February 5, 2025

Roots Across Borders

The past week in Madhya Pradesh will be one I hold close to my heart for the rest of my life. From sunrise to sunset, my team and I collected data from farmers’ experiences with regenerative agriculture. We walked amongst orchards, fields of mustard, fenugreek, cotton, wheat, and maize; forests of banyans and teak; amidst the scents of fragrant citrus trees alongside those not-so-pleasant wafts of the bio-inputs that make life here possible. Excitedly handed oranges, mosambi, chickpeas, honeycomb, and sweet peas, we navigated the diverse lands and conversations explaining how its soil supports all this life. Being fed more knowledge and food than we could have ever hoped for, we happily made our way through the countryside.
Not all moments were easy—sitting in interview sessions for hours, cross-legged, until my entire lower body went numb and my back ached, on wooden carts, tree-stump swings, woven mats, and plastic chairs, with goats scratching their shoulders on the backs, kittens playing with my shoelaces, and cowbells and children interfering with audio recordings needed for the translation of the sometimes three or four languages being spoken in the blazing afternoon sun with biting flies. Yet in all this chaos and exhaustion, I found, day in and day out, a confusing but very deep feeling of comfort—a sense of comfort I had not experienced in this country, and, to be honest, had not experienced in quite some time.
It wasn’t until our twentieth interview, amongst the blossoming orchard of a kind man, at ear level to the bees buzzing in the fragrant orange blossoms all around us and the red sunset, that I finally understood why. As our translator worked to relay our questions, I thought of how funny it was that I had seen this same sky while seated on a rocking chair on my grandmother’s porch.
Returning to focus on the response now formulated in English, the story I was listening to changed completely. I realized all this time I had felt this comfort because of the sincere familiarity of the interactions I had been having. The pride singing through the stories of the mothers and fathers, brothers and daughters, widows, and lifelong friends of the farmers who so graciously share their life stories and struggles was transporting me to memories of home. I realize it is the same song I have been listening to all my life through my loved ones’ voices and through their eyes.
From the sound of laughter of our first interviewer cursing at the sky for rain, I heard my own grandfather, who shared his woes of severe droughts his entire life. In the smile of another, I’m taken back to watching the joy on my father’s face as he watched the summertime rains, for no matter how far he moved from home, some feelings never seem to fade. Or, in the story of two brothers with completely different aspirations working for a common goal on behalf of their family, I see my sister with aspirations just as high and our own competitive spirits. In the lively conversations of women sifting red gram in their brightly colored saris, I heard the sounds of my aunts putting up sweet corn for the winter and of my mother and me picking strawberries at my childhood home to make jam. In the story of a man plagued with grief after his wife’s passing, I think of a dear friend and her relentless work to make the world around her a better place through education. In the care of each man, woman, and child I see walking their cows and goats home each evening—from grazing to water and shelter—I see my own cousins caring for their horses. And in the kind eyes and soft voice of an old woman who says she cares for each of her orange trees as if it were her own child—taking out loans to put her children through school, knowing she will be working for the rest of her life on this land—I see the relentless care of my grandmothers towards each and every one of her sons, daughters, and grandchildren.
They are all here with me, even so far away.
A family that’s taught me a deep respect and stewardship for the land and for mankind—the same pride I see in the eyes of the farmers I befriend. With each memory that I am gifted to relive, I see that a million differences can be drawn from these places on opposite sides of the world; however, this time away was a way of awakening my soul to the reminder that no matter where we go in this world, in all that we do, we are all so much more alike than we are different. Though I know I will never have the pleasure of speaking to many of these people again, I will always carry a piece of them with me to relive for the rest of my life. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

By,
Grace