leakages and structural weaknesses without physically entering the water.

For marine researchers, it opens up new possibilities as well.

Scientists studying coral reefs in the Andaman and Lakshadweep islands can collect detailed visual data remotely, reducing the need for repeated dives that may disturb sensitive ecosystems.

Even in low-visibility waters, enhanced imaging helps researchers monitor reef health, biodiversity and habitat conditions more effectively.

Helping protect coral reefs

Coral reefs are among India's most vulnerable marine ecosystems.

Rising sea temperatures, pollution and physical damage continue to place these habitats under pressure.

Monitoring them, however, is often difficult because many reef systems lie in ecologically sensitive areas where frequent human activity can itself become disruptive.

EyeROV's underwater robots offer a less invasive way to observe these ecosystems.

The robots capture high-resolution footage and environmental data while minimising direct human interference.

For scientists, this means a better understanding of reef health, bleaching events and biodiversity changes.

The company has already supported marine biodiversity studies in both the Andaman and Lakshadweep archipelagos, contributing to ongoing conservation efforts.

It is an example of how technology developed for industry can also support environmental protection.

Looking ahead

For coastal communities and industries, safer underwater inspections can reduce delays and improve safety.

For scientists, better underexplowater visibility means better data and a clearer understanding of changing marine ecosystems.

For India, it represents the growth of a homegrown marine robotics sector built by Indian engineers.

EyeROV's work is changing how underwater inspections are carried out — replacing risky human dives in places that may be dangerous, inaccessible or environmentally sensitive.

And in doing so, these robots are helping researchers, engineers and conservationists better understand a world that remains largely hidden beneath the waves.

The kitchen cabinet was the last place the family expected to find a snake.

On a rainy morning last July, residents of a third-floor apartment in Delhi's East of Kailash opened a cabinet to discover a three-foot-long Indian rat snake curled up quietly inside. The yellow-and-black-banded reptile had likely sought shelter indoors after days of relentless rain.

Instead of panicking, the family called for help.

A trained rescue team from Wildlife SOS arrived and safely relocated the non-venomous snake.

It was far from an isolated incident.

Throughout last year's monsoon, rescue teams across India responded to snakes turning up in unexpected places.

A spectacled cobra was rescued from beside a gas cylinder at Jawaharlal Nehru University's canteen. Another Indian rat snake was safely removed from Prime Minister Narendra Modi's residence. In Agra alone, rescuers attended more than 100 snake rescue calls between June and mid-July, including 34 Indian rat snakes and 23 spectacled cobras.

Even in Kashmir, snakes were reported inside car bonnets and chicken coops.

Every monsoon, similar stories emerge from across the country. They may seem unusual, but they point to a simple reality: when heavy rain transforms the landscape, snakes are forced to move too.

Sometimes, a house is just higher ground

For most of the year, snakes live in burrows, termite mounds, rock crevices, or beneath thick vegetation. When heavy rain floods these shelters, they have little choice but to look for dry, safe places to wait out the weather.

Homes, garages, sheds, and storerooms often provide exactly that.

Their movement has little to do with people.

Snakes do not enter homes to hunt or attack humans. In fact, they generally avoid human contact.

They're simply trying to survive until the floodwaters recede.

The monsoon also reshapes the food chain.

Rodents flee flooded burrows, frogs become more active, and insects multiply around standing water. Since snakes feed on these animals, they naturally follow their prey, bringing them closer to human settlements.

Rain also cools the ground. As cold-blooded animals, snakes depend on their surroundings to regulate body temperature. Dry concrete floors, staircases, walls, and enclosed spaces can offer warmer and more stable conditions than waterlogged fields.

Why snake encounters increase during the monsoon

India records the world's highest number of snakebite deaths.

Around 58,000 people die from venomous snakebites each year, accounting for nearly half of all snakebite fatalities worldwide.

A landmark 2020 study estimated that more than 1.2 million people died from snakebites in India over the previous two decades. Nearly half of those who died were between 30 and 69 years old, while around a quarter were children.

The same research found that, between 2001 and 2014, the lifetime risk of dying from a snakebite before the age of 70 was about one in 250 across India, rising to nearly one in 100 in some high-risk regions.

The monsoon is one of the busiest times for snake rescuers because breeding season coincides with flooded habitats, increasing the chances of snakes and people crossing paths.

That's why prevention is far more effective than dealing with a snake after it has already entered a home.

How to keep snakes away

The good news is that most snake encounters can be prevented with simple household maintenance.

The first step is to block potential entry points.

Snakes can squeeze through surprisingly small gaps. Openings beneath doors, cracks in walls or foundations, damaged vents, and uncovered drain pipes are all common ways they get inside.

Installing door sweeps, covering drains with wire mesh, and sealing gaps around the house can greatly reduce the chances of a snake entering.

The area around your home matters just as much.

Tall grass, piles of dry leaves, stacked firewood, unused bricks, and cluttered storage spaces provide cool hiding spots where snakes can remain unnoticed.

Keeping the surroundings tidy, trimming vegetation, and storing materials away from walls removes many of these potential shelters.

Food sources can also attract snakes—indirectly.

Rodents are their primary prey, while frogs thrive around stagnant water and damp gardens.

Proper waste disposal, controlling rodent populations, avoiding spilled bird feed, and keeping potted plants slightly away from exterior walls can make your home less attractive to both prey and predators.

Some households also sprinkle bleaching powder or phenol around the property's perimeter. While these are sometimes used as deterrents, experts say they should never replace practical measures such as sealing entry points and maintaining a clean environment.

If you find a snake indoors

Finding a snake in your bathroom, kitchen, or bedroom can be frightening.

But experts say the safest response is also the simplest.

Do not try to catch it.

Do not attempt to kill it.

Instead, close the door to the room if you can, keep children and pets away, maintain a safe distance, and immediately contact trained wildlife rescuers or your local forest department.

Professional rescue is important because many snake species are protected by law. Even experienced handlers require specialised training to safely capture and relocate them.

Several states, including Karnataka and Kerala, have introduced certification programmes and operational guidelines for snake rescuers, reinforcing that only trained professionals should handle these situations.

Many non-venomous snakes pose little immediate danger and often leave on their own if left undisturbed.

Learning to live with the monsoon

The monsoon changes more than rivers and roads. It also changes the movement of the wildlife that shares our surroundings.

For homeowners, that means preparing homes before the rains, reducing places where snakes can hide, and staying calm if an unexpected visitor appears.

Snakes are among nature's most effective pest controllers. By feeding on rodents, they help limit animals that damage crops, spread disease, and invade homes.

Understanding why snakes appear during the rainy season may not make an encounter any less surprising, but it can replace fear with perspective.

Sometimes, the snake curled up inside a kitchen cabinet isn't looking for trouble.

It's simply looking for a dry place to wait until the rain stops.

Sources:

‘Understanding Why Snakes Enter Homes and Their Preferred Hiding Spots’: by Pooja Shah, Published on 11 February 2026

‘How to stay safe from snakes during the rains’: by Sonali Acharjee, Published on July 29 2024

‘Three dozens of snakes found hiding under floor tiles in house in Chhattisgarh’: by Ejaz Kaiser,Published on 3 July 2025

Originally reported and written in July 2022, this story has been republished as part of our archival content.

Mumbai- native Chetan Soorenji lives in an area where there was one borewell for three houses. With the passage of time, the number of houses increased, and so did the number of borewells. Initially, the depth of a borewell was 30 feet but soon it grew to 80-100 feet.

“Even the borewell in my house was 100 feet deep. But during summer, we faced water scarcity. The situation was similar to each of the residents in our area,” says Chetan, who is an employee with a multinational company.

“When the borewell was just 30 feet deep, the water tasted so good. But as the depth increased, the water started to taste saline. Also, the plumbing frequently got damaged due to the poor water quality. That was when we decided to do something about it,” he adds.

Chetan thought of many ways to solve this issue and ended up in installing a rainwater harvester and borewell recharging system.

His research about decreasing salinity of water led to the realisation that it can be controlled through rainwater harvesting and raising the groundwater levels through it. “My house is 50 years old, so the installation has to be done without making major alterations to the structure,” he says.

After a little juggling, he connected the roof of his house to the 30-feet deep borewell through a pipe, so that the rain water from the roof went straight into it. Apart from this, he also built a percolation pit, which collects the roof water in a pit. This pit helps recharge the groundwater level. He also connected the outlet pipe coming out of the air conditioner to this pit which transfers around 25-30 litres of water per day during summers. This water is filtered and used to recharge the borewell.

 

 

 

 

 

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In addition to these hacks, he connected two pipes to the vacant land lying near his house so that the rainwater goes straight into the ground instead of the drain. “Since most of the water from our garden is used for recharging groundwater, the use of chemicals is completely prohibited, as we do not want any chemical residue to contaminate the groundwater reserves,” he says.

Except for setting up the pit, no major expenses were incurred for the installations. Chetan made use of items like pipes and fittings lying in his house to build them.

 

“Due to water shortage, the 30-feet deep borewell was rendered useless and we constructed a new one. But after installing the water harvester, even the old well was recharged and now has water throughout the year.”

He adds, “The problem of water salinity has also been solved. The groundwater recharging has benefitted not just my family but the neighbours too, where two of their borewells were replenished. We depend on the municipality for drinking water only. Rest of the needs are met by these two wells.”
Moreover, his initiatives have helped the nearby water springs which had run dry due to the heightened real estate development activity in the vicinity. “Today, we can see streams of crystal clear water flowing, like a small rivulet in our backyard now,” he adds.

Chetan also has a wide garden in his house where he grows passion fruit, coconut, mango, mulberry, jamun, custard apple, squamosa and papaya. Flowering plants like Spanish cherry, six varieties of jasmine, raat rani, hibiscus, Indian rose, vinca, gardenia, aboli, peace lily, anthurium, balsam, and marigold are also seen. Vegetables including okra, broad beans, cowpea beans, long beans, Mangalore cucumber, chilli and malabar spinach are cultivated here. All these plants get enough water even during summer due to Chetan’s innovation.

In fact, his terrace looks like a mini forest with all the vines and plants. Passion fruit is the star attraction of this garden. “We started this while considering a natural and green sun shading for our building. The original motivation for this was to protect the top floor and the building from the harsh summer.”

Chetan believes that rain water is the best source of water and we must save it preciously. “If you can’t afford to spend much, then store the water flowing from your roof in a small tank. This is an easy but effective way of harvesting rain,” he shares.

Edited by Yoshita Rao

For decades, welfare schemes have existed on paper, but not in people’s hands. That's what Aniket is trying to change.

He has created a "guide" that can "show you your rights", marrying cutting-edge technology with dedicated, on-ground efforts to connect the poorest of the poor with their social welfare schemes.

What does this look like on the ground? Health insurance for tribal families during COVID. Scholarships for first-generation learners. Pensions for the elderly who didn’t even know they qualified.

Here's how Aniket is dedicating his life to eradicating generational poverty in India.

Read the full story here: https://frontiertech.niti.gov.in/story/a-revolution-for-indias-welfare-how-ai-is-helping-families-access-public-schemes/

If you have a working, tech-led solution, share your innovation with us. You could help shape the future of tech policy and governance across India.

Write to us at frontiertech@thebetterindia.com, or register using this link: https://frontiertech.niti.gov.in/story-submission

In partnership with @NITIAayogOfficial ’s Frontier Tech Hub (NITI-FTH).

#AIforGood #GovernmentSchemes #Haqdarshak #SociaSecurityIndia

Music Credits:
“Blank Slate” licensed via Music Vine: RUFIPQBKHLDJMCOY
Title of Musical Work: Blank Slate
Artist: Raft
License ID S816029-12865

Not everything that reaches the end of its life has to become waste.

Sometimes, an old tyre can become a work of art. A rusting tractor can tell the story of a town’s progress. Even a broken scooter can find a new purpose, reminding people that what we discard still holds value.

That humble idea has come to life in Rayagada, Odisha, where heaps of scrap have been turned into a vibrant public space that is inspiring conversations around sustainability, creativity and responsible waste management.

Located about three kilometres from Rayagada town at Antariguda, the ‘waste-to-wonder park’ developed by the Rayagada Municipality gives discarded materials a second chance. Instead of ending up in landfills or scrapyards, old tyres, scrap metal, plastic waste, unused vehicle components and other discarded items have been repurposed into artistic sculptures, creative installations and environment-themed displays.

Every corner of the park encourages visitors to look at waste differently. Rather than seeing rubbish as something to be thrown away, it highlights the importance of the three Rs — reduce, reuse and recycle — and shows how everyday objects can be improved with a little imagination.

Where waste finds new life

For Rayagada Collector Ashutosh Kulkarni, the initiative goes beyond creating another recreational space.

According to him, the park reflects the district administration’s commitment to environmental conservation while showing how discarded materials can become valuable community assets. At the same time, it has been designed as an educational space where children, young adults, and families can understand sustainable living and be encouraged to adopt environmentally responsible habits in their daily lives.

The park’s thoughtfully planned layout makes it equally inviting as a place to learn and unwind. Landscaped gardens, walking paths, and seating areas create a welcoming atmosphere, while the educational displays offer visitors an engaging way to understand sustainability beyond textbooks.

Turning yesterday’s machines into tomorrow’s lessons

Among the park’s biggest attractions is its collection of decommissioned municipal vehicles.

Rather than auctioning ageing waste collection and segregation vehicles as scrap, the municipality chose to preserve them as part of the exhibition. Old tractors, dumpers, scooters, mopeds, and garbage collection vehicles now stand as reminders of Rayagada’s evolving waste management journey, allowing visitors to trace how the town’s solid waste management system has developed over the years.

Rayagada Municipality executive officer Kuldeep Kumar said the project was conceived to demonstrate that waste can become a resource when managed creatively. Instead of allowing obsolete municipal vehicles and discarded materials to be sold as scrap, the administration decided to repurpose them into installations that benefit both the community and the environment.

The initiative has already begun resonating with residents.

Local visitor S Ramesh, who recently visited the park with his family, described it as a refreshing departure from conventional public spaces. Seeing waste converted into sculptures and installations, he said, not only makes the park visually appealing but also leaves visitors with an important lesson about protecting the environment.

As more people visit the park, officials believe it will become one of Rayagada’s key attractions for both residents and tourists. More importantly, it stands as a reminder that sustainable development does not always require new resources. Sometimes, all it takes is looking at what has been thrown away and imagining what it could become next.

Source:
‘Conservation meets innovation at Rayagada waste-to-wonder park’: by Satyanarayan Pattnaik for The Times of India, Published on 15 June, 2026.

Was it Geet, who taught us that life has a funny way of putting us back on track? Or Jordan, eating alone in Rockstar, carrying the kind of loneliness that words can never fully explain? Maybe it was Ved from Tamasha, trying to break free from a life that never truly felt like his, or Veera from Highway, discovering freedom only after losing everything familiar.

That is perhaps the magic of Imtiaz Ali's cinema. His characters rarely feel fictional. They feel like people we've been, people we've loved, or versions of ourselves we've quietly hidden away.

But long before he became the filmmaker who gave us these unforgettable stories, Imtiaz had one of his own to overcome.

A failure that changed everything

Growing up in Jamshedpur, studies never came easily to him. In Class 9, he failed.

The result hit him so hard that, for two days, he couldn't gather the courage to walk into school. He would reach the school gate, turn around, and head back home, terrified that his classmates would laugh at him.

For many, that kind of failure becomes a lifelong label.

For Imtiaz, it became a question.

"Why don't I understand this?"

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Instead of trying harder to memorise lessons, he changed the way he learned. He began focusing on understanding concepts rather than simply repeating them. Slowly, things started to make sense.

The same boy who once failed Class 9 eventually earned admission to the University of Delhi and graduated as a topper.

Finding his real classroom

But academics weren't where his heart wanted to stay.

At Delhi University, he immersed himself in theatre, writing and performing street plays that explored people, emotions and everyday life. Storytelling became less of a hobby and more of a calling.

Those performances eventually led him to Mumbai, where he began his career in television before stepping into filmmaking.

The stories that followed — Jab We Met, Rockstar, Highway, Tamasha, and many more, never relied on larger-than-life heroes. Instead, they gave us imperfect people searching for purpose, love, freedom and identity.

And perhaps that's why audiences continue to return to them.

Imtiaz Ali's films remind us that getting lost is sometimes the only way to discover who we really are.

The boy who once stood outside his school gate, afraid of being judged for failing, grew up to tell stories that made millions feel seen.

Perhaps that's what Imtiaz Ali has been telling us all along — in life, as in his films, the journey truly begins when everything seems to fall apart.

He was told it couldn't be done. Yet archaeologist K.K. Muhammed entered the dacoit-ridden Chambal region with one mission—to bring the 1,200-year-old Bateshwar Temples back to life. 🏛️

With no complete maps or blueprints, he spent seven years rebuilding the temple complex stone by stone. Along the way, he earned the trust of local dacoits, who went from being feared to helping protect one of India's greatest heritage sites.

Today, 80+ restored temples stand as a testament to courage, perseverance, and the power of preserving history. Sometimes, the greatest victories aren't fought on battlefields—they're built one stone at a time.

#HeritageIndia #IndianHistory #Archaeology #KKMuhammed #BateshwarTemples #PadmaShri #HeritageConservation #AncientIndia #Inspiration #History #Culture #PositiveStories #IndianHeritage #Morena #TheBetterIndia

[K K Muhammed, Bateshwar Temples restoration, Chambal archaeology, India heritage conservation, ancient temples Morena, Indian archaeologist, K K Muhammed biography, Bateshwar Temple history, heritage restoration India, Archaeological Survey of India, Padma Shri K K Muhammed, Chambal dacoits, temple restoration, Indian history, heritage conservation story]

Who Is K.K. Muhammed? The Archaeologist Who Saved Bateshwar Temples
The Incredible Story of the Bateshwar Temples Restoration
How K.K. Muhammed Restored Ancient Temples in Chambal
India's Greatest Heritage Restoration Story
K.K. Muhammed's Mission to Save India's Ancient History

“I picked up the report, sat in my car, and read it. I went completely numb. I didn’t know whether I should tell my parents, tell my son’s father, or tell anyone at all. I remember staring at those pages and thinking, “How can a group of people sitting in a room decide what my child will become? That day, I promised myself that a diagnosis would explain my son, but it would never define his future.”

The memory remains fresh for Neha Tandon even today.

It was the end of 2008. On her way to work in Noida, the then-26-year-old stopped to collect a report she had been waiting months for. For nearly a year, she had been moving from one doctor to another, searching for answers about her son Maahir, who had suddenly begun losing skills he had once possessed. 

The little boy who had smiled, pointed at things, spoken a few words and called her ‘mumma’ appeared to be retreating into a world she could not reach. Nobody around her could explain what was happening, but every instinct told her that something had changed.

When she finally opened the report inside her car, the words on the page confirmed what months of uncertainty had been building towards. Maahir, who was two and a half years old, had been diagnosed with severe autism.

Today, nearly two decades later, Neha is 44, a single mother and the Chief Growth Officer at Zingabad. Her son is preparing to turn 20 this year. He creates chocolates and candles, travels enthusiastically, conducts workshops for younger children, and continues to achieve things many people once believed were beyond his reach. 

Alongside her professional career, his mother has become a trusted source of support for hundreds of families navigating autism, sharing their journey through the Instagram platform, @made.it.special. 

The page that began as a personal archive of her son’s milestones has grown into a community of 38.5K followers, many of whom are parents searching for reassurance during some of the most difficult moments of their lives.

Everything she does today can be traced back to one frightened young mother sitting alone in a car, trying to make sense of a diagnosis that looked far bigger than anything she had imagined.

The child who started losing words

Maahir was born on 30 June 2006. For the first couple of years, there wasn’t any indication that suggested something was different. He reached his developmental milestones on time, spoke a few words, pointed at objects he wanted, and interacted with the people around him. Like any parent, his mother celebrated these small victories without knowing how important they would later become in her memory.

Then things began to change.

Others did not notice the change immediately, but his mother could not miss it. He smiled less, avoided looking people in the eye, and slowly stopped speaking words that had once come naturally to him. A blankness settled over his expression.

“It felt as though somebody had switched something off overnight,” she recalls. “If you look at photographs from that period, there is a lost look in his eyes. He was not my cheerful little boy anymore. As a mother, you know when something is wrong, even if nobody else can see it.”

Years later, she would learn that her son had regressive autism, a form of autism in which a child loses previously acquired skills. At the time, however, autism itself was barely discussed in most households. She had never heard of regressive autism, and neither had many of the people she consulted.

The months that followed were consumed by uncertainty. One doctor suggested waiting. Another recommended a hearing assessment. Then came EEGs, brain scans, and specialist consultations. Every appointment carried a small measure of hope that somebody would finally explain what was happening. Instead, she found herself returning home with more questions than answers.

At one point, after reading about autism online, she asked a paediatrician whether it could be a possibility.

“He asked me if my son could speak. I said yes. He immediately said it could not be autism. What nobody understood was that he had already started losing those skills,” she tells The Better India.

For nearly nine months, she searched for answers while watching valuable time slip away. Eventually, someone directed her to Action for Autism in Delhi. Specialists observed Maahir, assessed his behaviour, and prepared a report. The diagnosis finally arrived towards the end of 2008.

At last, she knew what she was dealing with. But knowing brought its own pain.

When therapy took over life

Soon after receiving the diagnosis, she put her professional life on hold. At the time, she was building a career in media sales, but suddenly nothing felt more important than helping her son. What followed was a period she remembers as exhausting, overwhelming, and all-consuming.

For families, the hardest part was the uncertainty. Her days became a constant cycle of appointments, traffic, assessments, and waiting rooms.

She became obsessed with intervention.

“I convinced myself that if I worked hard enough, I could somehow fight the diagnosis,” she says. “Everything became about teaching. Say this. Match this. Pick this. Read this. Every moment was about helping him learn something.”

The harder she pushed, however, the more withdrawn her son became. She began noticing that he no longer looked forward to spending time with her. Instead, he became anxious whenever she approached him.

The turning point came during a consultation with a therapist in the United States. She provided a suggestion that sounded completely counterintuitive. She was told to step back from teaching him. “I thought she had lost her mind,” Neha says with a laugh.

But the therapist explained something that changed everything. Maahir no longer associated his mother with comfort. Every interaction had become another lesson, another correction, and another expectation.

For the first time, she took a break and asked herself whether helping her son always had to mean teaching him. She stopped trying to fill every moment with therapy and started rebuilding their relationship instead. The focus shifted from teaching to just being together, watching films, travelling, playing, and laughing along the way.

“I realised that if he could not enter my world, I could enter his,” she says. It was a small decision, but it changed the course of their journey in ways she had never thought possible.

Learning to claim space

As her son grew older, Neha found herself confronting another challenge that families of autistic children usually face.

Exclusion.

At just two years old, he was asked to leave a reputed play school because staff felt they could not manage his behaviour. Later, she enrolled him in a prestigious school that promised inclusion and assured her that children with autism would eventually be integrated into mainstream classrooms.

Instead, her son spent most of his time in a separate room designated for children with autism.

For three years, she waited for the inclusion she had been promised. She repeatedly requested that he be allowed to participate in music classes, painting sessions, and other activities where children naturally learn alongside one another.

“Even if academics were difficult, surely he deserved the chance to sing, dance, paint, and play with other children,” she says.

The response she eventually received left her devastated. The school administrators believed that children with a greater chance of entering mainstream classrooms deserved priority access to the school’s limited inclusion resources. 

“That day, I decided to withdraw him from the school. I felt that if they could not believe in my child, they had no right to teach him,” she recalls. The experience left her with a conviction she has carried ever since.

“Inclusion is not charity. It is a right. Nobody is doing our children a favour by allowing them to participate,” she says.

Determined not to let society decide where her son belonged, she began taking him everywhere. She embraced every outing, from restaurants and shopping centres to airports, cinemas, and holidays, as a chance for exposure and learning.

The first flight terrified her. She worried about sensory overload, public reactions and meltdowns. Instead, she realised that her son loved travelling.

Over the years, they travelled extensively across India and abroad, visiting destinations including Singapore, Hong Kong, Macau and Disneyland. During these trips, she experienced what genuine inclusion could look like when systems were designed thoughtfully.

Returning home, however, she found herself confronting a very different reality. “Over time, I realised that autism was not what held my son back. More often, it was society’s inability to understand him,” she says.

Turning experience into support

Around 2014, Neha began speaking more openly about autism and inclusion. It was not because she had set out to become an advocate. It happened because other parents kept finding their way to her.

Many were receiving diagnoses that sounded frightening. Others were struggling with schools, therapies or family expectations. Some only wanted to speak to someone who understood. “There are some things parents will only hear from another parent,” she says.

Long before autism became a widely discussed topic, she was already sharing resources with families. Therapy manuals, educational materials and specialised tools mostly had to be imported from abroad.

“Many of the therapy manuals and support books we relied on were only available overseas and cost a lot to import back then. So whenever I placed an order from the US, I would ask other parents if they needed anything,” she explains.

The conversations soon extended beyond therapy manuals and guidebooks, creating a space for parents to support one another. One family remains especially memorable. Their son was receiving therapies and medical support, but they rarely took him outside. No restaurants. No holidays. No social gatherings.

Neha encouraged them to start small.

Seeing that picture remains one of her proudest moments.

For many parents navigating autism in the early 2010s, she became a trusted source of information, reassurance and, often, hope. Nitya (name changed), a parent from Delhi whose 22-year-old son is on the autism spectrum, first met Neha in 2009 at a therapy centre their children attended.

At the time, information and resources were scarce. “Whenever resources came her way, Neha never hesitated to share them with us. She was always willing to help, guide and make sure that no family felt like they were navigating the journey alone,” Nitya recalls. 

“She has always had very positive energy. She would tell us that the situation may not change, but our attitude towards it can. We need to stay healthy and live long for our children. We cannot do that if we are constantly stressed,” she adds.

For Nitya, Neha’s greatest gift was helping parents move from fear towards acceptance. “Every time I feel low or worried about my son, I call her. There is something about her strength and her smile that is reassuring,” she says.

For Tina (name changed), whose 14-year-old son is on the higher-functioning end of the autism spectrum, Neha became the person parents turned to when they did not know whom to trust.

“She had tried everything with Maahir. Whether it was therapists, interventions or routines, she would tell you honestly what worked and what didn’t. At a time when everyone was giving advice, she became the one person whose guidance you could rely on,” she says.

But it was during one of the most difficult moments of Tina’s parenting journey that her support went beyond advice. Around eight years ago, Tina’s son’s mainstream school asked the family to withdraw him because of his autism diagnosis.

“I was devastated,” she recalls. When Neha heard what had happened, she was furious. She felt that if a child with mild autism was struggling to find acceptance in a mainstream school, the path would be even harder for many others on the spectrum.

Determined to challenge the decision, Neha accompanied her to meet the school’s principal. Armed with her understanding of disability rights and inclusion, she pushed the school to explain its position. When the school could not justify its demand in writing, she helped negotiate a solution that allowed her son to continue his education with the support of a shadow teacher.

“It is because of her that my son stayed in school,” Tina says.

For many parents, Neha’s influence was not restricted to advocacy. Watching her relationship with Maahir challenged their assumptions about what parenting a child with autism could look like.

“She showed us that life did not have to revolve around therapies and worries,” she says. “We saw her having fun with Maahir. Somewhere along the way, many of us had forgotten how to do that with our own children.”

Building a community of hope

In April 2023, Neha attended an autism awareness event at Maahir’s school, the CRIA Foundation. He had spent days preparing chocolates for guests and was proudly distributing them to everyone present.

Watching him that day, she instinctively pulled out her phone and recorded the moment. Later, she stitched together a simple video using old clips and uploaded it online.

That post became the beginning of @made.it.special.

Initially, the page was intended to support a much larger dream. She had already purchased the domain name and imagined creating a marketplace where people with intellectual disabilities could sell products they made themselves and earn with dignity.

The response to the account, however, took her in an unexpected direction.

Parents began sending messages. Some had children who had recently been diagnosed. Others had spent years navigating therapies but still felt isolated. Many wanted to know how Maahir had reached this stage.

What started as a personal documentation project eventually grew into a supportive community. Today, @made.it.special has 38.5K followers and acts as a source of encouragement for parents, caregivers, educators, and families across the country.

“They weren’t looking for extraordinary promises. They wanted to know if their children could still lead happy and fulfilling lives,” she says.

The account documents Maahir’s life in all its ordinary and extraordinary moments. There are videos of him travelling, making candles, preparing chocolates, attending workshops, and enjoying time with family. Each post is designed to show possibility rather than limitation.

“The difficult days have not disappeared. There are still meltdowns and nights when I find myself in tears after everyone has gone to sleep. But families are already familiar with those struggles. What they need most is hope,” she says.

One of her favourite examples of inclusion came when her son was invited to teach younger children how to make candles and chocolates at a workshop. For her, that moment represented everything she had spent years fighting for.

“Inclusion happens when people recognise what our children can contribute, not when they feel sorry for them,” she admits.

A future bigger than a diagnosis

Today, the boy attends specialised learning programmes, continues to develop communication skills through an iPad-based system, and spends his days creating, learning and exploring. Every year, he sells handmade products and experiences the pride of earning independently.

Looking back, his mother often thinks about the diagnosis report she threw away all those years ago.

The report predicted one future.

Life unfolded differently.

“Children are not reports,” she says. “They are people. They keep growing, changing and surprising us. Sometimes all they need is someone who believes in them long enough.” For thousands of parents following her journey today, that belief is exactly what Neha Tandon offers. The reassurance that a diagnosis may change the path ahead, but it does not determine how far a child can go.

All pictures courtesy Neha Tandon.

He was never the main character—but he always found a way to steal the show. ✨

From Chandu Chaiwala to countless unforgettable performances alongside Kapil Sharma, Chandan Prabhakar won audiences over with his effortless comic timing, relatable humour, and unforgettable screen presence. Years later, a new generation is discovering his talent and laughing along all over again.

Some comedians don't just make us laugh, they become a part of our memories. And that's why Chandan Prabhakar's humour continues to stand the test of time. ❤️

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Who Is Chandan Prabhakar? His Comedy Journey
Chandan Prabhakar's Best Chandu Chaiwala Moments
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Chandan Prabhakar and Kapil Sharma's Friendship Story
India's Got Latent: Chandan Prabhakar's Viral Comeback

Long before children traded Pokémon cards on school playgrounds, India had its own beloved deck. Ganjifa, a game of hand-painted, circular cards, once entertained Mughal royalty and travelled through princely courts across the subcontinent. 

Today, this centuries-old art survives largely because one royal family in Maharashtra refused to let it fade away.

A treasure from Persia

The word Ganjifa comes from the Persian ganj, meaning treasure. The game arrived in India in the 16th century and found eager patrons in Mughal emperors Akbar and Shah Jahan, who turned it into a favoured royal pastime. 

Akbar is even credited with standardising a 96-card version played across eight suits of twelve ranks each, while also devising an expanded set that mirrored the branches of his own administration.

Unlike the rectangular decks familiar today, Ganjifa cards were round, and every single one was painted by hand. Suits told stories drawn from mythology, often depicting the Dashavatara, the ten incarnations of Lord Vishnu, alongside kings, chariots, courtly life and, in some regional styles, signs of the zodiac. As the game spread across India, local schools of painting shaped it differently. 

The Ganjifa of Mysore, for instance, carried its own distinct visual language under the patronage of the Wodeyar kings, quite unlike the style that took root on Maharashtra's Konkan coast.

The earliest cards were crafted on ivory, tortoiseshell, and sandalwood, embellished with silver, gold, and precious stones. But as mass-produced playing cards flooded Indian markets through the 20th century, Ganjifa workshops shut down one after another. 

By the time of Independence, most artisan families had scattered in search of steadier livelihoods, and the art nearly disappeared everywhere except one town.

One palace keeps a tradition alive

Sawantwadi in Maharashtra's Sindhudurg district turned out to be the exception. The town's royal family, the Sawant Bhonsles, noticed Ganjifa slipping away even from the region that had nurtured it for centuries. 

Lt Col Raja Bahadur Shivaram Sawant Bhonsle and his wife, Rani Satvashiladevi, decided the only way to save the craft was to learn it themselves. They trained under Pundalik Chitari, then an 80-year-old master artisan, and in 1971 founded Sawantwadi Lacquerwares to formally anchor the revival.

That decision turned the palace's darbar hall into a working studio. Today, around 20 artisans, including 13 women, carry the legacy forward, painting borders, colours and figures before finishing each card in protective lacquer. 

A single set takes over a month to complete, work that demands patience the same way the region's other dying crafts, like Sawantwadi's hand-painted wooden toys, always have.

New generation, new audience

When Yuvrani Shraddha Lakham Sawant Bhonsle married into the family in 2019, she began expanding Ganjifa's reach well beyond Sawantwadi. 

She took the craft online, partnered with corporations including Reliance's Swadesh initiative, and introduced it to audiences who had never encountered the art form before. 

Alongside her husband, Yuvraj Lakham Sawant Bhonsle, she also converted part of Sawantwadi Palace into a Ganjifa-themed boutique hotel, where doorknobs, mirrors and furnishings are all hand-painted, and each suite is named after an avatar of Vishnu instead of a room number.

Protecting the craft legally took work, too. The family applied for a Geographical Indication tag in January 2023, a process that meant proving Sawantwadi's Ganjifa was distinct from versions practised in Odisha, Andhra Pradesh, Rajasthan and Mysore. 

Shraddha has said it took one and a half years of work to finally get it, giving the family ownership of an art form patronised by their ancestors for centuries. 

The tag came through in January 2024, the first for this craft anywhere in India, placing it alongside other regional revivals such as the Padma Shri-winning return of Chitrakathi art from the same Konkan belt.

From palace walls to postboxes

In 2025, that recognition travelled further still. India Post launched the country's first-ever circular postcards, designed with Sawantwadi's artisans and inspired directly by Ganjifa's Dashavatara motifs. 

A craft once confined to royal courts and palace halls can now pass through post offices nationwide, carried in the hands of ordinary people rather than kings.

Modernisation has crept in, too. Artisans now use durable poster colours in place of some natural pigments, ensuring cards withstand time and travel without losing their character. 

The essential process, hand-painting, storytelling and lacquering, remains unchanged, much like the homestays and eco-tourism ventures reviving other corners of Sindhudurg through the same instinct to adapt without abandoning tradition.

Ganjifa's survival makes one thing clear: heritage does not endure on its own. It thrives only when someone chooses, deliberately and patiently, to protect it.

Sources:

'Against All Odds: How an erstwhile royal family is keeping alive ancient card game Ganjifa': by The Indian Express, Published on 15 July 2024

'Sawantwadi's Ganjifa Art Gets a New Canvas: India's First Circular Postcards': by Caleidoscope, Published on 24 October 2025

'Of Revivals and Royals': by The Asian Age, Published on 21 July 2019

'Live in a Konkan Palace! This Royal Couple Run a Boutique Homestay Inspired by 16th Century Art': by The Better India, Published on 13 February 2024

'State Wise Registered GI of India': by Intellectual Property India (Government of India), record showing Sawantwadi Ganjifa Cards registered 10.01.2024

Sonam Wangdus writes about the Himalayas, environmental law, sustainability, and conscious living through the lens of his upbringing in Ladakh. A BBA, LLB graduate from a National Law University, he studied at Druk Padma Karpo School and SECMOL, experiences that shaped his understanding of both traditional knowledge and modern legal frameworks. Through his work, he seeks to bridge local wisdom with contemporary environmental and social challenges.

You have seen these videos: the sun-drenched, impossibly clean kitchen, an influencer stirring a perfectly ripe avocado, their voice soft and soothing as they talk about living sustainably. It all feels inspiring — a new era, a greener you. You follow the page, maybe even order a bamboo toothbrush, and for a few glorious days, it feels like you are saving the planet one reel at a time.

Then reality hits — harder than a soggy cloth bag.

That influencer may live in a forest cabin, an eco-conscious neighbourhood, or at least have a backyard big enough for a cow and a compost pit. Your reality, meanwhile, may be a second-floor flat with no balcony, nosy neighbours, and a housing society that still treats segregation bins like alien technology.

Maybe you tried some of those eco-tips anyway. You rinsed out an old pizza box to reuse it, only to watch it disintegrate in your hands. You carried a cloth bag that permanently smelled of onions because "plastic is evil". You even attempted DIY composting in a corner of your apartment, until the room smelled like something between a science experiment and a crime scene. Your friends did not call you inspiring — they called you insane. One of them may even have asked if you were training to live on Mars.

That is when the bigger question begins to creep in: Is this even worth it?

The irony is that sustainability was never meant to feel like punishment. It is not about living with less joy, fewer choices, or endless guilt. It is about finding balance: meeting your needs today without taking from tomorrow.

When you start cutting off everything that brings you comfort, you are not being sustainable — you are just being miserable. And sooner or later, that guilt-driven exhaustion pushes people in the opposite direction: binge-shopping, takeout boxes, and endless scrolling.

Yes, many influencers sell a version of "eco-perfection" because it photographs well. Their lifestyles are often isolated, curated, or sponsored. But the truth is simpler: you do not need to quit your job, move to a mountain, or build a mud house to live sustainably.

In fact, the answer may be hiding in a lesson that many traditional communities understood long before sustainability became a social media trend.

Sustainable living already exists — quietly, steadily — in the communities we often overlook.

In tribal and mountain societies, especially across the Himalayas, people have long lived in harsh environments while caring deeply for their surroundings and still finding immense joy in everyday life. I say this not from a YouTube video or a book, but from experience. I was born and raised in one such community.

From childhood in the mountains to adulthood in the city, I have realised that sustainability is not a checklist. It is a way of thinking.

More importantly, it is a way of thinking that can work whether you live in a Himalayan village or a crowded apartment block. The goal is not to copy traditional life. The goal is to understand the principles behind it.

Rethinking recycling

Take recycling, for example.

Most of us misunderstand the word. We think it means keeping an old plastic bottle as a water bottle, saving every delivery box "for later", or hoarding scraps of paper for a mythical art project that never happens. We call it sustainability; our parents call it clutter. The truth is, recycling is not about turning your home into a scrapyard of good intentions. It is not about saving junk. It is about preserving purpose.

In the mountains where I grew up, recycling is not a trend — it is a way of life. Nothing is truly thrown away; it is simply transformed.

Take dry toilets, for instance. Human waste is not flushed away with gallons of water — a practice that can waste thousands of litres of clean water every year. Instead, it is turned into compost that nourishes the soil.

Or consider the sun-dried mud bricks used in construction. Made from earth and strengthened by the sun, they eventually crumble back into the ground, ready to become part of the landscape again.

But you do not need to live in a village or own a compost pit to follow that principle. You can practise it in an apartment, at the office, or on a metro ride. It is not about what you reuse as much as how you think about resources.

True recycling is about embracing a different kind of flow. It means buying clothes that last, not trends that fade. A shirt that survives five years is better than five shirts that survive five washes. It means rethinking ownership: your power drill does not need to be a lifelong companion if you can rent, borrow, or share it. And it means designing for endings. Before you buy something, ask yourself: What will happen when this ends? If the answer is "landfill", perhaps it is worth choosing differently.

This principle extends to digital life too. Using your devices for longer instead of upgrading every year matters. So does decluttering files, unsubscribing from promotional emails, and reducing the digital noise that clutters your attention.

Recycling, then, is not just about objects. It is about the flow of time, money, energy, and effort. When you allow things to serve multiple roles before they retire, you participate in the same rhythm that mountain communities have followed for generations.

True recycling is not aesthetic — it is ethical.

Using less, but better

The same principle applies to the way we consume resources.

Living sustainably is not only about recycling. While we are busy sorting our waste, we often forget a more important question: how are we using resources in the first place, and how much do we really need?

On paper, natural resources are regenerative. In city life, that idea quickly becomes complicated. You begin carrying a tote bag every day, only for a sudden downpour to soak the fabric and leave your laptop drenched. You invest in eco-friendly bamboo shoes, only to find they fall apart after one monsoon. You try eating "clean" by copying an influencer's diet, only to realise that quinoa and avocados are expensive, imported from far away, and come with their own environmental costs.

In these moments, a green lifestyle can feel less like a solution and more like a punishment.

In the mountains, we learned this lesson out of necessity, not trend.

Our farming land was limited, so we practised terrace farming to make the most of every inch of soil. Water, too, is sacred in places like Ladakh, a high-altitude desert. There, communities have long relied on systems like the zing — small, connected pools that slow glacial meltwater, allowing it to seep into the ground and recharge underground aquifers.

But the system worked only because it was supported by accountability. A chorpon, appointed by the community, regulated water use: deciding when households could access it, preventing overuse, and ensuring shared water sources remained clean.

This approach to land and water was not optional. It was a way of life shaped by scarcity. And it taught a powerful lesson: we must live according to the earth's rhythm, not just our own desires.

This is the core belief of my mountain community: we are custodians of these gifts, not owners.

That is not just a poetic idea; it is a practical guide for living. A resource has value only when it is protected by discipline, respect, and shared responsibility.

Ancient Indian texts, from the Vedas to the Arthashastra, echo this belief. They offer guidance on forestry, agriculture, and the careful use of natural wealth. Practices like crop rotation and the use of organic manure were not only traditional — they were practical ways to preserve soil fertility for future generations.

Why community matters

There is another truth we often miss: sustainability is not something you have to do alone.

One reason influencer-driven sustainability can feel exhausting is that it often turns environmental responsibility into a personal project. Traditional communities approached it differently.

In the mountains, sustainability is woven into the fabric of community life.

In cities, however, the community often feels thin. Apartment residents may live side by side without really knowing one another. Shared spaces such as gyms, gardens, or swimming pools are often poorly maintained or treated as someone else's responsibility. People pay maintenance fees, yet still live with frustration over waste management, broken lifts, or parking disputes. Community starts to feel transactional.

Traditional communities were not perfect, but they were built around a shared purpose: survival.

Agro-pastoralism — the combination of farming and livestock rearing — is one example. Food from the fields sustains the community, while animals provide milk, wool, and manure that fertilise the soil. It is a closed-loop system in which little is wasted and everyone benefits. Even the architecture reflects this mindset. Homes built with stone and sun-dried bricks stay warm in winter and cool in summer. More importantly, they are designed not for one person, but for generations.

That is the real lesson. The problem is not simply about buildings or infrastructure. It is about the absence of shared purpose.

The older systems worked because cooperation was not a lifestyle choice — it was a necessity.

That same principle can still be applied in cities, in small but meaningful ways. Join a local gardening group. Share tools with neighbours. Volunteer for a neighbourhood clean-up. Start a composting conversation in your housing society. These actions are not just good for the environment; they create trust, reduce waste, and turn transactions into relationships.

That is the beauty of community-driven sustainability. The result is not a life of deprivation, but one of shared purpose, reduced anxiety, and deeper connection — with your neighbours and with the land beneath your feet.

Sustainability as freedom

So what does all this mean for you?

It does not mean giving up everything you love. It means letting go of the things that bring less joy in the long run.

Sustainability is not self-punishment; it is self-liberation. That constant urge to buy the newest gadget or chase the latest trend is not joy — it is anxiety. It is the hamster wheel of consumerism.

The custodian mindset offers another way.

It does not cut you off from choice; it frees you from guilt, clutter, and the endless pressure to own more.

You become your own regulator. You turn off the tap not because a rule tells you to, but because you understand that every drop has a history and a future. You borrow a tool instead of buying one, not because you cannot afford it, but because you no longer want the clutter or the burden of unnecessary ownership.

These are not sacrifices. They are acts of respect — for the resources in your life and for your own wellbeing.

This is not about less joy or fewer choices. It is about a different kind of happiness: the joy of contentment, of working with your environment instead of against it, of being a custodian rather than just a consumer.

That is the real shift — from endless demand to mindful appreciation.

And that is what it means to save the planet without deleting Instagram. Not rejecting modern life, social media, or convenience, but refusing to let them define your relationship with the world around you. Because sustainability is not about escaping the modern world. It is about learning how to live well within it.

 Every monsoon, the first signs of severe weather are easy to spot — towering trees swaying in strong winds. Most withstand the storm. Some don't.

When an old tree crashed onto a school bus in Mumbai in July 2025, killing 11-year-old Vihan Srivastava, it became a heartbreaking reminder that falling trees can cost lives.

While extreme weather is often blamed, arborists and environmental experts point to another, less visible reason: concrete.

In Dehradun, that understanding has inspired a simple but effective change in the way the city cares for its trees.

Instead of sealing tree trunks in cement, authorities and citizen groups are removing the concrete around their bases, allowing roots to breathe, absorb rainwater and grow stronger.

The solution is simple, but it could change how Indian cities prepare for increasingly intense monsoons.

What lies beneath

In many Indian cities, pavements and roads are built right up to the base of roadside trees.

While the finished streets look neat, the concrete blocks the soil that trees rely on to survive.

Tree roots need oxygen, water and loose soil to stay healthy and anchor the tree firmly in the ground. When cement and paving tiles cover the soil, rainwater cannot seep in, air cannot reach the roots, and the ground gradually hardens.

Over time, even healthy-looking trees can become unstable. During heavy rain and strong winds, weakened roots may struggle to hold the tree in place, increasing the risk of it toppling over.

Giving trees room to breathe

To tackle this problem, Dehradun has adopted a practice known as deconcreting.

The initiative is being led by environmental organisation Citizens for Green Doon in collaboration with local authorities, following directions from the National Green Tribunal (NGT). Together, they identified roadside trees whose trunks had been completely encased in concrete and carefully removed the cement around their bases.

The process creates an open ring of exposed soil around each tree.

That small change makes a big difference.

Rainwater can once again soak into the ground instead of flowing off the pavement. Air reaches the roots, soil organisms begin to return, and trees can develop healthier, deeper root systems that improve their stability during storms.

The NGT has repeatedly stressed the importance of this practice.

In a recent order, it directed an applicant to submit photographs of concretised tree trunks in Dehradun to the Divisional Forest Officer and the urban local body. The tribunal reiterated that concrete should be removed within a one-metre radius of tree trunks, asking authorities to act on the representation within four weeks and submit a compliance report.

Benefits beyond preventing trees from falling

Deconcreting does far more than reduce the risk of trees being uprooted.

Open soil allows rainwater to recharge groundwater instead of flowing straight into drains. It also supports earthworms, microorganisms and other forms of life that keep the soil healthy. During summer, exposed soil remains cooler than concrete, helping reduce heat stress around trees.

Healthier roots also help mature trees continue providing the benefits cities depend on every day — shade, cleaner air, lower temperatures, and habitats for birds and insects.

That matters because mature trees cannot be replaced overnight. While planting saplings is essential, it takes decades before they provide the same ecological benefits. Protecting existing trees is often one of the most effective ways to strengthen urban green cover.

Rethinking tree care

The initiative also challenges another common pre-monsoon practice: heavy pruning.

While removing dead or dangerous branches is sometimes necessary, experts caution that excessive pruning, combined with root damage during road construction, can weaken trees further.

Instead of reacting to perceived risks, Dehradun's approach focuses on improving a tree's long-term health.

The idea is beginning to gain attention elsewhere too. Earlier this month, the Bombay High Court directed the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) to consider a survey submitted by an intervenor alleging that road concretisation work was harming the city's trees.

As climate change brings stronger storms and more unpredictable rainfall, Indian cities are looking for practical ways to become more resilient.

Dehradun's model offers a science-backed solution that requires neither expensive technology nor major infrastructure.

By simply giving tree roots the space to breathe again, the city is showing that protecting urban forests isn't just about planting more trees. It's also about caring for the mature trees that have lined our streets for decades, so they can continue protecting us for years to come.

Sources:

‘NGT directs fresh representation on concretised trees in Uttarakhand’: by Press Trust of India, Published on April 1 2026

‘No trees will be felled for New Cantt road project: PWD’: by Tanmayee Tyagi, Published on 3 March 2026

Originally reported and written in July 2022, this story has been republished as part of our archival content.

For anyone who’d walk into eight-year-old Midushi Kochhar’s bedroom in Delhi, a strange but beautiful sight would greet them — seashells strung together, pebbles in jars, dried flowers turned into potpourri, vibrant snake skins collected on a hike and the list goes on.

While other children her age would have toys filling the room, why was Midushi’s idea of collectables so different?

“The love for strange things came naturally to me,” the now 27-year-old tells The Better India over a call. “I’d weave a story in my mind around these unique items and display them. It never mattered if others found them beautiful. What mattered is that they were beautiful to me.”

Throughout her growing-up years, this passion persisted and she went on to train as an industrial designer at Central St Martins, University of the Arts London in the year 2017 where she would constantly look for innovative designs. So when it was time for the final graduation project, she decided to put her idea of ‘eggware’ to the test. Here she used eggshells to create plates and spoons.

“I hadn’t a clue that this project of mine would one day be the forerunner of my venture — YLEM,” she says.

Best out of waste

With a graduation project that stunned her professors, Midushi decided to take her skills to the real world and started a venture in the Netherlands in 2020. Makers on the move aimed at collecting local waste from manufacturing areas and building a material bank. The materials would then be delivered to schools in the area for children to use in their art projects.

Inspired by the take-off of this project, she returned to India when the COVID pandemic hit in an attempt to be closer to home. In June 2021 she started YLEM, a brand that would focus on making items out of innovative materials that others would consider waste.

Interestingly, the name YLEM means ‘a hypothetical initial substance of the Universe from which all matter is derived.’ This, she says, coincided with her design philosophy.

In time, realisation dawned that while eggshells were one waste item to come from chickens, how could other waste items of the bird be repurposed? “I started thinking in the direction of feathers and wanted to come up with a design and methodology aimed at rebuilding symbiotic connections. Everything in nature has value but humans have lost this circularity,” she says.

Today, as part of YLEM, two products are the focus — eggware and slippers made of leaves called ‘hasiroo’.

An ‘egg’cellent idea paves the way for a business

Elaborating on these products, Midushi says the eggware is a ‘ceramic and concrete-like material made out of eggshells along with a biobinder’.

These are more of a bespoke luxury product meant for decor and hence production is done on-demand basis of 20 to 30 orders per batch. The unique items have made their way to the shores of China and Milan.

 

“They were displayed at the Sustainable Design Material Museum, Guangzhou, China and were also part of Milan Design Week 2021, London Design Festival 2019.”

Another product in the works is home decor made from upcycled feathers of chickens. “Due to the enormous binding strength they have, we combined them with a bioplastic and created a long-lasting, flexible and wet- mouldable material,” says Midushi.

One would imagine that producing ceramics out of eggshells would be a messy affair and the fashion designer does not deny this.

“When eggware was at an experimental stage, waste eggshells were collected from busy breakfast cafes, street vendors and food stalls,” she says. “Daily collection was a hassle but fulfilled our requirement at the time. We would collect the shells, clean them, sanitise them to remove the odour.”

 

However, she has now partnered with an innovative egg processing company in Delhi and they supply the eggshell powder and flakes.

“This works both ways,” says Midushi. “One is that it reduces their waste while also providing us with raw material. It creates a wasteless circular system for resources that would have otherwise ended in a landfill or incinerated.”

The second hit product is the ‘hasiroo’ slippers made of fallen leaves. These natural fibre leather products were the brainchild of her mother Sakshi Kochhar, who has a background in fashion and has worked for export houses.

 

In Sakshi’s words, it is “refreshing to reconnect with the field of fashion again after being an educator for years”. The mother-daughter duo has contrasting ideas when it comes to design and this Sakshi says makes the journey even more fascinating. “It allows for us to explore different perspectives beyond the lens of our mother-daughter dynamic.”

 

The slippers have been a hit at YLEM and see an order inflow of over 400 pairs per month, says Midushi. She emphasises that while the idea to repurpose waste into products is tough, the real challenge is execution. “In the case of the slippers, the leaves are seasonal and hence we plan for production only at particular times of the year.”

The mother-daughter duo does the collecting and washing of the leaves. The manufacturing process is then outsourced to units in Delhi.

Has it been easy building a venture out of materials that many people would consider waste?

Her laugh answers my question.

“The first response from people is surprise and wonder. They are baffled as to how something ‘disgusting’ can be converted into something beautiful.”

But, as the child in her has always believed, the strange things in life often end up being more beautiful. “I want my audience to understand the implications of their lifestyle. I want them to make changes but at the same time I do not want to preach,” she says, adding that her quest for sustainability has always been inspired by a quote by Kate Krebbs — ‘waste is a design flaw’.

The process of creating these products from waste is a time-consuming one, says Midushi. “It takes years to go from workshop investigations to scalable solutions. In addition, the raw material's sourcing and processing depend on the project and its scale.”

But she adds that they are positive that their circular model is meant to last and are always experimenting with new sources of waste. “We will find a way to grow.”

While the footwear retails for Rs 500 a pair the eggware goes to a few thousand as it is bespoke and luxury. The products are shipped internationally too, to the US, UK and Europe.

Aishwarya Kaura, a customer who has purchased the slippers and wears them daily says they are lightweight and a perfect break for her feet on long hours of walking. “I carried the slippers for my trip to Italy. They fit easily in my heavy luggage and are so comfy and travel-friendly and what’s more is that you can wear them on any outfit.”

As for Midushi, she is on her way to exploring more such ideas of converting waste products into valuable items. “While keeping hasiroo and eggware paving the way for us, we want to connect a lot of sporadic industries and loop them in so waste from one stream becomes a resource for the next.”

She adds that as a designer, she has always been encouraged to solve problems and create appealing products. “But this contradicts my mindset of consuming minimally. Hence I decided to find a balance.”

In a world that saw waste for what it was, Midushi decided to change the narrative.

Today, she has made her eight-year-old self proud, she says. “I’ve always loved finding beauty in things that others don’t.” And another feather is added to her collection on the bedside table.

Edited by Yoshita Rao

Every monsoon, Indian cities brace for the same story. Roads disappear under water, traffic comes to a standstill, and millions of litres of rainwater flow away into drains before they can be put to use.

But what if the very roads we drive on could help solve both flooding and water scarcity?

That is the idea behind Eco Bloc, an innovation pioneered by entrepreneur RR Sivaram. Inspired by the devastating Chennai floods of 2015 and the severe drought that followed in 2019, he envisioned a smarter drainage system — one that doesn't simply channel rainwater away, but captures and stores it for the future.

A drain that harvests rain

Unlike conventional concrete stormwater drains, Eco Bloc is built from recycled plastic and includes built-in rainwater-harvesting structures spaced every 15 metres. Its unique honeycomb design allows it to capture up to 96 per cent of rainwater, helping reduce urban flooding while conserving a precious resource.

The collected rainwater passes through a four-stage filtration system that removes silt and debris from the roads. Once filtered, the clean water is stored in underground tanks hidden beneath roads and parks.

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These modular tanks are designed for urban conditions. Strong enough to bear up to 60 tonnes of weight, they have a lifespan of over 50 years and can be reused, recycled and even relocated when needed.

Turning flooded streets into water banks

Beyond conserving water, the system also offers cities a cost-effective way to tackle flooding. Eco Bloc can reduce urban flooding while being 15 to 20 per cent cheaper than conventional stormwater drain systems.

Its impact became evident with its very first installation in Chennai in 2020, where it helped revive a temple tank that had remained dry for 12 years in just one year.

Today, the solution has been installed at over 5,000 locations across India, harvesting more than 50 million litres of rainwater.

As India's cities prepare for another monsoon, solutions like Eco Bloc offer a reminder that the season can bring more than waterlogged streets. 

With thoughtful design and local innovation, every spell of rain becomes an opportunity to replenish groundwater, strengthen water security, and build cities that are better prepared for the future.

When Mohan, a 69-year-old retired engineer from Ernakulam, woke up after spine surgery, even the smallest movements felt out of reach. He could not move either leg. Both limbs had lost their strength, and bending his knees on his own was impossible. For weeks, getting from one place to another meant depending entirely on a wheelchair and the hands of the people around him. 

Then, one day during his rehabilitation programme, a machine was brought into the ward. It strapped around his lower body, read his movement, and did something no exercise or physiotherapy session had managed on its own: it made his legs move.

"It triggers the walking motion," Mohan recalls. "It activates something I was not able to do on my own. Slowly, slowly, I was able to move my legs in that position."

The machine that helped Mohan take his first steps was built not in Germany or the United States. It came from Kochi — built by a startup called Astrek Innovations. 

And the story of how it came to exist begins not in a laboratory, but in a family home in northern Kerala, where a young man watched his grandfather — a strong, active man he deeply admired — lose the ability to walk after a surgery that should have gone well.

A surgery that left a nagging question

Robin Kanattu Thomas (30), the founder of Astrek Innovations, grew up in Kannur. His grandfather had been in an accident, undergone surgery, and was, by every clinical measure, healthy enough to walk afterwards. But without access to proper, sustained rehabilitation, he never did.

"He was completely clinically healthy to walk, but he couldn't because of a lack of proper rehabilitation," Robin says.

That gap — between what was medically possible and what actually happened — lodged itself in Robin's mind.

Robin already understood the world of assistive devices through his NGO work with people with disabilities. He had visited hospitals, spoken to rehabilitation centres, and seen how much recovery depended on the right support at the right time.

But after what happened to his grandfather, those visits began to feel more personal. He started looking at rehabilitation wards with a different question in mind: how many people were losing the chance to walk again simply because the right technology was too expensive or too far away?

To understand this better, Robin, along with Co-Founders Alex M Sunny, Jithin Vidya Ajith and Vishnu Sankar began spending time inside rehabilitation facilities across Kerala. They spoke directly with stroke patients, people recovering from spinal cord injuries, and others living with lower-limb disabilities.

What they found was consistent: the solutions existed, but not here. They remained out of reach for most patients in India. 

Robotic exoskeletons for rehabilitation were already being used in countries such as Japan, Israel, Russia and the United States. In India, they were virtually absent, partly because importing them could cost upwards of Rs 1.5 crore to Rs 2 crore per unit and partly because servicing and maintenance support were difficult to sustain.

"You can't bring engineers for service from different countries every time something goes wrong," Robin says. "And there was no proper servicing support after sales."

In 2018, he founded Astrek Innovations to change that.

Inside the making of a Made-in-India exoskeleton 

Astrek's device is a lower-limb exoskeleton designed specifically for rehabilitation. It straps around the user's legs and hips, uses motors to drive movement, and uses machine learning to support a patient's gait pattern.

The team spent six years collecting data on how healthy individuals sit, stand and walk. That information was fed into algorithms that allow the device to anticipate and support movement in a way that feels less mechanical and more natural.

Astrek has also tried to make the device easier and cheaper to build. Its patented modular design works much like Lego bricks, Robin says, where different parts can fit into the larger system without having to be built separately each time.

This helps reduce both manufacturing complexity and cost. While imported exoskeletons can cost around Rs 1 to 1.2 crore, Astrek's pricing varies depending on the institution and deal specifics, typically ranging from several lakhs to tens of lakhs, depending on customisation and service agreements. 

The cost could reduce further as production and sales grow, Robin emphasises.

Most of the devices are also made locally. Including the batteries, almost every component is manufactured in India.

The team has also changed the mechanical design so patients do not have to depend too much on upper-body strength. This makes it easier for elderly users and those with limited arm strength to use the device.

The science of helping patients walk again 

For rehabilitation specialists, however, the goal of an exoskeleton is to do more than move a patient's legs. The real objective is to retrain the nervous system.

"More than just re-training the lower-limbs, it is the neuroplasticity or the training for the brain that we are trying to bring through the exoskeleton," says Dr Remya Mathew, Consultant in Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation at Rajagiri Hospital. 

According to her, robotic gait training works by repeatedly exposing the nervous system to the patterns of walking.

"The repetitions of the gait cycle we are providing are bringing those movement patterns back to the brain," she explains.

In rehabilitation medicine, repeated assisted movements are used to help the brain relearn movement after an injury. This process is called neuroplasticity, where the brain forms new pathways to support recovery. 

"With gait retraining and repetitions, new neuronal circuitry connections are building up. The brain is getting a new relearning pattern," Dr Remya says.

The process extends beyond the brain. Similar adaptations can occur within the spinal cord through networks known as central pattern generators, which help coordinate walking movements.

"When it is done repeatedly, what we are trying is bringing neuroplasticity in the brain. The gait centres are getting a resetting and a retraining," Dr Remya explains.

The science behind the technology is what gives clinicians hope for conditions ranging from stroke and spinal cord injuries to neurological disorders that affect mobility.

‘This is the support I needed’

Prajeesh, a 40-year-old network engineer from Thrissur, sustained a spinal cord injury in a bike accident in 2011. A compression fracture left him paraplegic.

Years later, he became one of the first people to test an early version of Astrek's exoskeleton.

His doctor connected him with the startup team.

"We were so happy to know that somebody was doing this and that it was quite near my home," he says.

The prototype was still in its early stages. It was heavier than ideal and required assistance to wear. Yet the experience itself was unlike anything he had encountered before.

His daily mobility routine depended on callipers, which required him to use upper-body strength to move his legs.

"With callipers, you use your upper body strength to move your legs," he says. "With the exoskeleton, it is the other way around." 

When he stood inside the machine for the first time, the emotional impact was immediate. "I felt like, yes, this is kind of support I need."

Prajeesh's story reflects a broader challenge within India's rehabilitation ecosystem. Despite returning to professional life, driving independently and adapting his home to his needs, he spent years searching for solutions that were readily available elsewhere but inaccessible in India.

"I was feeling like I was really inventing the wheel where things are already there, but it is not accessible to you," he says.

Addressing India's quiet ageing crisis

Astrek is not focused solely on spinal cord injuries.

Kerala is already home to one of India’s oldest populations. In the coming decades, nearly 30% of its residents are expected to be elderly. This means more families may have to deal with a difficult question: what happens when age, illness or injury begins to affect a person’s ability to walk?

Robin's device targets five broad patient groups: stroke survivors, partial spinal cord injury patients, complete spinal cord injury patients, elderly individuals experiencing mobility decline, and those requiring age-related rehabilitation support.

For stroke patients, the device helps retrain motor pathways through repeated movement.

For patients with complete spinal cord injuries, the device may help in other ways too. It allows them to bear weight on their legs, improves blood circulation, supports balance training, and helps prevent the muscles from weakening further. 

As Mohan experienced, even the simple act of repeatedly initiating a walking motion can become a critical part of recovery.

Dr Remya argues that rehabilitation quality can significantly influence long-term outcomes.

"The long-term mobility results can be very different if rehabilitation is done with an ideal robotic trainer or a good exoskeletal gait trainer compared to conventional gait training systems," she says.

At the same time, she cautions that technology alone cannot replace therapists.

"A preset robot cannot do the same job as a therapist," she says. "Each day, the patient's neurological condition changes slightly. A therapist continuously grades and modifies the therapy."

Future generations of rehabilitation robots, she believes, will need to become more patient-responsive. "The robot should have the AI sense to understand that the patient's condition is changing and adapt to it.”

Why many patients stop therapy midway 

For all the promise of advanced rehabilitation technology, access remains one of India's biggest challenges.

"Only a very small group of people are receiving an ideal level of comprehensive neurorehabilitation," says Dr Remya. "The financial aspect is the main problem."

The disparity becomes even sharper outside major cities.

"Advanced rehabilitation is still concentrated in metropolitan areas. The majority of patients remain in villages and semi-urban areas where access to proper rehabilitation care is very difficult," she says.

Many patients discontinue therapy midway because of cost, travel burdens or lack of facilities. When that happens, progress can quickly reverse.

"If rehabilitation is discontinued midway, there will definitely be deterioration," she says. "Muscle wasting, contractures and other complications can develop."

The challenge, therefore, has two parts: building better rehabilitation technologies and ensuring they reach the people who need them most. 

From Kerala to Japan and the UAE

Astrek currently operates across nine rehabilitation centres — seven in Kerala and two in Japan, where the device is being used in elderly care settings in Okinawa.

The company has also partnered with the Department of Health in Abu Dhabi for a stroke rehabilitation pilot and signed agreements with paediatric rehabilitation centres in Dubai and Israel.

Back home, Astrek is awaiting certification from the Central Drugs Standard Control Organisation (CDSCO), which will allow commercial manufacturing and sales in India. The company currently operates under a test licence that permits deployment within rehabilitation centres.

There is also a social dimension to the company's manufacturing model.

Between 15 and 20% of Astrek's manufacturing work is currently carried out by people with disabilities through fabrication partners in Kochi. Robin hopes to increase that number significantly as production expands.

The work continues

For Prajeesh, the importance of a device like Astrek's extends beyond its engineering.

"There is a lack of awareness, even among doctors," he says, reflecting on the conflicting advice he has received over the years.

He believes that better rehabilitation protocols, stronger physiotherapy support systems and greater investment in assistive technology are all necessary for meaningful change.

The exoskeleton is part of that future, not the whole answer.

Mohan, meanwhile, remains focused on a simpler goal.

After months of recovery, therapy and incremental progress, he still wants the same thing he wanted when he first lost the ability to move his legs.

"That is my final aim," he says. "To walk on my own."

As for Robin? Well, he could not change what happened to his grandfather. But through Astrek Innovations, he is trying to chase a clear goal: no patient should lose the chance to stand, walk, or recover simply because the right rehabilitation was too expensive, too far away, or never reached them in time.

₹50. That's all Jagjeet Sandhu earned for each street play as a young actor. But even after being rejected by the National School of Drama (NSD), he refused to let one setback define his future. ❤️

He kept performing, learning, and believing in his craft. Years later, the same actor is winning hearts with powerful performances, including his role in Satluj, proving that persistence often matters more than talent alone.

His journey is a reminder that success isn't about never facing rejection—it's about refusing to stop after it. If this story inspired you, share it with someone chasing a dream.

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From studying in a ₹7-a-month school with no benches to showcasing his creations at Paris Haute Couture Week, Rahul Mishra's journey is a story of talent, perseverance, and purpose. ❤️

Growing up studying under a kerosene lamp, he dreamed beyond his circumstances. Today, his couture collections celebrate India's artisans, traditional craftsmanship, and cultural heritage on one of fashion's biggest global stages. His 2026 collection, Devi: The Eternal Muse, drew inspiration from Indian temple architecture, bringing centuries-old artistry to the world.

Rahul Mishra didn't just make it to Paris—he took India's craftsmanship with him. And that's the kind of success that inspires generations.

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In an age of polished tiles, designer carpets and imported décor, many traditional crafts are quietly disappearing from everyday life. Across Kashmir, homes that once relied on handmade floor coverings have increasingly shifted to modern alternatives.

The result is not just a change in interior design, but the gradual loss of skills and traditions that once shaped life in the Valley.

For generations, Waguv — locally known as Wague or Wuguv — was a familiar presence in Kashmiri homes. Handwoven from dried rice straw and wetland reeds, these mats kept homes warm in winter and cool during summer.

Until the early 2000s, it was difficult to find a household without one.

But changing lifestyles and the arrival of cheaper, factory-made alternatives pushed the craft to the margins. As demand fell, artisans gave up their looms and looked elsewhere for work. Slowly, a centuries-old tradition began slipping away.

Between changing lifestyles and disappearing skills

Kashmir has long been known for its craftsmanship — from pashmina shawls to walnut wood carving and papier-mâché work. While some of these crafts continue to thrive, many lesser-known traditions have struggled to survive.

Wuguv weaving was one of them.

As younger generations moved towards education, urban jobs and digital careers, fewer people chose to learn the craft. Without artisans to carry the knowledge forward, the future of Wuguv began to look uncertain.

A father and daughter determined to keep a tradition alive

In Srinagar, however, one family decided not to let the craft disappear.

Gulam Hassan and his daughter Tanzila have spent the last few years trying to revive Wuguv weaving — not only as a cultural tradition but also as a source of livelihood for local families.

What began as a small effort inside their own home has slowly grown into a community initiative.

Tanzila, a 24-year-old college student from Dalgate, learned the craft by watching her father work.

By the early 2000s, very few artisans were still practising Wuguv weaving as demand continued to decline. Concerned that the craft could vanish altogether, Gulam Hassan began reviving it after 2020.

As interest slowly returned, neighbours and local women started approaching the family to learn the skill.

Tanzila soon joined her father's efforts, helping expand production, connect with customers and attract younger artisans to the craft.

"I used to sit with my father and watch him work. Slowly, I learned the art," she told The Better India.

"What began as a way to support my family became both my hobby and a source of income for my education."

Today, their home doubles up as a training centre where artisans gather to learn and work together.

Their efforts are helping revive not just a craft, but an entire ecosystem of knowledge that once formed an important part of Kashmir's cultural life.

How Wuguv is made

The process begins with locally available grasses and reeds collected from Kashmir's wetlands.

The materials are dried, sorted and prepared before being woven entirely by hand.

A standard mat usually takes around four days to complete and is often made by two artisans working together.

While the basics can be learned relatively quickly, artisans say creating intricate designs requires patience and years of practice.

Women at the heart of the revival

The revival of Wuguv is closely linked to the participation of women.

Traditionally, grass mat weaving was practised by women in rural Kashmir, and its return is once again creating opportunities for them to earn from home.

According to the family, more than 20 women have been trained in Wuguv weaving over the last few years.

Many now contribute to household incomes while working from their homes, helping preserve a craft that was once on the verge of disappearing.

Among them is 43-year-old Shameema.

She says the renewed demand for Wuguv has transformed her life.

"In the last few years, demand from within the Valley and from other parts of India has increased. It has created opportunities for women like me," she told The Better India.

A mother of three, Shameema now trains around a dozen women in her locality after finishing her household responsibilities each morning.

Working for about five hours a day from home, she earns between Rs 10,000 and Rs 12,000 every month.

"This work makes me proud. I don't have to leave my home, and I can still earn and support my family," she says.

For many women, Wuguv weaving offers more than income. It provides flexibility, financial independence and a chance to preserve a skill passed down through generations.

Finding a place in modern homes

As demand has grown, so have earnings.

Depending on the size and complexity of the product, artisans earn anywhere between Rs 300 for smaller items such as doormats and Rs 2,000 to Rs 3,000 for larger, intricately woven carpets.

For families involved full-time, the craft has become a reliable source of income, especially when orders arrive from outside Kashmir.

Demand often increases during tourist seasons and festive periods, providing an additional boost to earnings.

Their products are no longer confined to local markets.

Wuguv products are now being shipped to cities such as Delhi, Mumbai and Bengaluru through exhibitions, handicraft fairs and orders placed through social media.

Hotels, cafés and boutique homestays have emerged as some of the biggest buyers, drawn to the products' natural textures and eco-friendly appeal.

What was once a declining craft is gradually finding new life as a small but growing rural enterprise.

While Waguw was once valued primarily as a household necessity, its role has evolved with time.

Today, these mats are increasingly being used as decorative pieces in cafés, restaurants and hotels, where their rustic charm appeals to customers looking for handmade and sustainable alternatives.

Nazir Ahmad, a resident of Budgam, switched to Wuguv mats after years of using synthetic alternatives.

"I had been using modern mats for years, but Wuguv feels more comfortable and natural," he says.

"It gives a sense of warmth and reminds us of our traditions."

Artisans have also adapted to changing tastes.

Beyond traditional floor mats, they now make doormats, table covers, wall hangings and decorative pieces.

"Earlier, we only made grass carpets. Now customers ask for new designs and products. The younger generation wants creativity in everything," Tanzila explains.

That willingness to innovate has helped keep the craft relevant for modern consumers without losing its traditional essence.

Challenges remain

Despite its revival, Wuguv weaving continues to face challenges.

One of the biggest is the declining availability of raw materials.

Wetlands around Srinagar, once rich in reeds and grasses used for weaving, are shrinking because of pollution and encroachment.

"Sometimes, when we receive bulk orders, we have to source grass from rural areas, which increases our costs," Tanzila says.

The issue goes beyond rising expenses.

Artisans believe the future of Wuguv is closely tied to the future of Kashmir's wetlands.

Without access to these natural resources, sustaining the craft in the long term may become increasingly difficult.

Keeping Kashmir's identity alive

For Gulam Hassan, reviving Waguw is deeply personal.

Having learned the craft as a child, he witnessed its decline first-hand.

Today, he is beginning to see signs of hope.

With growing awareness, participation in exhibitions and greater exposure through handicraft events, interest in Wuguv is slowly returning.

"Earlier, this work was limited to our home. Now almost every household around us is involved," he says.

"We work like a family to keep this art alive."

Tanzila has played an important role in that journey — bringing fresh ideas, connecting with new markets and encouraging younger artisans to learn the skill.

Together, father and daughter have transformed a fading tradition into a community effort.

Their story is a reminder that preserving heritage does not always mean keeping things frozen in time.

Sometimes, it means finding new ways for old traditions to survive.

While dedicated government training programmes for Wuguv artisans are currently not being conducted, artisans say they receive support through exhibitions and handicraft events where they can showcase and sell their products.

These opportunities have helped them reach new customers, secure orders and introduce the craft to audiences beyond Kashmir.

As modern lifestyles continue to replace traditional practices, their work stands as a reminder that heritage can still thrive when communities choose to invest in it.

There are not many cities that can run out of water in April and struggle with flooding by September.

Bengaluru has lived with that contradiction for years.

But long before tankers, pipelines and pumping stations, the city had found a way to manage both problems at once. More than 500 years ago, it developed an interconnected network of stormwater canals called Rajakaluves that linked lakes across the landscape. During heavy rains, excess water flowed naturally from one lake to another instead of flooding streets. In drier months, the same system helped replenish groundwater and store water for the future.

One surviving stretch of this historic network is the K100 waterway.

Once an open drain carrying nearly 130 million litres of untreated sewage every day, it has now been restored into a thriving public corridor where people walk, birds have returned, and rainwater once again has space to flow.

Its revival is not just cleaning up a neglected canal. It is bringing back a centuries-old water management system that once allowed Bengaluru to thrive without a major river.

A city built around rain

Long before water was pumped from the Cauvery, Bengaluru relied almost entirely on rainfall.

In the 16th century, the city's founder, Kempe Gowda, developed a network of interconnected Rajakaluves that channeled excess rainwater from one lake to another through Bengaluru's natural valleys.

Instead of letting rainwater rush away, the system slowed its flow, stored it across a chain of lakes, recharged groundwater, and reduced flooding.

For centuries, this network helped the city balance water supply and flood management.

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But as Bengaluru expanded, many of these canals gradually disappeared beneath roads and buildings. Others became narrower, while several were turned into sewage channels instead of stormwater drains.

The K100 waterway was no exception.

Over the years, it came to carry nearly 130 million litres of untreated sewage every day. Solid waste accumulated along its banks, and the canal became known more for its foul smell than for the role it once played in Bengaluru's water system.

Cleaning the water before cleaning the canal

Restoring the K100 meant tackling the pollution first.

The project brought together the Karnataka government, the Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike (BBMP), the Bangalore Water Supply and Sewerage Board (BWSSB), the MOD Foundation, and several technical partners.

The first step was to stop sewage from entering the canal.

The waterway was desilted, decades of accumulated waste were removed, and new sewer infrastructure was built to divert wastewater away from the stormwater channel. Sewage treatment capacity was also expanded, reducing the amount of untreated sewage entering the canal from about 130 million litres a day to around 5 million litres.

Only after improving the water quality did work begin on the surrounding landscape.

Pedestrian walkways were added along long stretches of the canal. Trees were planted to create shaded public spaces, and neglected edges were transformed into accessible areas where people could once again reconnect with the water.

Today, the K100 has become a nearly 12-kilometre-long green-blue corridor that blends ecological restoration with public space.

A blueprint hidden in plain sight

Bengaluru's water challenges are not new.

More than 500 years ago, the Rajakaluve system was designed to address many of the same problems the city faces today. By connecting lakes across Bengaluru's valleys, it allowed excess rainwater to move naturally through the landscape while replenishing groundwater.

In an interview with South First, urban designer Naresh Narasimhan, who conceived the K100 Citizen's Waterway Project, said Bengaluru already has an extensive water network—it simply stopped functioning the way it was designed to.

The city receives around 900 to 1,000 millimetres of rainfall every year. Yet much of that water mixes with untreated sewage in stormwater drains before eventually reaching downstream lakes.

According to Narasimhan, treating wastewater as a resource rather than waste is essential for a city that frequently faces water shortages.

The K100 project reflects that shift in thinking.

Rather than viewing a stormwater drain as forgotten infrastructure, it reimagines it as part of a living water system that can improve environmental health while creating valuable public spaces.

Its success also highlights a much bigger opportunity.

Bengaluru still has more than 842 kilometres of Rajakaluves, many of which continue to connect the city's historic chain of lakes.

Environmental experts have long argued that restoring these canals, alongside rejuvenating Bengaluru's lakes, could improve groundwater recharge, strengthen the city's water security, and reduce urban flooding.

The K100 alone will not solve Bengaluru's water crisis.

But it offers an important reminder that some of the city's most effective climate solutions are not new. They have been part of Bengaluru's landscape for centuries, waiting to be restored rather than reinvented.

Sources:

‘Let’s Talk Water: Reviving Rajakaluves — How the K100 project is redefining Bengaluru’s water future’: by Nolan Patrick Pinto, Published on 7 November 2025

‘Revive Bengaluru’s raja kaluves instead of Mekedatu project: Environmentalists’: by Namrata Sindwani, Published on 3 July 2023

Every monsoon, Wayanad's hills carry the risk of disaster.

Steep slopes, saturated soil and increasingly erratic rainfall have made this Kerala district the most landslide-prone in the state, according to a 2024 study by Indian researchers.

The danger has grown over decades. Studies show that around 62 percent of Wayanad's green cover disappeared between 1950 and 2018, as tea plantations expanded nearly 18-fold. With forests cleared, many hillsides lost the deep root systems that once held the soil together.

When a landslide strikes, it often comes with little warning.

Today, however, a network of local residents armed with simple rain gauges is helping change that. Their daily observations are giving scientists a clearer picture of when slopes are approaching a dangerous tipping point — sometimes buying precious hours for people to move to safety.

A network born from tragedy

The story began after Kerala's devastating floods in 2018, which claimed more than 400 lives.

In the aftermath, the Hume Centre for Ecology and Wildlife Biology, a research institute based in Kalpetta, set out to build a community-driven rainfall monitoring system for Wayanad.

Led by director C K Vishnudas, the team started with a handful of rain gauges. The network expanded rapidly after the 2019 Puthumala landslide, which killed 17 people.

Working with farmers, tribal communities and environmental groups, the Hume Centre gradually installed around 200 rain gauges across the district.

The strength of the system lies in its people.

Each rain gauge is looked after by a volunteer who records the day's rainfall and shares the data with the research team. Together, these readings transform local observations into a reliable, district-wide database.

Because the network is spread across villages, plantations and tribal settlements, it captures highly localised rainfall that broader weather systems often miss.

Why local data matters

The India Meteorological Department (IMD) issues weather alerts at the district or taluk level. While these warnings are essential, they cannot always identify which specific hillside or village faces the greatest danger.

The Hume Centre's network works at a much finer scale.

Rainfall is tracked across 25-square-kilometre grids, allowing researchers to understand how much rain has fallen in individual pockets of Wayanad.

Vishnudas and his team have also mapped previous landslide sites, classifying them into low-, medium- and high-risk zones based on rainfall thresholds, the main trigger for most landslides in the district.

By combining rainfall data with information on terrain and slope stability, the system can identify areas where the risk of a landslide is increasing, rather than issuing broad warnings for the entire district.

A system that has already saved lives

The network has already shown its value.

During an intense rainfall event in 2020, 55 rain gauges around the landslide-prone village of Mundakkai recorded nearly 1,000 mm of rainfall over a short period.

Although several homes were destroyed, residents had been evacuated in advance and no lives were lost.

The goal is simple: provide communities with enough warning to act before disaster strikes.

Researchers working on other landslide early warning technologies, including AI-based systems developed at IIT Mandi, are pursuing the same objective.

When warnings aren't enough

The network faced its toughest test in July 2024.

The rain gauge at Thettamala recorded 409 mm of rainfall within 24 hours, shortly before the devastating Mundakkai-Chooralmala landslides that claimed more than 250 lives.

After the disaster, the Union Home Minister informed Parliament that four early warnings indicating the possibility of rainfall exceeding 200 mm had been issued to the Kerala government in the days leading up to the event.

The Kerala government, however, maintained that a red alert for Wayanad was issued only after the disaster had already occurred.

The tragedy highlighted an important lesson: even the most accurate scientific data can save lives only if warnings are communicated clearly, trusted by decision-makers and acted upon in time.

Building resilience beyond rain gauges

Since then, Wayanad has continued to strengthen its disaster preparedness.

The district's efforts now extend beyond rainfall monitoring. Initiatives include India's first permanent animal evacuation shelter, forest restoration projects that help stabilise fragile slopes, and conservation work aimed at protecting wildlife corridors.

Ecologists also emphasise the importance of restoring native vegetation, whose deep root systems naturally strengthen hillsides and reduce erosion.

Together, these measures show that technology, community participation and ecological restoration can complement one another.

Ordinary people making an extraordinary difference

What makes Wayanad's rain gauge network remarkable is not expensive technology but everyday commitment.

Every morning, farmers and volunteers step out to check rain gauges, record measurements and send the data to the Hume Centre.

Scientists analyse the information, identify emerging risks and translate the numbers into warnings that local administrators can understand and act upon.

The hills of Wayanad will always be vulnerable to landslides.

But every rain gauge installed across the district gives communities a better chance to prepare.

Sometimes, that small act of vigilance can mean the difference between loss and survival.

Images courtesy of Vikalp Sangam

Sources:

'Hyper-local climate predictions to protect Kerala from extreme weather events': by K A Shaji for Mongabay India, Published on 7 December 2024

'Wayanad On Edge: A Year After the Landslide, The Threat Returns': by Outlook India, Published on 30 July 2025

'Monsoon mayhem: How climate change is fueling floods and landslides across India': by The World from PRX, Published on 12 August 2025

'Mundakkai-Chooralmala landslide: assessment of initiation, progression, and impact': by Scientific Reports, Published on 24 July 2025

As the sun begins to filter through the windows of her home in Baraut, Uttar Pradesh, 27-year-old Richa Jain settles down with a notebook, a stack of reference books, and her phone. Before the camera starts rolling, there are hours of preparation ahead — researching topics, cross-checking previous years' questions, creating PowerPoint slides, and organising lessons for students she may never meet in person.

For many educators, recording an online class might involve laptops, professional setups, and high-speed internet. For Richa, however, it began with none of those things.

What started as a simple desire to share knowledge during the pandemic has today grown into one of the most trusted Hindi-learning platforms for students preparing for competitive examinations. 

Through her YouTube channel, Hindi With Richa, and more recently through her app, she has helped thousands of students prepare for NET and JRF examinations — all while pursuing her own academic journey and overcoming personal challenges that could easily have discouraged her.

Building an identity through education 

For Richa, education was never simply about earning degrees. Growing up in Baraut, Uttar Pradesh, it became a way of building confidence, independence, and eventually, a life on her own terms.

Today, she is pursuing a PhD from CCS University, has qualified for the Junior Research Fellowship (JRF), and mentors thousands of students preparing for NET and JRF examinations. But the road to becoming one of the most recognised Hindi educators online was far from straightforward.

Alongside her academic ambitions, Richa was also navigating the emotional weight of living with vitiligo. The condition often attracted unsolicited comments and social judgment, experiences that could have easily shaken her confidence.

Instead, she turned towards books.

“My family encouraged me to continue my education and keep learning,” she recalls. 

That encouragement stayed with her. Through school, college, postgraduate studies, and later while pursuing her B.Ed., education became both her refuge and her strength. 

When she cleared the NET examination, a new thought began taking shape.

“Since I had acquired this education myself, I felt I must take it further. I needed to teach other students as well,” she says.

There was another reason, too, one that many young women may relate to.

“The desire to achieve something entirely on my own,” she adds.

That desire would soon change not only her own life but also the lives of thousands of students across the country.

In 2021, as the pandemic pushed classrooms onto screens, online education was witnessing an unprecedented boom. While many educators were investing in professional setups and digital infrastructure, Richa had neither a laptop nor a Wi-Fi connection.

Still, she decided to begin.

Armed with a smartphone and determination, she started uploading Hindi lessons for NET aspirants on YouTube.

PowerPoint presentations were created on the mobile itself. The recordings were done on the same device. 

Editing, uploading, and managing the channel, everything happened through that single screen.

Internet access posed an equally daunting challenge. With no broadband connection at home, every upload depended on the family's combined mobile data packs.

“My phone had 1 GB of data, my mother's phone had another 1 GB, and my father's phone had data as well,” she recalls. “I would pool the data from everyone's phones to upload the videos.”

Each lecture represented hours of work. Creating slides, researching content, recording explanations, and uploading the final video could easily consume seven hours of her day.

At the same time, she was preparing for PhD admissions and managing her own studies.

“Time management was a significant challenge,” she says. “I had my academic work on one side and video production on the other.”

Yet the practical difficulties were not the hardest part.

Whenever she mentioned her plans, many people dismissed the idea altogether. Some questioned whether online teaching would work. Others doubted that students would seek Hindi educational content in significant numbers.

“Many people kept insisting that nothing would come of it,” she remembers. “The challenge was keeping myself motivated and maintaining faith that one day it would definitely succeed.”

When students began finding her 

In the beginning, teaching online felt strangely one-sided.

Unlike a physical classroom where a teacher can see eager faces, confused expressions, or raised hands, YouTube offered no such reassurance. 

Richa spent hours creating lessons but had little idea who was watching them or whether they were helping at all.

“Especially when teaching online, you don't get to meet the students in person,” she says. “I couldn't tell how many children were actually watching or studying.”

For months, she continued regardless.

Then, slowly, things began to change.

Comments started appearing under her videos. Students began sharing their results and messages arrived from aspirants who had used her lessons to prepare for examinations. 

What had once felt like speaking into an empty room was gradually becoming a community.

The turning point came nearly two to three years after she started in 2021.

“It was after two or three years had passed that I first felt a genuine sense of validation,” she recalls. 

“Students were watching, and they were truly benefiting from it. That gave me the motivation to believe that what I was doing was absolutely right.”

The appreciation wasn't merely about the availability of content; it was about the quality and depth of her teaching.

“The messages I received most frequently from students were regarding my content,” she says. “They would tell me that they hadn't found material of this quality, specifically tailored to the level of the UGC NET examination in Hindi, elsewhere.”

Her approach to previous-year questions particularly resonated with learners.

Rather than simply providing answers, she focused on helping students understand where those answers came from.

That level of detail built trust. Students knew they weren't memorising shortcuts; they were learning how to study systematically.

As recommendations spread from one student to another, the channel continued to grow. What began as an experiment conducted entirely on a smartphone soon became one of the most trusted destinations for Hindi NET aspirants across the country.

The students who found confidence through her classes

Among the thousands who discovered Richa's lessons was 25-year-old Rajni from Bijnor.

Like many competitive exam aspirants, she was constantly searching for reliable study resources online when she stumbled upon Richa's channel.

“I used to study using YouTube resources, and quite by chance, I found Richa Ma'am's channel two years ago,” she says. 

For others, the impact translated directly into results.

Devashish, originally from Bihar and currently based in Delhi, discovered her videos while preparing for the NET and JRF examinations.

“I found her YouTube channel last year while preparing for NET and JRF,” he shares. “I subsequently achieved a 100 per cent score in the JRF examination.”

But perhaps the most telling measure of Richa's influence is how frequently her name comes up among Hindi students.

One of her learners, Ananya, explains that her classes have become almost synonymous with NET preparation in the subject.

“Initially, her content was quite niche, and the outreach was limited,” she adds.

“But gradually, as more people discovered her videos, it reached a point where it began to feel almost mandatory for anyone preparing for Hindi examinations to watch Richa Ma'am's classes.”

For many learners, the biggest advantage wasn't simply the quality of the teaching but the fact that it remained accessible.

“She has provided such high-quality free content that even students who cannot afford paid courses can comfortably prepare for NET and JRF examinations,” adds Ananya.

That accessibility is something Richa consciously prioritises.

“Last year, I met students who simply couldn't afford to enrol in paid courses, no matter how low the fees were,” she says. “That is where YouTube proves invaluable. It is a platform where every student can study for free.”

For her, education was never meant to be limited by financial circumstances. If a student was willing to learn, they deserved an opportunity.

More than a teacher

Ask her students what sets Richa apart, and many speak not just about her lectures but about her willingness to support them long after class ends.

Whether it is guidance on examinations outside her primary area of teaching, academic decisions, or personal doubts, students say she makes herself available.

For Richa, some of the most memorable success stories are not always about ranks or scores. They are about people who rediscover confidence through education.

One such student was a 52-year-old man who had been quietly following her lessons on YouTube. Richa remembers regularly seeing comments from him under her videos, but she had no idea who he was or how old he was.

Then one day, a message arrived.

“He told me that he was 52 years old and had qualified for NET after studying entirely through the free classes available on YouTube,” she recalls.

What stayed with her even more was the reason he had decided to appear for the examination.

“He said he wanted to show younger students, who often lose hope after a few unsuccessful attempts, that it is never too late. He wanted them to believe that if a 52-year-old could qualify NET, they could do it too.”

For Richa, the message was deeply moving.

“When I learnt that a 52-year-old uncle had qualified NET through the classes, it felt incredibly special,” she says. 

“Moments like these remind me why I started teaching in the first place.”

A platform built on trust

Today, the scale of her work would have been difficult to imagine back in 2021.

Nearly 90,000 students are connected to her YouTube channel, while an estimated 50,000 to 60,000 learners have studied through her platform over the years. Thousands have reportedly qualified for NET and JRF examinations using her guidance and classes.

In January 2025, she expanded her efforts further with the launch of the Hindi With Richa app.

The platform already serves more than 25,000 active students through a mix of free resources, complete batches, crash courses, previous-year question series, and mock tests. 

Yet despite the growth, her core philosophy remains unchanged: quality education should be accessible to anyone willing to learn.

Why Hindi education deserves more respect

Richa's journey also raises an important question about how India views language and education.

For decades, conversations around academic success have often been dominated by English. Hindi and other Indian languages are frequently viewed as secondary options, despite being the primary medium of learning and expression for millions of people.

That perception, however, is slowly changing.

Through her work, Richa is proving that quality education is not defined by language. Every language carries its own beauty and depth, and when learning is made accessible in those languages, it creates opportunities for countless students to thrive. 

All images courtesy Richa Jain

Originally reported and written in July 2022, this story has been republished as part of our archival content.

Nestled in the lap of the Great Himalayan National Park in Sainj Valley, the picturesque location of Shan ‘e’ Ghar Homes, a homestay, could well be a part of a movie set. Built keeping in mind the traditional kath kuni architectural style, this property offers eight rooms attached with washrooms for guests.

Suchita (38) and Vikas Tyagi (40) spent close to three years constructing and putting together this lovely homestay.

 

Speaking to The Better India, Suchita says, “This traditional construction method has been in existence for many centuries now. The primary material has wood, stone and mud. No cement is used. It is also earthquake resistant, and given that hilly regions are prone to earthquakes.”

The materials used in this technique also help insulate the property during extreme weather conditions. “Whether it is hot or cold outside, we have always stayed well protected and cosy within,” she says.

Kath kuni is indigenous to the hills of northern India, and involves alternately stacking wooden beams and stones to create structures that can go as high as seven floors. The method is said to have been passed on from generation to generation orally. Many old temples in the region are built using this technique.

Home away from home

 

Suchita and Vikas are both city-bred individuals who were attracted by the sheer beauty of the region in early 2018. While Vikas continues to work with a software firm in Delhi, Suchita says that she cannot be happier having left the hustle-bustle of her city life behind her. With no architecture degree or prior experience in construction, the duo carried out their own research for months and collaborated with local masons to translate their dream into reality, they say.

“This is our home. When you decide to come stay here, we are opening up a part of our home to you,” says Vikas.

 

While the duo has retained the essence of the traditional architecture, to appeal to a larger audience, they have made small modifications. Suchita says, “Houses in this region do not come with an attached toilet. It is always a few metres away from the main house. In order to make it convenient for our guests, we built toilets within the house.”

Even within the property, the duo have used recycled pallets to make their beds and baskets, which double as dustbins.

 

When Suchita travelled solo to the Sainj Valley in 2018 it was “love at first sight”. She says, “The amazing part is that the love has only increased. Like many, I decided to set up a holiday home for myself here. Little did I realise that this would become such an integral part of my life.”

But while the intent to build a home was strong in the duo, the process wasn’t very easy.

“Since this region falls under the UNESCO World Heritage site, there are restrictions that come with that tag. We cannot, in any way, disturb or damage the flora and fauna of the region. Loud music is not allowed to be played and we need to be careful not to trouble the local residents of the region,” she adds.

An embodiment of true pahadi hospitality

 

The comfortable and spacious cottages at the resort offer a perfect blend of authentic design using local materials. The food served is often local and authentic to the region, and Suchita says she takes great care in curating meals for her guests.

The one thing that the duo would want their guests to keep in mind is that they are coming into someone else’s home. “Sometimes, guests do not seem to understand this and ask for things that one would find in conventional hotels and resorts. We have to keep reiterating that we are offering them an experience in our homes,” Suchita notes.

One night at the property costs Rs 3,500 a night, which is inclusive of breakfast. “Guests usually stay for a minimum of four nights with us. That is when they are able to enjoy the true essence of the property. They enjoy the trip to nearby villages, and spend time soaking up the clean air and water. They also relish and savour fresh produce when they are with us,” she adds.

At the property, one can enjoy the Himachali Dham, a traditional feast.

 

“We urge our guests to sit on the floor cross-legged, and we serve the food in pattal leaves. We do not serve non-vegetarian food at the property and the entire preparation consists of local vegetables and pulses. The various kinds of chutneys that we make are always a hit with the guests,” she says.

On the cost of building this homestay, Suchita says, “Managing and maintaining the homestay is more costly than constructing it. The work it requires post construction is the hard part. We have to keep polishing the mud and ensure that the property is free of insects that mud naturally attracts.”

Siddhant Choukshey, a guest who stayed at the property, describes it as a green haven, surrounded by lush farms and apple orchards. He also makes a special mention about the food that is served here.

Samrat Upadhyay, another guest who has stayed at this property says that being pet friendly is one of the highlights of this place. “It’s an amazing place with such mesmerising views. I have had one of the best holidays here,” he shares.

In Suchita’s words, “If you love chirping birds, snow-capped mountains, beautiful meadows, free flowing rivers, waterfalls to bathe in, many big and small water streams, clear blue skies, and twinkling stars, then this place is surely for you.”

Click here to check out the property details.

 

(Edited by Divya Sethu)

The arrival of the monsoon has always meant more than just relief from the summer heat.

Across India, the first rains have traditionally marked the beginning of the planting season. Whether in village commons, home gardens or farmlands, people would wait for the skies to open before putting young saplings into the ground.

It wasn't merely a matter of convenience. It was wisdom built on generations of observing nature.

Today, as cities become hotter and conversations around climate resilience grow louder, this age-old practice is proving to be just as relevant as ever.

Why is the monsoon nature's planting season

If you've ever wondered why tree plantation drives across the country are organised around June and July, the answer is simple: the monsoon does most of the hard work.

The combination of warm soil and regular rainfall creates ideal conditions for young saplings to establish themselves. Instead of relying on daily watering, they receive a steady supply of moisture, helping them survive the most vulnerable stage of their lives.

More importantly, the rains encourage roots to grow deep into the earth. By the time winter arrives, followed by another harsh summer, these stronger root systems make the trees better equipped to withstand dry spells.

It's a natural system that's both effective and economical — one that communities across India have relied on for centuries.

Five native trees that have long been monsoon favourites

Not all trees are equal when it comes to supporting local ecosystems. Traditionally, native species have been preferred because they are well adapted to India's climate and continue to benefit people and wildlife long after they're planted.

Neem (Azadirachta indica) has earned its place in Indian households for generations. Known for its medicinal properties, it also provides dense shade, improves air quality and supports several insects and birds.

Jamun (Syzygium cumini) is another monsoon favourite. Its purple fruits are loved by both people and wildlife, while its leafy canopy helps cool surrounding areas during hotter months.

The Peepal (Ficus religiosa) has long been revered in Indian culture, but it's equally valuable from an ecological perspective. Its broad canopy offers shelter to birds, while its extensive root system helps stabilise the soil.

Found naturally along riverbanks, Arjun (Terminalia arjuna) thrives in moist conditions. Besides its importance in traditional medicine, it plays a key role in preventing soil erosion and strengthening fragile landscapes.

And then there's the beloved Mango (Mangifera indica). Often planted with future generations in mind, a single mango tree can provide fruit, shade and habitat for decades.

A tradition that's good for both people and the planet

Planting before the rains isn't just about helping a sapling survive.

As native trees establish deep roots, they act like natural anchors, holding the soil together during heavy downpours. This reduces erosion, slows rainwater runoff and allows more water to seep into the ground, naturally replenishing moisture in the soil.

The timing also makes tree planting far more water-efficient. Since rainfall takes care of most of the irrigation, communities spend less time, effort, and resources watering young trees every day.

It's a simple example of working with nature rather than against it.

Ancient wisdom that still holds true

While technology continues to reshape the way we care for our environment, some of the most effective solutions have been with us all along.

The tradition of planting native trees before the monsoon is one such example — combining ecological understanding with practical wisdom. Every neem, jamun, peepal, arjun or mango sapling planted today has the potential to become tomorrow's source of shade, cleaner air, richer biodiversity and healthier soil.

So the next time the first showers arrive, they don't just signal the start of the rainy season. They remind us that nature has always known the right time to grow.

Sources:

‘Best Trees to Plant in India: Complete Monsoon Guide (2026)’ by Piyush Gupta for Sankalp Taru, Published on 15 June 2026.

“Food should fill people’s stomachs, not empty their pockets.” ❤️

For the last 56 years, 70-year-old Ramchandra has been serving soft, steaming ₹5 idlis from his tiny shop in Kanakapura, Karnataka. Following the recipe his father started in 1972, he begins every day at 4 AM—and his simple breakfast now attracts food lovers from Bengaluru and beyond.

In a world chasing trends, Ramchandra reminds us that honesty, consistency, and great taste never go out of style. What’s your favourite way to eat idlis—sambar, chutney, podi, or something else? Tell us in the comments! 👇

#FoodStories #IndianFood #Idli #SouthIndianFood #BreakfastLovers #Karnataka #Kanakapura #SmallBusiness #StreetFood #FoodLovers #TraditionalFood #PositiveStories #LocalLegends #Bengaluru #TheBetterIndia

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Every evening, the air inside a small restaurant in Srinagar's Jawahar Nagar turns warm with the aroma of freshly made idlis and dosas.

Inside, a Tamil cook wearing a green cap stands over a hot griddle, swiftly spreading batter into thin circles, while Kashmiri staff move between tables carrying plates and calling out orders.

Customers wait at their tables, some scrolling through their phones, others watching for their plates to arrive. A few have travelled across the Kashmir Valley. Others are tourists from Tamil Nadu, Kerala and Karnataka.

Most, however, are surprisingly Kashmiris.

They are here not for wazwan, the Valley's famed cuisine, but for something simpler — food from nearly 3,000 kilometres away.

Among them is 26-year-old Zahid Iqbal Shah from Srinagar, who is visiting for the first time.

"South Indian food is healthy and lovely, and I have been to South India," he says. "When I heard that South Indian food is available in Kashmir, I decided to come here. I mainly like dosa, and this is my first time here."

At the centre of this culinary bridge is Sindhu, a 27-year-old from a small village in Tamil Nadu, who first arrived in Kashmir in February 2021 as a solo backpacker, with no plan beyond travel.

Dressed in a green embroidered pheran, the traditional Kashmiri robe, she moves between tables, occasionally stopping to speak to customers — an image that reflects how closely she has blended into the place she once visited as an outsider.

"Initially, I came only for 10 or 11 days," she recalls. "Even then, I came only for travel purposes. But the experience I had here, with local people, made me come back again. I did not expect that feeling."

An accidental journey to Kashmir

Sindhu's journey to Kashmir was never planned.

After COVID-19 restrictions eased, she set out on a solo backpacking trip across India, travelling through Kerala, Karnataka, Maharashtra, Gujarat, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Himachal Pradesh and Delhi. Kashmir was not on the list.

"Honestly speaking, I had not planned to visit Kashmir initially. When I was in Delhi, I randomly checked if I had the budget and whether there were trains available. I found a train to Jammu and thought, 'Okay, let me go,'" she says.

But she carried with her a set of fears shaped by what she had heard.

"In some places, I felt a little discrimination because I am South Indian. But in Kashmir, never. Not even a single day," she tells The Better India. "The people were so kind. I felt safe. That made me want to stay."

When asked why she eventually decided to stay on in Kashmir, Sindhu says there were two reasons. The first was emotional.

"For me, Kashmir was love at first sight," she says. "I planned to stay only for 10 or 11 days, but the kindness and hospitality of the people made it difficult to leave. I felt welcomed and safe here from the beginning."

The second reason emerged later, after she started her tour-and-travel business. As she began bringing families from Tamil Nadu and other southern states to Kashmir, she noticed there was no authentic South Indian restaurant catering to visitors from the South.

"That was when I realised there was a gap," she says. "Many tourists were struggling with the food and wanted something familiar. That was one of the reasons I decided to stay and start Idli Dosai Delight."

What was meant to be a short visit slowly turned into something deeper when she returned in 2022 and spent months in villages around Pahalgam.

"The people I lived with in rural parts of Kashmir were not even well-off, but they would give me the best food they had. They were buying things for me that they were not even giving to their own children. I had never seen this kind of hospitality anywhere," she says, pausing.

"I travelled to almost 28 states, but this feeling I did not get anywhere else."

Back home in Pudukkottai, Sindhu's life had already taken a difficult turn.

Her father, a lorry driver, passed away in an accident in 2018 while she was still in college. Suddenly, she became the sole earning member of the family.

"He always used to say that he was eager to visit Kashmir one day, but he never got the chance," she says. "Maybe that is also one of the reasons I feel connected to this place."

Growing up, her movements were restricted.

"In my village, after 7 pm, my parents would not allow me to step outside," she says.

Kashmir, in contrast, offered her a different reality.

"I close my restaurant late at night, sometimes even at 1 or 2 am, and I go back home alone. In these four years, I have never faced any harassment. Not even once. As a woman, I feel this is one of the safest places for me," she says.

From travel videos to tourism entrepreneur

Sindhu began documenting her experiences in Kashmir through videos, capturing breathtaking meadows, gushing streams, daily life and interactions with locals.

The response from Tamil Nadu surprised her.

"Many people told me that after watching my videos, they cancelled plans for other places and booked Kashmir instead. That really touched me," she says.

In 2022, she turned this into a business, launching a tour and travel company that now employs around 24 people and has helped more than 1,000 families, mostly from Tamil Nadu, visit Kashmir.

"They feel comfortable because they see a Tamil girl already living here. They feel safe choosing Kashmir," she explains.

While guiding tourists, Sindhu noticed a recurring issue.

"For South Indians, the food here is totally different. Within two days, many people were getting sick or feeling uncomfortable. They just wanted simple food like idli and dosa," she says.

That observation sparked an idea.

"I thought, why not start something small? Just a small idli shop for tourists."

The idli shop that Kashmir embraced

In September 2024, she opened a tiny 120-square-foot outlet in Khayam called Dosai Delight.

What followed surprised her.

"Within two to three months, I realised that 90 per cent of my customers were Kashmiris," she says, smiling. "Tourists were fewer. Locals were coming more."

Many of them — students and professionals — had studied or worked in cities such as Chennai, Bengaluru and Puducherry.

"They would tell me they had not eaten this kind of food in 20 years. Then they started bringing their friends and families."

Among her regular customers is 29-year-old Basit Manzoor from Srinagar's Eidgah.

"I have spent time in Chennai, and I love masala dosa," he tells The Better India. "South Indian food is unique, and I enjoy trying different cuisines. Here, I get the same vibe that I got in Chennai."

He adds, "I have tried South Indian food in other restaurants, but at Sindhu's Idli and Dosai Delight, I taste genuine authenticity. People should not limit themselves to Kashmiri wazwan. One should try different varieties of food."

Soon, customers were travelling from across the Valley just to eat there.

To maintain authenticity, Sindhu goes to great lengths.

"Almost all my ingredients are sourced from Tamil Nadu. For example, idli rice, urad dal, tamarind, hing and filter coffee powder," she says. "Taste and authenticity matter. You cannot replace Tamil spices."

She also hires chefs from her home state, but that comes at a cost.

"For one dosa master, I pay more than Rs 35,000 plus accommodation. For the main chef, it goes up to Rs 60,000 with accommodation. For one person, I spend almost Rs 50,000 to Rs 70,000," she explains.

"And the courier cost for ingredients is also very high. Whatever I earn goes back into the business."

Despite the mounting losses, Sindhu says she has not taken investment or financial support from her family. Nor has she relied on outside investors to keep the business running.

Instead, she uses the income generated through her tour-and-travel company to sustain the restaurants. According to her, much of what she earns from the tourism venture is reinvested into the eateries to cover salaries, rent, ingredients and other operational expenses while she continues building the business.

Today, she runs two restaurants — one in Khayam and another in Jawahar Nagar — and employs around 12 people, most of them locals.

Despite the growing popularity, Sindhu is candid.

"To be frank, to date I have not made a profit. Not even once," she says.

During periods of declining tourism, especially after political disruptions, she faced heavy losses.

"My monthly expenses were around Rs 4.5 lakh to Rs 5 lakh, but sales were not even Rs 1 lakh. For six months, I faced losses of Rs 3 lakh to Rs 4 lakh every month. All my savings were gone," she says.

Yet she continued paying salaries and rent without cuts.

"I know loss is for everyone, not only for me. So I paid everyone fully," she says.

When asked what keeps her going despite the lack of profits, her answer is simple.

"I am doing it for my happiness," she says. "Every day, people come and bless me. They say, 'God bless you, you will grow.' That feeling is something else."

Bringing dosa to Kashmiri weddings

As her popularity grew, her food began appearing in unexpected spaces.

At a Kashmiri wedding, she was invited to set up a dosa counter alongside traditional wazwan.

"They asked us to prepare 500 to 600 dosas. But we made more than 1,000. People loved it," she says.

The response led to multiple wedding bookings.

Her restaurant has also attracted high-profile visitors, including Chief Minister Omar Abdullah and Farooq Abdullah, who praised her food and encouraged her journey.

For Sindhu, this journey has never been about expansion alone.

"I want local people to learn this too. If they learn, they can earn. That is important," she says, though she admits training people has been challenging.

One of the local employees she has trained says the experience has opened up entirely new opportunities.

"Before joining here, I had never worked with South Indian food," says one employee from Srinagar. "Now I know how dosas are prepared, how the batter is fermented and how customers like their food served. It is a different cuisine and a different skill set, and I am happy I got the chance to learn it."

Sindhu hopes more local young people will eventually learn the cuisine well enough to build careers of their own around it.

Looking ahead, she remains open but grounded.

"I just trust God. Every year, my journey is different. Whatever comes, I will go with that."